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kikiiswashere · 3 days ago

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Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – “does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours.

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

ko-fi.com/kiki13

#silco #silco fanfic #silco x reader #dad!silco #soft!silco #jinx #big sister jinx #silco x afab!reader #cw: pregnancy #cw: labor #drive by appearance of sevika #sevika

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ventique18 · 1 day ago

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Dragon couple 🐉🌸♀️

When their first son was born, Yuu unfortunately resigned to her fate that she would be the mother of children named Malware, Malaria, and Malignant Cancer.

Her husband Malleus had named their firstborn Malleus. Which was not a terrible idea given the boy was his heir and inheriting his name could be symbolic, but she was certain there were not too many words starting with 'Mal' that could pass off as a name. So imagine her surprise when he had suggested that their second child, a lovely girl, be named Agatha.

"You're not insane after all. I was going to rethink our marriage if you tried to name our baby Malnutrition, or something." Her love for him had grown a tad fiercer, if that was at all possible.

When they welcomed their third child to the world, he had named him 'Lilia' and Yuu immediately caught up to his intentions.

"You realized we couldn't possibly give a good name that starts with 'Mal' everytime, so you decided to spell it out chronologically instead? Malleus, Agatha, and Lilia..."

"Oh, but my plan isn't quite as shallow as that." He commented with an eager smile, "We need five more children."

"Five more-- eight children in total?! Are you planning to build an entire Spelldrive team complete with a coach?"

"Perhaps." He replied, his grin both mischievous and secretive.

What ever could this man be planning? Some kind of ancient ritual that required eight of his own flesh and blood? World domination? Of course he wouldn't do something as terrible as that, but why eight in particular?

Seasons passed, years crawled on, yet their love for each other remained just as strong. True to his words, they managed to conceive their eight child after a few decades. They had the most delightful names, you see:

Malleus, Agatha-- the first two letters of her name stood for the element symbol of Silver, Lilia, Laverne, Eleanor, Yuuki, Ubek (he ran out of ideas), and Ulficia. They were his greatest masterpiece, the father would brag, and so he named them after an actual masterpiece that happened to exist before they did. Since their names were variations of the people closest to him, textbooks would then write him down as a king full of love and respect for those who had given his life meaning and became his strength.

... Or so the writeup could have been that respectable, if only he did not frown while reviewing such descriptions of him and personally wrote an edit request to the publishers. For they had omitted a crucial detail from their story:

That the first letters of their children's names, when arranged, spelled 'MALLEYUU.' Their names being variations of the people he care about were merely secondary. His main purpose was to immortalize in books his undying love for his wife, Yuu.

Later on, some would call him the Mad King; not because he was insane or cruel, but because they had never seen a ruler as madly in love with his spouse as he was with his wife. Their love story would then become a classic literary blueprint for centuries to come.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #ventique rambles #malleus x reader #twst yuu

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motorsportbarbie13 · 1 day ago

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The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions

In which you interview 2 multi-world champions in one sitting.

Warnings: discussions of the traumatic 2021 Abu Dhabi race (lol) Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2k words

(quick note. shoutout to @shelbyteller for the inspiration for this one. Hope it lives up to your expectations bb!)

"I can't believe you got him to agree to this." You say, shuffling a few papers on your desk in the Monaco apartment you share with Max.

Max looks at you, brow raised. "Are you kidding me? I didn't have to do any convincing. That man loves you. Honestly, I should probably be a little jealous of how eagerly he agreed to come on the show."

You roll your eyes, knowing that Max is being ridiculous. "As if I'd ever look at anyone but you." You tease, rising from your desk chair before crossing the room to sit on Max's lap.

When you had moved in with Max earlier in the year, one of the things he had insisted on was turning one of the spare rooms in his (well, now it was yours too, he had insisted on putting you on the deed to the property after your engagement, much to the dismay of his lawyer) apartment into a dual recording studio and office for you.

Tucked away in one of the corners was a large mahogany desk that you spent most of your time at. On the other side of the room that's decorated in tones of gold and champagne pink sits your podcasting setup with 2 comfy sitting chairs, microphones, and side tables. It's the perfect cozy setup. You didn't use this room all the time for your guests, a lot of the time you were traveling to meet them. This room was used for when you did your 'bonus session' episodes and when you had more personal friends on the show, like today's guest.

Max wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you closer into his chest. "Have I ever told you that I love you?" He murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You hum, small grin spreading across your face as you lean your head further into the crook of his neck. "Not in the last ten minutes."

"Well, let me remedy that terrible fact." Max's lips skate over your jaw before they find their home. "I love you beyond words, schatje." His words are mumbled against your lips but you understand them all the same.

When he slips his tongue into your mouth you can't help the sigh that leaves your body. It doesn't matter how many times Max kisses you because every time his lips land on yours, it feels like the first time.

The make out session continues for several moments before you're interrupted by a buzzing on Max's phone. "Looks like he's here. You ready?"

You glance down at your outfit, casual but put together for the interview that you're sure will make some waves in the F1 world. Not only because of who it is but also because of what you got him to agree to discuss today. "I hope so!"

Max leaves the office to retrieve your guest as you begin prep on the room. You had decided to just run the entire episode by yourself today, giving Steve and Shannon the day off from filming since it was in your home and you liked to keep this environment as relaxed and low key as possible.

Voices float towards you as you finish up the last bits of preparation. And then, they're standing in the doorway.

"I hear congratulations are in order!"

"Lewis!" You croon, setting down the papers in your hands before crossing the room to your friend's opened arms. "Thank you so much."

Lewis chuckles before holding you out at arms length, "Let me see that rock. I'm sure Instagram did it no justice."

You happily hold out your left hand for Lewis to take, grinning like an idiot over his shoulder at Max, who is leaning against the door frame with the same goofy grin on his face. The word 'proud' didn't seem to do what he felt for you in this moment justice.

"He did good, didn't he?"

"Ma'am, that man is so wildly in love with you." Lewis chuckles before looking over his shoulder at Max. "Good taste there, mate."

Max nods. "Thanks. Can I get you anything before you guys get started?"

Lewis shakes his head and just like that, you go into work mode. You give Lewis a brief explanation on how it's going to work, just like you did for Max over a year ago. Meanwhile, Max sits at your desk and watches you work. In the last year, he hasn't really had the opportunity to watch you film and record a show because he's always felt in the way but this time is different. He had been the one to ask Lewis onto the show and it had been Lewis that insisted he stay to watch the entire interview when he had tried to excuse himself moments before.

You were so in your element is left Max in awe. The way you moved around the room with such confidence, setting up the cameras and microphones, talking to Lewis like he was a brother or an old friend, you really commanded the room and made both of these drivers, who were used to wrestling flying torpedos around hairpin curves going fast enough to kill someone was just awe inspiring.

"Okay, but seriously, before we wrap this up we need to talk about one more thing." You giggle a bit, watching as Lewis reaches down to scratch Rosco on the head.

"Shit." Lewis hisses while Max laughs from his spot at your desk where he's been watching the entire interview quietly. "I thought you were going to forget about that."

You toss your head back, laughing maniacally. "And blow the chance at having two fan bases hate me? As if, Hamilton. Max, do you want to join us?"

Although you have the air of someone who couldn't care less about the upcoming topic, secretly, your stomach twists with anxiety. When Max had suggested the finale to your landmark interview with Lewis and when Lewis had agreed to is, you had been confident that you could handle such a touchy subject but now? Now that you were face with actually having to talk to your friend about it on camera to be released for the entire world to see? You were having second thoughts.

Max stands and sits next to you in the chair that you had pulled out moments before.

"And before we even get started, I want to preface this final segment by saying that you both agreed to this before hand and I am not blindsiding anyone, right?"

Both men grin at you where you sit between them and nod. "We both agreed to this." Lewis says.

"Well I, for one, feel a bit like a hostage here having to agree to this on camera." You reach across and smack Max on the shoulder, causing him to smile even wider. "Yes, of course. We both agreed to this."

"We're a few years removed from the 2021 season. Lewis, looking back do you think there's anything you could have done differently to change the outcome?"

Lewis shrugs, "If you would have asked me that a year ago, I would have probably said yes but as we get further away from it I think we did everything we could have. Sometimes, there are decisions made and things happen that are outside of your control. As a racing driver, you want everything to be under your control and even when it's not, it's in our nature to take on everything as if it is under our control."

"Are you calling me a control freak?" Max quips from your other side.

"We're all control freaks, man." Lewis says with a chuckle.

"What's that saying? Hindsight is 20/20? Looking back, there are always things you see and go 'well that was a terrible decision." Max says, smiling over at his rival. "But at the time, we all made what we thought were the best decisions we could with the information we had in front of us. I don't think there was anything either of us could have done to have change the outcome based on what we knew then and there."

You nod, grinning at both of the men. "Can we talk about Abu Dhabi for a second? I don't want to talk about the race, that's been done to death. But, can you walk me through what was going through your head in the days after?"

"I isolated big time." Lewis says, looking down at his hands before reaching to scratch Rosco's head. "I took off and spent time alone and just did a lot of thinking. I hated that my championship came down to the decisions of one man. Had we been better and more consistent the entire year, it wouldn't have come down to the last lap. That was on me and no one else. I had to take that on and figure out how I was going to face the team after letting them down."

"But you didn't let them down." Max insists. "That entire season was a masterclass in never giving up and making something out of nothing. I mean, sure I was the beneficiary of that final call from Race Control but it could have easily went the other way. I don't know what I would have done had I been in your shoes after that race."

"You would have been fine." Lewis says. "You've always been better at compartmentalizing things on the track. I take a lot of my work home with me. It's why I struggle to let people in. I'm often caught up in my own world focusing on what I need to do to perform better and improve, racing takes up my whole life and I'm content with that. You're a different breed. You don't take work home with you and that's how you were able to land this gorgeous girl."

"Hey, lay off the flirting with my fiance." Max snaps good naturdly, reaching for your hand and giving Lewis a wink. "Your singular focus is how you've won so many championships though and no one can fault you for that."

The rest of the interview continues for a few more minutes before you begin to wrap things up. It's been almost two hours at that point and the last 30 minutes of the interview is just Max and Lewis talking racing, Max threatening to retire, and Lewis threatening to pull an Alonso and never retire.

When the episode it released, it is a complete surprise and incredibly well received by everyone inside and outside the F1 community, which was somewhat surprising to you as you know what a hot button issue the 2021 season was and how polarizing discussing that very last race could be. In the end, it's one of your more favorite episodes and it opens up the doors to many more sports interviews, including a partnership with F1 TV for some mid-season post-race work that has you doing even more of what you love: getting to know the people beneath the sheen and shine of their own celebrity.

TheYappingHour Posted:

928,991 likes liked by charlesleclerc, ferrari, roscolovescoco, and others theyappinghour newest episode drops today featuring this handsome boy and his dad! ;) make sure you listen to the entire hour...there may be a surprise guest at the end! lewishamilton pleasure being on with you. and once again, congrats on the engagement! max is a lucky man! >>>theyappinghour oh lewis! you're the best. thank you <3 user028 i cannot get over how good she is at making people feel comfortable talking to her about hard things. i've NEVER heard lewis open up about 2021 like that before. >>>user9281 seriously. she is a magician. user0911 the cameo at the end! the yapping about the engagement! lewis sounding so genuinely happy for them! this may just be one of my favorite episodes ever.

tags: @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff

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abrthephantomq · 2 days ago

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I definitely argue for more the former than the latter.

Like, Phoenix is def not always up to date on the newest thing - so maybe there are things he's just LEGITIMATELY unaware of until they're relevant to him.

And isn't that really how shit works for....pretty much everyone?

Also I'd argue that while Edgeworth is saying "every" legal professional, he's probably really talking about the prosecutorial side of things. In the Matt Engarde case, he straight told Phoenix that the De Killer is an INCREDIBLY well-kept secret among the police and prosecutors only. And only a select handful of that.

Phoenix likely knows of cases where De Killer is ultimately the murderer, but those are likely going to frequently be left unsolved and De Killer's name is clearly left out from the media. The police see the calling card, the prosecutors see it and go FUCK, because they already know that the crime scene is going to, essentially, be useless. De Killer is perfect. De Killer doesn't LEAVE real evidence. He's a random man with no connection to the murdered individual and I assure you he does not kill each person the exact same way every time, either. So the media wouldn't catch wind of it being a serial killer, either.

If Adrian Andrews hadn't messed with the crime scene AND hadn't taken the calling card, Miles would have no doubt stepped in IMMEDIATELY, the second that card was entered into evidence. I highly doubt that Franziska would have been made privy to the De Killer's cases. She's a damn good prosecutor, but there's a level of finesse that Miles has that she doesn't have (just yet - she'll get there. You see improvement, even, when she comes back in AA3). Also Japan (where the games take place and the localization team is bouncing off of) is just as if not more sexist than the US - her gender would definitely have an impact on whether she would be deemed trustworthy enough to know.

Which, by the way, is absolutely fucking TERRIBLE because the real reason NOT to tell her is that she's a Von Karma and Manfred was obviously corrupt as FUCK and Edgeworth only just barely has beaten the Demon Prosecutor allegations, thanks to Phoenix coming along and absolutely reshaping his worldview, by Franziska's prosecutorial debut, but I DIGRESS.

The whole legal world probs does know about the one case the Turnabout Terror lost; it's probably a case study used in law school - because there was no way there WASN'T a huge amount of media involvement. Two rival television stars, of competing television shows???? Hell yeah the media would have been in a frenzy out the GATE. And since court records can be requested, there ain't no WAY the court records for the Matt Engarde case didn't leak out to the Ace Attorney world as a whole.

Knowing that the AAI games take place after the original trilogy, Miles is likely operating on the assumption that the Matt Engarde case has been studied by most legal professionals, if not all. Phoenix's knowledge about De Killer came about when anything involving De Killer was disclosed on a need to know basis. He needed to know.

Before that case, he wouldn't have needed to. Because most people did not. After, though?

Yeah, after things would have been changed, across the board, for the AA world.

this implies one of two things: either the engarde case was a huge deal in-universe and de killer's profile rose since then, or phoenix wright is the most oblivious motherfucker in the entire legal practice

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #shelly de killer #miles Edgeworth #Franziska von Karma #my thoughts

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keferon · 3 days ago

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*thwack*

Get his ass!

*insert about the cruel indifference of the universe vs the indomitable human spirit, idk*

————————

Prowl watched Jazz wrap his discolored torso with some sort of cloth type bandage, fascinated by the way the injury seemed to mimic the injury that Jazz’s… mech… had taken during the battle just breems before. The first time that Prowl had gotten to watch Jazz patch himself up, he had hovered worriedly and awkwardly. At the time, he had only just learned a few cycles before that his closest friend was an organic who piloted a mech-like body as a weapon, and not the mech itself.

Jazz had babbled on and on about how his mech could take serious damage and he would be fine, but sometimes the “DRIFT” connection between organic and machine meant that some wounds transferred over to the organic body. If Jazz took a blow to the helm and lost it, he wouldn’t have to worry about dying, but he would have a helm-splitting headache afterwards. Apparently, it had something to do with the cerebral connection that was needed to pilot such a large piece of machinery like it was an extension of your person. Some kind of unethical science that definitely would have had some bots going to jail if Jazz were Cybertronian. It reminded Prowl too much of Shockwave.

When the Praxian had expressed his discomfort at the slight connection he had made, Jazz had given him a small sad smile. The words that Jazz spoke in reply would probably haunt him for deca-cycles.

“When we were invaded, what was and wasn’t ethical kinda got thrown out the window. We were losin’ cities everyday, our population was dwindin’, either due to the Quints or due to civil unrest. Humans… we ‘ave short lives compared to you guys. But we love’em. Threw all our cards into one basket, and prayed. Monsters to fight Monsters was the propaganda they spread when I was growing up.”

Prowl’s optics dimmed lightly as he watched Jazz stretch upwards, pulling at the bandages and heavy bruises. The human made a slight groaning noise as bones popped from the stress. He turned to look up at Prowl, spinning a-top Prowl’s desk to give him a wide and mischievous grin. Prowl snorted faintly, watching his friend with a fondness in his EM field that he knew Jazz couldn’t feel.

“They never said anything about wha’ the Hunter Program does to the pilot. Only that when ya signed up, ya got a mech matching your specific specs and the opportunity to go slay monsters. Sometimes the mech was prebuilt, from a pilot who died and left their mech still intact, and sometimes you got your own personalized one. The mech itself though… they were never the unethical part of the program. It was all the serums and shit that they stuffed into me to ensure I’d survive the DRIFT process. I… I remember being tied down to a med-bunk and… and just flashes of horrific pain.”

Jazz walked up to Prowl, still grinning, preening almost like a turbo kitten. The Praxian laid out his servo so Jazz could crawl aboard, being mindful of his organic friend. He lifted Jazz up to his shoulder, relaxing as Jazz tucked himself in close, humming softly as he settled in the take a nap on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl’s doorwings fluttered a bit.

“Yer not wrong. That what we did to survive was unethical, probably inhumane. But… humans… we hate losing. We do unspeakable things when given the right motivation. For some it’s love, loyalty, family, country, pride, greed. I’ve seen pilots pull themselves from their mech’s corpse, waving a gun at the jaws of a monster, whilst missing an arm and half their face. I’ve seen doctors tie down rookie pilots and pump them full of drugs and serums, watch them scream and plead for mercy, watch them die when it’s too much for their body to handle, so that pilots don’t die the minute they try to DRIFT. Yer not wrong. Humans can be vile and cruel and outright terrible, but we can also strive for peace and love and kindness. It’s that, that makes us survivors.”

Jazz’s humming fell quiet as he fell asleep against Prowl’s neck, causing the Praxian to relax slowly back into his office chair. He looked up at the data pad that Knockout had given him, containing Jazz’s full medical checkup. The list of everything in near critical condition for his species was… alarming. Jazz had said he felt fine during the checkup. Knockout’s reading said differently. Knockout’s readings said Jazz was dying. That Jazz had been dying for years.

Jazz knew he was dying and wasn’t moving to fix it. Because pilots have their life for their planet, and pilots had a set expiration date.

Jazz had accepted this date.

Prowl had never been so angry.

“An expiration date” made me silently stare into space for a while. Hoooly shit….

#mecha pilot jazz au

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liahaslosthermind · 2 days ago

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~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 3

Part 3 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The Inner Circle meets the most important person in Azriel's life. Warnings: Lia rewrites what the Carranam bond is to fit her own fantasy, (Mention of) Bad injuries and domestic abuse, (Mention of) Azriel's dad 🤢, Inner Circle loves to STAY in Azriel's business, I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

“My Carranam.” The Spy Master replied.

No one was given time to think, much less respond, before Azriel had commanded everyone to leave the room. They would have been more reluctant to do so, the desire to know what the hell he meant was painful, had the serious look on the strange female’s face, and the look of despair on Azriel’s, had given them the impression this conversation was better left between the two.

Out in the hallway, Cassian finally voiced his concern,

“Should we have left him alone with whoever that was? He isn’t in any state to be fighting back should he ne-”

Amren scoffed at the question. “I’d trust her with him far more than you all.”

“What do you mean? Do you know her?” Elain asked.

“No, but he is her Carranam. You all might not know the significance of such a bond- I don’t even know much about it myself, but I know enough to believe there is no one who would protect and cherish him more.” There was a sort of amazement and respect in Amren’s eyes that told the rest of them that she was right. Gave them enough information to walk away from the bedroom, content on letting Azriel come to them when he was ready.

—

The Inner Circle was no longer content waiting for their Spy Master to make an appearance. All had been sitting at the dining table for what must have been millenia, plates full with no appetite as millions of questions swarmed their heads. Amren had seemingly been the only one to have any idea what any of this could have meant, but the second she got the chance, she disappeared so she wouldn’t be bothered with questions about something that had nothing to do with her.

Finally, Nesta broke the silence.

“Do you think he is purposefully trying to torture us by taking forever?” She asked, eyeing the very apparent shadows in the corner that had been slithering to and from the room since they had all sat down. “Or do you think she is-”

“It would be my fault Azriel was occupied for a bit.” The strange fae announced as she entered the room, Azriel by her side with a slight limp. The two looked… strange together, but also so right. White feathered wings stood tall behind the female, nicely contrasting Azriel’s leathery Illyrian ones. Where he was crowned in darkness and shadows, she seemed to have bathed in light. It should have contrasted each other terribly, but their stark differences only seemed to compliment the other.

It also didn’t escape anyone’s notice how their friend looked thousands of times better than he did just hours earlier.

He was still clearly injured, but far from the edge of death he teetered on these past few days.

“How? Madja could only do so much for him.” Rhysand asked, astonished at how well his brother looked.

She helped him into his seat before taking the empty one next to him. Even as they got comfortable, her hand never left his arm, finding comfort in his touch after days of agony and helplessness.

“Junia is a healer. The best Dawn has to offer.” Azriel said, the pride clear in his voice. It made sense that she- Junia had been from Dawn. A Peregryn and an Illyrian, two lesser fae known for their warrior skills and inherent desire for the skies.

“I am not as skilled as Madja, but it's easier to heal when you know exactly what is wrong, exactly what hurts.” Junia said, rolling her eyes at Azriel’s shameless bragging.

She let out a deep and rich laugh as she looked at everyone’s faces, all pained by the many questions swirling around in there. Feyre noted that she hadn’t heard such a joyous laugh since Azriel had done the same when Elain had gifted him medicine for all the headaches the Inner Circle gave him.

Clearly, whatever bond they had between them was deep.

“You better introduce me, put them out of their misery.” She teased Az, who had been too caught up relishing her laugh, after a very long and rough berating it was nice to see her not seconds away from tearing out his wings.

“R-right. Uh- this is my- well this is-” Azriel stammered.

“Mother above Az, don’t hurt yourself," Cassian amused.

Azriel closed his mouth as he blushed, unsure of how to go about this.

“My name is Junia. As the brooding bat said, I am his Carranam.” Junia answered, side eyeing Azriel.

Keep it together, Az. It's a little pathetic.

Azriel responded to her teasing look with a glare. We haven’t had to tell anyone about this in a while. Why don’t you try to explain it to these idiots if you are so clever.

Rhysand noticed the silent conversation going on between them.

“You can converse like Daemati? Is that your ability?” The High Lord asked her.

They both hesitated, realizing they didn’t really know how their so-called “telepathy” worked.

“No- or I don’t believe so at least. When you communicate with someone, you are doing so verbally, even if not aloud, correct? I don’t hear Azriel’s voice in my head, I just feel what he is trying to tell me, if that makes sense.”

“Like a mating bond?” Feyre questioned.

“Also no. It's not our feelings that are conveyed solely, we can gather more specific meaning from it. Yes, Junia would feel I was not excited for this conversation, but she would also know I was offering her one last chance to leave, should she also not want to deal with all of your… strong personalities.” Azriel responded, looking at Junia. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with his family.

She laughed at his desperation which, while very clear to her, she knew the Inner Circle was none the wiser to the just how far Azriel was willing to go to leave this table. She could see him coming up with escape routes in his head as he picked up his wine glass.

“Oh you poor delicate flower,” She teased.

Unfortunately, they all still noticed the blush that once again appeared on Az’s face, laughing at their scary brother, head tortured of the Night Court, being compared to a ‘delicate flower’.

Downing the rest of his glass, Azriel finally explained.

“A carranam bond isn’t like a mating bond. It comes from an old phrase, A Soul Friend. It gives Junia and I the ability to channel each other's powers, even make them stronger when we are together. Like you noticed, we have a different, more intimate way of communicating, far stronger than Daemati and mates can.”

“How the hell has no one else here heard of this bond?” Nesta asked, skeptical. Seems like something a group of people as obsessed with the mating bond would know about.

“It is rare, extremely so. There are also many… vulnerabilities that come with a bond such as this. To find your carranam is hard enough, most will never be born with one. But to accept such a bond is dangerous. And unfortunately there have been instances of others abusing such a gift. Tying their carranam up to reap their abilities, taking so much from them that both end up going insane. It became illegal in many places and eventually was forgotten by our world.” Junia answered.

“How did you find out what you guys had?” Feyre jumped in.

While this was Junia’s story as much as Azriel’s, she hesitated. Because there was another factor to that story, and she didn’t believe she was the one who should talk about it first.

Another glance between the two, a question asked. Azriel answered it by speaking up, “Junia is from Dawn. After my… mother was released- rescued from my father’s abuse, she wasn’t in wonderful shape. Fortunately, Rhys, Cassian, and myself found a place created by High Lord Thesan’s mother that offered aid to those escaping similar situations, Rosehall. That is where Junia worked as head healer. She helped my mother a lot throughout the years.” Such admiration and gratitude in his voice made several people at the table start to tear up.

Everyone was quiet. While Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor knew the story of Azriel’s mother being sent to Rosehall, they hadn’t known about Junia, just about the healer Az’s mother had gotten along with-

“You are the friend of his mother’s he sends gifts to every Solstice?” Mor asked, having been approached by Azriel for help with buying said gifts many times in the past.

“I thought you picked those gifts out yourself? You didn’t tell me Mor did all the work.” Junia turned to Az.

“I do pick them out, you just have peculiar taste. I have needed her help locating shops to buy such things before. That's it.” Az defended.

I certainly do have peculiar taste she silently said to Az who, again, blushed at the double entendre.

He quickly cleared his throat, “A few years after my mother had entered her care, while I was visiting, there was an attack on Rosehall. It was one of the families of a newer resident enacting revenge for escaping abuse. When many were hurt or dying… or dead, the two of us the only ones available to help, this bond had snapped out because of that desperation. It was new but it felt like it had always been there. We both leaned into the feeling and fortunately it didn’t end terribly. Suddenly, my shadows were able to start healing, and were able to talk to Junia, giving her any info on people who needed her help that she couldn’t see.”

Everyone was astonished at such a story. So different but also so similar to the mating bond.

“Since then we have been each others’ confidants. While we don’t live particularly close, shadow walking gives me the ability to come to him whenever, and vice versa. Plus the connection is always there, even miles upon miles apart.” Junia answered.

“Why keep it a secret?” Cassian questioned, knowing how much a connection like this would matter to Az, but confused because wouldn’t he want his family to know about him having such a bond?

“I am not exactly without enemies, Cas. I couldn’t have a possibility of someone coming after her because of me.” The sound of raw pain in his voice let his family know that this wasn’t something that was simply a fear.

Someone had gone after her in revenge.

“Your secret is safe with us. You are safe with us. Should you need anything, just say the word.” Rhysand offered.

The two carranam looked at each other. “After I spent a while yelling at Azriel for scaring me half to death multiple times in the past few days. We decided that maybe it was best I… step back from Rosehall.” Junia explained, sadness present in her tone as she talked about leaving the place that had been her sole purpose for her entire life. “I have healers on my staff that deserve the promotion, including Azriel’s mother, who has used her experiences to really become a confidant and friend to so many of our residents.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed at the mention of just how much his mom had healed and helped since she escaped his father.

Excitement filled the room at the possibility of adding another to their family. But Junia was still painfully aware of just how many questions everyone had.

“Alright, now that all the nitty gritty is out of the way, you can all begin your interrogation,” she teased.

All at once, tens of questions left everyone’s mouth. Not a single one able to be distinguished over the rest.

Azriel’s hand reached down to hold Junia’s, squeezing her while seeming to say I told you we should have escaped while we could.

They both downed their wine glasses while they waited for the Inner Circle to tire themselves out.

A/N: Originally, this was the end. But I think I created so much backstory and also fell too much in love with Junia not to add more. So please let me know if you'd like more to this series! (And what you’d like to see)

Taglist: @bunnyred-blog1 @that-one-bibliophole @fuckingsimp4azriel @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minaaminaa8 @lilah-asteria @azrielswhore @maksamillion

(If you are featured here but you didn't get tagged, check your privacy settings to make sure you allow for tags!)

#acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #rhysand #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel x oc

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mononijikayu · 2 days ago

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forg_tful — fushiguro megumi.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them. Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor. You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

GENRE: alternate universe - grim reaper au;

WARNING/S: mythical beings and creatures, aged up megumi, heavy angst, romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, unhappy life, depression, illness, hurt, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, humor, guilt, pining, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, depiction of character death, depiction of illness, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of panic attack, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, grim reaper! megumi, long suffering dying! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: when i was dabbling about what to post, i did a wheel of names and megumi won so here is another megumi fic. i was talking with @midnight-138 the other day and we got in this conversation about goblin, the kdrama. and there were grim reapers there. so i ended up writing about that here. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!!! anyway, i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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THERE IS A WONDER ABOUT HUMAN DESTINY. You heard a story about it then, at the orphanage. One of your carers would tell you about it often. How humans were born into this destiny in this new life after their old one.

And this life is determined by how good or bad that past life was. And that each and everyone must live a good enough life in each cycle, in order to have a good life in the next.

When you were a child, understanding this concept felt like a challenge. How could one’s destiny ever be decided just like that, by things you don’t even remember? Who gets to decide whether or not we are good?

Is good and bad easy to tell? You would ask the older kids at the orphanage this, and sometimes you caretakers. But they never seem to understand why you could not accept it as it is.

After all, you were a child. And a child would always find that ridiculous, you think. You were a child. You haven’t done anything wrong. Not to anyone. Not about anything.

You doubt you could have done something in your past life that should warrant any punishment. You were someone people knew to be a good kid, you always have been. People looked at you warmly, ever so kindly.

But now you can only say that you know better. You have grown up. You had seen the truth. And it was not good, it was ugly and rotten. It was a tragedy. And you hated it. You hated everything about it.

Because your past life, your past self — they might have been a terrible person. They must have been the worst of the worst. Because, if you weren’t, then what justifies that sad suffering? That painful existence you had lived up until now.

You sighed heavily, taking in the whiff of bitter antiseptic, that artificial fragrance. You like to think you’ve been cursed to live a sad life. And today was just another proof of it.

Every thought of it just lingers like a familiar shadow, whispering in the quiet moments when you’re too tired to fight back. It’s easier to believe in curses than coincidences, easier to pin your pain on something cosmic than accept a world so indifferent.

You were an orphan, after all. Not in the storybook sense where miracles come to those who wait, but in the raw, unvarnished truth of it. Alone from the start, without a name to cry out to when the nights felt endless.

There was no mother to call for warm hugs, there was no father to give you reassurances. Just that cold metal bunk bed, which creaks at night as you twist and turn and the dark moonless nights.

You were passed from one place to another, faceless in a system that churned endlessly, always one more lost child than it could handle. You kept being told that it wasn’t that because you were unlovable, that’s what they always said.

But it was just that they found out what love looks like when they look at someone else, at another child that they think fits in their family. That was just how they felt they said, that was just their truth. And it shouldn't be personal.

You learned early on that love wasn’t guaranteed, that kindness wasn’t free, and that your worth was measured by how little trouble you caused. And just like that you grew up in that orphanage, being your own parent, being your own mother and father, your own sibling. Your own family.

When the kids at school found out, they immediately latched onto it. The teasing started small, barbs disguised as jokes, but it grew sharper, crueler. Just as the years dragged on, they had grown to be even crueler, even more vicious about being someone like you.

Even as you started to have your own life and slowly became an adult, you found that people would never think to give you anything. You had expectations at one point that people would be more understanding. That they would give you more grace about it.

But you would find yourself broken up over by your significant other because their mother didn’t like that you had no one in your family. Well, their mother never liked you from the beginning.

They thought you were difficult and had no manners, all because you never had a family, no parents to teach you all the things that would make a good person.

You would find yourself having friends and then getting into fights with them when you couldn’t show up for them at times, because you had to work multiple jobs to get through college.

Or how you couldn’t hang out with them because you had to take another shift for extra cash for your rent. They would say, what would be the need of you if you can’t be there?

Over time, you found yourself isolated from the world. No matter what you did, you found yourself alone. You found yourself unable to please people, unable to keep people. Unable to attain happiness or peace in this life. And over time too, you stopped expecting anyone to step in. You stopped expecting anything at all.

You’ve had a rough life—that’s what they’d call it, isn’t it? A neat little phrase to gloss over the thorny, jagged edges of this existence. It was as if that phrase could capture all of the nights spent crying into your pillow, the gnawing hunger for connection, for someone; the sense that the world moved on without ever noticing you.

And somehow, your misery can only continue.

It started with little things, barely noticeable at first—a name you couldn’t recall, a face that seemed familiar but unplaceable. Then it got worse and worse as time went by. Days lost to a haze of things you couldn’t explain, moments slipping through your fingers like water flowing downstream.

You didn’t wanna worry about it that much in the beginning. Maybe you’ve been working too hard. You’ve taken so much work these past few weeks. And maybe you had forgotten to eat anything.

You had a sensitive stomach, after all. Maybe that’s what has been causing the fatigue and the headache. Maybe the headaches are the reason you’ve been forgetting a lot of things. Yeah, that’s what it could be.

Yet, it just never went away. Even with the lifestyle changes, even when you would cut back on work to take care of yourself and rest. Nothing had changed. In fact, the pain had only gotten worse.

And more and more, you would find yourself forgetting things more and more. At one point, you had cried so much after forgetting which street you lived on after work.

You had felt your head spinning, your vision went on a blur and that night lamp began to burn against your eyes. Your breath labored over and over, and you had tried to get it controlled — but you couldn’t. Tears fell even more as you leaned against the lamp post. You felt like you were going to collapse.That you were going to throw up on the floor.

It took some time for yourself to regain some control, you knew that much. You just stayed there, letting the tears fall. You still didn’t remember where you had lived. You were forgetting it all. And that frustrated you to no end. You knew then that this can’t continue happening. That this cannot continue on.

That’s why you came here in this godforsaken place known as the hospital. You’ve always hated hospitals. It was such a terrible place. Even as a child, getting your check–ups with the other orphans terrified you. Nothing about this place spells any good. You were already with bad luck, with such a terrible destiny in this life and you didn’t want it to continue.

But you cannot control destiny, not ever.

You could only control yourself.

And even that, you cannot have control.

Not anymore, not ever again.

The doctors confirmed it: a rare, terminal illness. Brain cancer, in its final stages. Not only was it going to kill you, it was going to take everything that made you along with it.

Your memories, no matter how horrible, your identity, no matter how empty, your self, no matter how broken. All of who you are — you'd fade away in pieces, becoming a hollow shell long before your body gave out.

You thought the universe had no more ways to hurt you.

But you knew you were wrong, from the very beginning.

And then, on a night when the weight of it all felt unbearable, you saw him.

He wasn’t what you expected. No black cloak, no skeletal frame, no cold, lifeless eyes. The grim reaper was... human. Or at least, he looked that way. His dark colored hair fell in soft, dark strands over his forehead, his clothes unassuming—a rather plain and boring suit, even.

But there was something in his presence, a quiet intensity, that made your heart skip. His blue-green eyes, sharp and unreadable, pinned you in place, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“Who are you?” you asked, though deep down you already knew.

He studied you in silence for a moment, as though deciding whether you were worth an answer. Your eyes narrowed at him, as though trying to make sure that this isn’t just your brain making a mess of you. But he wasn’t. He was very much real. He was very much here. Finally, he spoke.

“Megumi.” he said. His voice was calm, steady, but there was something beneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You hadn’t expected that from a grim reaper. You had expected something more rough. Something more….grim.

“Is that all?” you pressed, desperation clawing at your throat. You wanted—no, needed—to know more. Why him? Why now? Why couldn’t you just be left alone?

“That’s all you need to know about me.” he said simply.

His words were a wall you couldn’t scale. No matter how hard you tried, you knew there would be no answers, no explanations, no mercy. At least not until you were dead. You sighed, leaning against the bench.

This was it. The final countdown was coming soon. There was no escape. Yet, as the silence stretched between you, a strange feeling took root in your chest. Not comfort, not exactly. But something close. It was at least something. And for once, you weren’t alone.

You didn’t know what this grim reaper, this Megumi, was meant to be to you. What was he? Was he a guide, a witness, a judge? You didn’t know. And perhaps it was easier not to ask questions, to not know.

But as you continued to sit there, staring at the one who would carry you to your end, a thought crossed your mind. At least he wasn’t judging you. At least he was just there, waiting. He was calm as can be, quiet and without any grievances towards you.

Perhaps, maybe — at least he wasn’t as cruel as life has been. You began to think to yourself as you closed your eyes about one thing. Maybe if he was here, then maybe the end wouldn’t be so lonely after all. Maybe there will finally be some sense of peace at the end.

You opened your eyes, your lips seeping into a small smile. “I look forward to meeting my end with you.”

══════════════════

AS THE TIME GOES BY, HE WAS WITH YOU IN EVERYTHING. No one else around you could feel or see him the way you do. And he couldn’t go anywhere else. He was bound to you, until he could take your soul away and bring it with him. So, Megumi continued to watch over you as you continued to live your life, or at least what remains of it.

At first, his presence unnerves you. You weren’t used to this, being watched so closely almost everyday and every hour — especially with what remained of your miserable life. But slowly you found yourself getting used to him being around. And at the very least, he still gave you space when you did things that required privacy.

Otherwise, he’s always there, quiet and still, like a shadow you can’t shake. And as the days stretch into weeks, you begin to realize that he isn’t all bad. He does talk, sometimes. At least when he thinks you do something worth giving a response about.

He was truly quite reserved and serious half the time, yes, and almost cold in the way he speaks and carries himself, but there’s something beneath it. It wasn’t easy to notice at first, because it was ever so subtle. It was as if he never wanted anyone to notice that there was something soft within that hard exterior of his.

Megumi didn’t seem to fit his job description—not at all. He was patient in a way you didn’t expect from a reaper. From what you’d gathered from folklore and stories about grim reapers, you imagined something far more ominous.

Shadows and sickles, maybe even whispers of death. But Megumi? He had a quiet presence that felt nothing like the foreboding figures you’d pictured.

When your mind betrays you, when a memory slips through your fingers like grains of sand, Megumi is there. He doesn’t judge the gaps, doesn’t rush you to remember. Instead, he catches the loose ends with an ease that seems effortless.

Sometimes, it feels as though he’s more of a guide than a harbinger, steering you gently through the storm of forgetfulness. His voice is steady, grounding. His gaze is understanding, never invasive.

There’s a calmness to him, a patience that wraps around you like a soft cocoon. It’s disarming. You wonder how someone charged with ferrying souls could be so tender. Yet, when you look at him, you see no malice, no hint of the cold indifference you expected. Just the faintest trace of weariness in his eyes, as if he’s carried too many burdens that aren’t his own.

Sometimes, you forget who he is. And in those moments, Megumi doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets you speak, lets you ramble, and when the memory comes back, when you remember why he’s here—he doesn’t revel in the grief.

He simply nods, a quiet acknowledgment that this, too, is part of the process. He’s not here to rush the inevitable; he’s here to make sure you don’t face it alone.

“Your nurse’s name is Alice, by the way.” Megumi says again when you struggle to introduce yourself.

You could feel your mouth fumbling over syllables that don’t quite fit together. Your cheeks feel red at the thought, now remembering as she smiled at your direction. You waved at her. His voice is calm, steady, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to find your footing. You blink at him, your thoughts swirling too fast to make sense of.

“Huh?” you finally ask, the confusion thick in your tone.

“She takes care of you in the mornings. Alice always makes sure to bring your meds with water, no ice.” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to know. “You told her once that cold water hurts your teeth, so she makes sure to bring you water without ice.

You glance down at your hands, unsure of what to say. His eyes felt warm against your own as you nodded slowly at him, trusting his words. Those details feel foreign to you, like a story you heard about someone else. But his words fit, even if you can’t remember saying them. They were warm, they felt truthful.

“Oh.” you mumble with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He looks away from you. “No problem.”

Later, in the cafeteria, you sit in front of a tray of food that feels unfamiliar. Your appetite is as absent as the clarity of your thoughts. You stare at the carton of apple juice, its horrifically bright label somehow irritating, though you can’t pinpoint why at all.

“You liked orange juice better than apple.” Megumi says, breaking the silence. He gestures toward the carton with a small nod. “That one’s your favorite. Not too sweet, not too sour.”

The simplicity of the statement hits you like a lifeline, tethering you to something concrete. You pick up the carton, turning it in your hands before setting it back down. You smiled at him again, but this time almost a mix of relief and embarrassment. You were relying on your grim reaper to remind you of everything, now more than ever.

“Thank you.” you say again, a little louder this time, just enough for him to hear.

The two of you sit in silence for a while before you decide to pull out the small notebook you’ve been keeping. Your doctor suggested it as your brain got even sicker. You needed to remember something and so this notebook, it was your place to track your thoughts before they disappear entirely.

You scribble furiously, trying to make sense of the jumble in your head. You’re working on a sentence about feeling forgetful, but the words tangle together, your handwriting messy and uneven. You pause, staring at it. Something feels wrong. Something feels off. Your face contorts, your eyes narrow at the page.

“You missed an E.” Megumi says softly, leaning over to glance at the page.

He doesn’t reach for the notebook, doesn’t try to take it from you. Instead, he taps the spot with his finger, just enough to draw your attention. Your eyes blinked. Sure enough, forgetful is written as forgtful. You bite your lip, heat rising to your cheeks as frustration bubbles up.

“I—I know that, you know?” you say defensively, though the truth is you hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out.

He doesn’t laugh or tease you. “It happens, don’t worry.” he says simply, his tone free of judgment. “You caught it now. That’s what matters.”

You glance at him, expecting pity, but his stoic expression is as steady as ever, like this moment isn’t something to dwell on. You pierce your lips in a tight line. You carefully picked up your pen again, correcting the error with a shaky hand.

“Thanks for telling me.” you mutter, embarrassed but grateful.

“You were talking about your favorite teacher, earlier.” he reminds you a little while later, after your thoughts derail mid-sentence.

You’d been telling him about a memory. It was a rare one, where everything about it was good. It was such a warm, fuzzy one that had felt so clear in your mind just moments ago—but now it’s slipping away, leaving you grasping at straws.

You look at him, feeling lost. “I... was?”

“You were.” he confirms with a small nod, his tone encouraging. “You said they were the first people to notice how much you liked writing. You were just getting to the part about their funny laugh.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right!” you whisper, the thread of the memory slowly weaving its way back into focus. “Right. Mr. Greene. He laughed like a seagull.”

Megumi doesn’t laugh at the description, but his lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. That was a rare thing, you knew that. But you like to think that maybe, just maybe, if he tried — he would look even better when he smiled. He already has a handsome face, you knew that. But maybe, his smile, it would make it even better.

“That’s it.” he says, his voice carrying a quiet kind of approval.

It’s small, these moments of clarity he gives you, but they feel monumental in a life that’s slowly crumbling. For a moment, you feel like you’ve reclaimed a small piece of yourself, and you can’t help but glance at him, wondering how someone like him, a reaper, of all things can make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

You can’t help but admit it but he was your first true friend.

He was your longest companion to boot, with that.

And perhaps, he will be the only constant you’ll ever have.

But maybe he already knew that and he just doesn’t tell you.

He accompanies you often, especially in the long, quiet hours spent tethered to hospital machines. The hum of monitors and the rhythmic drip of IVs become a backdrop to his steady, unobtrusive presence. At first, you think he’s only there to observe, to do whatever grim reapers are supposed to do as your life ticks away.

But the longer he stays, the more you realize he’s keeping you company at every appointment. Keeping you from being so alone. Even if it was his job, he could wait elsewhere. But he sits beside you, in an empty chair no one dares sit at.

And he stays, throughout each and every appointment. Appointments which barely keep you alive. It was only a matter of time before he had to deliver your soul to wherever it had to be.

You started to wonder if he’ll think about this time with you too. If he will find this moment to be something that will cross his mind once this job, you, were done and gone.

It’s strange, this relationship you’ve fallen into. He doesn’t talk much unless prompted, not unless you forgot something or need anything. But you like to think that you could start to rely on his silence. Especially when doctors and nurses give you all those complicated jargons that you didn’t even need.

It fills the void in a way words can’t. When you’re too tired to make conversation with visitors, when there are visitors, probably motivated by guilt or necessity, your grim reaper Megumi is there. Unfailingly, he would be sitting by your bedside, his gaze steady, his presence grounding. As though he wants to give you strength to deal with it all.

But of course, as you already know, no one else can see him. Just you. At first, you tried explaining him to the nurses, the doctors, or when you felt like talking about something you knew he would listen to — but the looks they gave you were enough to stop. They chalked it up to the illness, the stress, or the medications.

But Megumi is real. You know he’s real. The way he moves, the way he seems to sense your thoughts before you speak them, the way he exists on the edges of your life without ever intruding.

The way a glint in his eyes would appear warmer than before. He was here. He was there with you. You weren’t going crazy. And he knew that too. He was the only one that knew that.

One day, in the suffocating stillness of the hospital ward, you finally ask him the question that’s been gnawing at the edges of your mind. The pale light filtering through the blinds casts long shadows on the sterile white walls.

And the quiet hum of distant monitors feels unbearably loud. You shift uncomfortably in your bed, clutching the thin blanket as if it could anchor you to something solid.

“Why are you here?” The words escape your lips before you can stop them. Your voice is quiet, hesitant, but the question feels monumental, breaking the fragile peace between you.

Megumi doesn’t look surprised. He’s seated in the chair by your bed, one leg crossed over the other, his posture as calm as always. His gaze lifts from the book he’s been reading, something he always seems to have in his hands.

Though you’ve never seen him get past the halfway mark. He seems to be carrying it as though it was a prayer book he was forced to hold at a sermon at church.

“To watch you.” he says simply, his tone neutral. There’s no elaboration, no attempt to soften the starkness of his answer. As though it was almost like his words were that of fact. You furrow your brow, confused.

“I know that….But why? Why do you keep on watching me this closely?” you press, the weight of his presence suddenly more tangible. He isn’t like the nurses or the doctors who flit in and out of the room. He doesn’t belong here—not in the way they do.

“Are you uncomfortable about it?”

You blinked at him, your mouth agape for a moment. “N–no.”

“Okay, then. I’ll continue on doing what I want.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. You like to think that it was all you were going to get from him. So you just sighed, leaning against your hospital bed and closing your eyes. This was the most he’d ever talk to you, and perhaps the longest. That could be a win, right?

“For you.” He spoke again, as though he couldn’t handle the silence between you.

“For me?” you echo, your voice almost a whisper. The words feel foreign, as though they belong to someone else. “What does that mean?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your question. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion you can’t name. Not pity, not detachment, but something softer. “Does my reason matter?”

“You have me curious now.” You whisper to him, letting out a small laugh. “What was your reason?” you ask him again.

Though deep down, you think you already know. The thought lodges itself in your chest, sharp and unwelcome. Megumi doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. His gaze holds yours for some time, steady and unwavering.

“I made a promise I’d like to keep.” he says finally, the words carrying a gravity that makes your breath hitch.

“What promise?”

His eyes narrowed at you, almost as though it was full of hurt. “You don’t want to know.”

The suffocating stillness of the room presses down on you, but somehow, his presence feels like a small crack of light breaking through the weight of it all. You want to ask more—how he knows, why he cares, but the words catch in your throat, tangled in the storm of your thoughts.

It’s such a brief answer, yet it lingers with you long after the words fade. There’s no pity in his voice, no judgment, just a quiet truth that settles like a blanket over your weary mind. And in some inexplicable way, that’s enough.

So, instead you nod, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. It’s not acceptance, not yet, but maybe it’s the beginning of it. And Megumi, patient as ever, doesn’t push for more. He simply stays, his quiet presence a reminder that, whatever happens, you won’t face it alone.

Over time, Megumi’s presence becomes less foreboding and more… comforting. If someone told you a grim reaper could be anything close to a friend, you would’ve laughed. But now? You’re not so sure.

He still doesn’t talk much, but the moments he does are starting to feel less like obligations and more like. Well, like he cares. His dry humor catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips when you grumble about hospital food or tell him a ridiculous story from your childhood that you’re shocked you even remember.

“They let you keep a pet fish in third grade?” he asks one day, his eyebrow quirking ever so slightly.

“Let me? No, I smuggled it back to the orphanage.” you reply, puffing your chest out like it’s something to be proud of. “Named him Mr. Bubbles. He lived in a mason jar by our shared windowsill until one of the staff found him.”

Megumi gives you a sidelong glance, and for a second, you think he’s about to scold you. But instead, his lips quirk into the tiniest smile. “Mr. Bubbles, huh.” he repeats, almost to himself, and the sound of it in his voice makes your chest feel light.

He’s always a comfort in the painful days of longevity treatments. You were getting even worse, not even the precious medication was working. Megumi was the one to urge you to continue, even if they were never going to do anything for you.

After all, he was here for a reason. Nothing was going to help. And yet, he still insists that having more time is better than having little.

This time, you like to think you could agree with him. With more time, you could continue to have Megumi by your side. You could continue to have conversations with him.

You could continue to see his small ghostly smiles and find him sitting there beside you, looking through pages of that book he never reads. You could have more time living, experiencing some good in your life – a good that was waiting on death’s door.

Sitting in the chair beside you, his legs crossed casually, as though he’s simply there for the ambiance and not because you’re hooked up to an IV that feels like it’s siphoning the life out of you. Sometimes, you fall asleep mid-session, and when you wake up, you find him sitting exactly as he was, as if not a single moment has passed for him.

“I wasn’t sleeping at all.” you insist groggily one day, blinking the drowsiness away. “How could you even know I was sleeping at all? I know, it’s my body!”

“You were drooling.” he counters flatly, gesturing toward your chin. “Look, it’s still there in the corner of your lips.”

You hurriedly swipe at your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I was not!”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He could be a trickster when he wants to be. He could be silly from time to time. And funny enough with that dry humor that you could cry tears as you laugh so hard at what he says.

Despite his initial stoicism, Megumi starts picking up on your quirks, learning the things that make you smile. And most days now, especially now with these horrible and miserable treatments, you looked forward to them.

Like the time he noticed you doodling on the edge of your treatment log and, the next day, casually handed you a pack of gel pens. Your face conforms to a confused daze as you look at him and then at the gel pens in your hand. There were so many that you don’t even think you could count them.

“How the hell did you get this, Megumi?” You asked him, your eyes narrowing at him. “Why are there so many?”

“They were free.” he said, refusing to meet your eyes as you stared at the colorful bundle in awe.

“From where?” you asked, skeptical at his response to you.

“Places.” He still wasn’t looking at you.

“Megumi.” you drawled, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Do you want the pens or not?” he huffed, crossing his arms in a way that made him look surprisingly boyish. “They’re really good too. I tried them downstairs. And they’re free. What? Is the security going to look at your bag when you leave? This isn’t a mall, you know.”

You looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded at his sudden ridiculous tirade. Then slowly, your tummy rumbled as you laughed and laughed. The notion of it all was silly. Still, you were entertained by it. Megumi seemed glad that you laughed. And that you went along with all of it.

You took the pens, of course. You put them in your bag after he handed it to you. No one checked it and for the rest of the day, you tried them and made little doodles with them on your notepad at home. And that day, for the first time in a long time, you felt genuinely happy.

As much as Megumi claims he’s only there to “watch” you as part of his job, you found that it’s obvious he’s doing more than that. He’s doing the most out of all grim reapers you like to think.

Of course, you don’t know any other grim reapers. And you doubt you’d look sane if you tried to bring it up to another dying person. But your grim reaper, at least you, was the kindest.

As you settle into bed, the hospital room bathed in the faint glow of a bedside lamp, you glance over at Megumi. He’s sitting in his usual chair, arms folded loosely, his expression calm but watchful.

It’s become routine now. His quiet presence is a constant that you’ve come to rely on, though you’d never admit it outright.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor.

You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or perhaps a glimmer of gratitude he’d never put into words. His lips purse into a flat line, as he looks at you. You could tell that there’s something in his green–blue orbs that you couldn’t read. But you knew better than to ask.

“Thank you, Megumi.” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“For what?” he asks, his gaze steady on you.

“For being the first good thing in my life.” you say simply, your chest tightening as you force the words out.

It feels strange to say, especially to someone like him. You know you shouldn’t be thanking the person meant to take your soul, the one who will guide you into the unknown. But it feels right. You swallow hard, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. Thanking a grim reaper. But I mean it. You were... the kindest thing in my destiny. And I think that’s enough to be happy about.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything right away. He doesn’t need to. The faintest nod of his head, the subtle softening of his usually stoic expression, is answer enough. The weight in your chest eases as you let your head sink into the pillow. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you fight to keep them open just a little longer.

“Goodnight, Megumi.” you murmur, your voice trailing off as sleep begins to take hold.

“Good night.” he says softly, his voice carrying a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

As your breathing slows, becoming steady and rhythmic, Megumi stays where he is, his gaze fixed on you. And he knows. He just knows—it’s time. Your time. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and bittersweet, but he doesn’t flinch.

This was always the inevitability, but watching you now, peaceful and free from the fear that had once gripped you, he feels something akin to relief. Perhaps even a quiet sadness.

When the time comes, Megumi will be there, as he always has been. For now, though, he lets you rest, a faint sense of solace settling over the room.

══════════════════

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, THIS MISSION WASN’T EVEN FOR HIM TO TAKE. Megumi didn’t choose this assignment at random. No, not at all. That morning began like any other in the sterile monotony of his existence. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale glow on the rows of cubicles where reapers sat, reviewing their tasks for the day.

He’d been staring at the dregs of his coffee, debating whether he had the energy to bother getting a fresh cup, when the assignments for the day appeared on the board—a mosaic of names, dates, faces.

He’d glanced up, disinterested at first. It was just another day in an endless cycle of endings. Souls came and went, and reapers like him did their jobs, guiding them to whatever came next. There was no time for attachment, no reason to linger on a single name or face.

But then he saw yours.

And everything stopped.

His coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor in a muted crash. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He blinked once, twice, as if his eyes might be playing tricks on him. But no matter how many times he looked, it was unmistakable.

It was you.

Your face stared back at him from the board, frozen in a candid snapshot. It was a face he knew better than his own, even after all this time. A face he’d never forgotten, not even through lifetimes of distance.

It had been so long since he’d last seen you. Lifetimes ago, you had been more than just a part of his world—you had been his world. The memories were fractured and blurred at the edges, but they still burned vividly enough to hurt.

He remembered your laugh, bright and unrestrained, echoing through a life that had otherwise been far too short. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your gaze full of trust, full of hope.

He remembered losing you.

And now here you are again, pulled into this cycle of life and death that neither of you could escape. But this time, you were already dying. You were going to go and suffer again, and there would be no one to save you. He couldn’t stop it last time. And now, he cannot stop it this time. It was set in stone already.

And yet, his heart breaks over and over again. You were barely more than a child, younger than either of you had been in your shared past life. You hadn’t even been given a chance to live, and yet the world had decided it was already time to take you away.

Megumi’s heart ached in a way he hadn’t thought possible anymore. He was a reaper. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. But as he stared at your photo, the weight of it all crushed him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that you’d been taken from him once, and now it was happening all over again. This time, there would be no miracles, no last-minute reprieves. He knew that. He’d seen it a thousand times in other lives.

But he couldn’t just let you go alone.

Without thinking, he rose from his chair, his movements mechanical as he walked toward the board. Each step felt heavier than the last, his resolve hardening with every breath. When he reached your name, he stared at it for a long moment before finally speaking.

“I’ll take this one.” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The room went silent. Assignments weren’t supposed to be chosen; they were distributed at random to avoid any emotional entanglements. Reapers were meant to be impartial. But no one questioned him. Megumi rarely spoke, rarely asked for anything. If he wanted this assignment, there had to be a reason.

As he returned to his desk, your face still fresh in his mind, he made himself a quiet promise. He couldn’t save you. The rules were clear. Your fate was already written, and nothing he did could change that.

But he could be there. He could make sure you didn’t have to face the end alone, that you wouldn’t have to feel the crushing loneliness he’d once felt when he lost you before.

Even if you didn’t remember him. Even if you didn’t know that in another life, you had been his entire world. He would carry that pain for both of you. Because this wasn’t just another assignment. It was you. And losing you again, even knowing it was inevitable, would be the cruelest fate of all.

When Megumi first appeared to you, he knew he had to keep his emotions in check. His job wasn’t to interfere, and no matter how much it hurt to see you again, he couldn’t let the truth slip. You didn’t know who he was, didn’t recognize the connection you’d once shared.

And why would you? To you, he was just a stranger. A quiet, brooding figure who had been assigned to shadow your dying days.

At first, he told himself that keeping his distance would make it easier. That if he stayed aloof, if he acted like this was just another assignment, maybe the ache in his chest wouldn’t consume him. But the moment he saw how lonely you were, trapped in a hospital bed, tethered to machines, fading faster than anyone your age should—he couldn’t help himself.

It was the little things at first. Reminding you of a nurse’s name when your memory failed. Offering a quiet presence during your treatments. Bringing you that pack of gel pens when he noticed your fingers twitching over the edges of your journal, longing to create something amidst the monotony of hospital life.

But as the days turned into weeks, Megumi found himself doing more than he should.

He started sitting closer to you, his usual stoic demeanor softening with every conversation. He started bringing you small comforts—a cup of coffee he swore he “found” a scarf on the day the hospital felt too cold, a faint smile when you told him a joke, no matter how bad it was.

“Why do you even hang around?” you asked one afternoon, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and weariness.

You’d just finished another grueling medicinal session, your body too weak to sit up straight. He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in his dark blue–green eyes. Then, he shrugged.

“You’re interesting to me.” he said simply, but his voice betrayed the truth he couldn’t say.

You laughed weakly. “Interesting? I’m a walking tragedy.”

“No, never say that. Not ever again.” he said firmly, his tone surprising you. “You’re more than that. You are more than your tragedy.”

The words hung in the air, and you didn’t press further. But in that moment, something shifted between you. As time went on, you began to look forward to his visits. He wasn’t just a reaper to you anymore; he was someone who made the unbearable a little more bearable.

Someone who listened when you needed to vent, who stayed when the nights felt too long, who reminded you that even in the shadow of death, you weren’t invisible. And Megumi… Megumi was breaking all his own rules. Rules he had set long after you, long before you again.

Every time he saw you laugh, even if it was just a fleeting chuckle, a part of him swore he’d do anything to keep that spark alive. But every time he saw you struggle; when your hands trembled too much to hold a pen, when your memories slipped further and further away—his heart ached in ways it hadn’t in centuries.

He hated this. Hated that you had to go through this. Hated that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t change your fate. But he stayed by your side through it all. He lets himself relive it all over again, no matter the pain. No matter what comes. Because it’s you. Come what may, it’s you.

“You know, Megumi.” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the hum of the machines. “You’re not so bad to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. “Not so bad?”

You smiled, your eyes heavy with exhaustion but still warm. “Yeah. You’re like... a friend. A precious friend.”

A friend. The word stabbed at him more than it should have. Because that’s all he could ever be to you in this life. A friend. A shadow. A quiet presence watching over you as you slowly slipped away.

“You think so, huh?” He asks you, as you nodded and smiled. Silence engulfs the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s precious friend before.”

“Then we are the same. Well, almost.”

He blinks at your words. “What do you mean?”

“If you call me your precious friend too, then we’ll finally have it. Being a precious person, at least once.”

You’ve always been a precious person to me. Megumi thinks to himself. In every lifetime, in every you — you have always been my precious person.

And even though he would never tell you the truth, that you’d been so much more to him in another life, that losing you once had broken him and losing you again was killing him all over again, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Because this was his last chance to be with you, even if you didn’t remember him. Even if it would never be enough. Nothing with you would ever be enough, not even if you lived a thousand years.

But, every moment is worth it, no matter how short it would be. When you love someone that much, it has to be enough. It has to be more than enough. He has to live through this immortal and wretched life, making those moments feel like they were as eternal as him. Even if he wanted more.

“Alright.” Megumi says to you as you perk up, your eyes shining. “You are a precious person to me.”

You giggled at his words. “Was it so hard to say? I am grateful that you said it at all.”

It was never hard to say. It never had been.

But now he has to live that memory over and over again.

He lets his lips echo a small warm smile as he looks at you.

“No, no it wasn’t hard at all.”

══════════════════

THE TREATMENTS HAVE STOPPED FULLY. And because of that your condition was getting worse and worse. The moments of clarity you once had were growing fewer and farther between. The pain in your body became an unwelcome constant, a weight that pulled you down even when you tried to fight against it.

Every movement felt like dragging yourself through glass, and the fog in your mind thickened, stealing memories and thoughts before you could fully grasp them. Everything about it felt so fragile, and you were afraid of breaking it. Even if it was already broken, you were scared at seeing it break even more. You were scared and he couldn’t do much about it.

Megumi hated seeing you like this. He watched as you lay curled in your bed, tears streaming silently down your face, your breathing shaky and uneven. He hated the way your hands trembled as you gripped the blanket.

It was as if holding onto it might keep you tethered to something real. Something solid enough to bring you back to earth, to existence. To humanity. Hated the way your voice cracked when you spoke, each word laced with frustration and grief over what was slipping away from you.

“I hate this, I hate this.” you whispered one night, your voice barely audible. Your chest hitched with a quiet sob as you turned your face into the pillow, trying to muffle your cries. “I hate... not being able to think. To remember. I feel like I’m disappearing, and I can’t stop it.”

Megumi clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but the words felt like ash in his throat. What could he say? That it would be okay? That you’d find peace? That this agony would end? None of it felt true, and none of it would matter to you at this moment.

You didn’t want peace. You wanted your life back.When you looked up at him, your eyes red and swollen, the sight nearly broke him. You looked so weak, one couldn’t even think you were someone with such strength at one point. He hated this. He hated how miserable you’ve been, how pained you’ve been.

“I’m so tired, Megumi.” you admitted, your voice cracking as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Megumi moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid his presence might shatter you further. He sat at the edge of your bed, his usually impassive face shadowed with something raw and unguarded.

“You’re still you, you always will be.” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a choked sob. “How do you know that? You don’t even really know me.”

He froze for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands. He wanted to tell you that he did know you, better than anyone ever could. That he remembered you in ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine. But he couldn’t. Not now.

Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering over yours for a moment before he let it settle gently against your trembling fingers. The touch was warm, grounding, and for a moment, the chaos inside you stilled.

“I know because I saw it. I’ve seen it all, even for a while.” he said finally. “Even when you’re hurting, even when it feels like everything is falling apart, I see you.”

His words hung in the air, fragile but steady, and something in your expression slowly softened. You leaned closer to him and he didn’t mind it at all. He pulled you even closer, letting that warmth of him become even more felt.

“It’s okay to be angry about all of this.” he continued, his voice steady now. “It’s okay to cry. You’ve been fighting so hard, for so long. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Your tears flowed freely then, and Megumi stayed right where he was, his hand never leaving yours. He didn’t try to stop your sobs or hush your pain. He simply stayed, letting you pour out everything you’d been holding back. And for the first time in centuries, in his entire lifetime — Megumi couldn’t help but feel unequivocally helpless.

He was a reaper, meant to guide and observe, but watching you crumble under the weight of your illness was unbearable. You didn’t deserve all of this. You shouldn’t suffer like this. You had done nothing wrong, not in your previous life and not this one. But this was still your fate.

And he hated the unfairness of it all, the cruelty of a life that had given you so little only to take it away too soon. If he could have taken your place, he would have done it without hesitation.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t trade a life for a life. The gods do not have mercy in that regard. Fate was fate. He cannot do much about it. And he hates it. He hates seeing you like this.

All he could do was stay by your side, no matter how much it hurt to watch. Because you deserved that much. You deserve someone who wouldn’t leave, even in your darkest moments. And Megumi would be damned if he let you face this alone.

As the night deepened, the room fell into a heavy, fragile silence. The only sounds were the steady hum of the machines and your quiet, uneven breaths as you lay spent from crying. Megumi hadn’t moved from his spot, his hand still lightly covering yours.

Your fingers twitched against his, seeking more warmth. The motion was subtle, but he noticed. Carefully, he threaded his fingers between yours, his grip firm but not overbearing. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your grip tightened just a little, like you were holding on to him for dear life.

“Why do you stay?” you asked, your voice hoarse from the tears but tinged with something vulnerable. You didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the faint outline of his hand entwined with yours.

Megumi hesitated. He wasn’t good at this—at talking about feelings. He was better at quiet gestures and staying in the background. But something about the way you asked, so small and uncertain, pulled the words out of him.

“Because you shouldn’t have to go through this alone, jot ever.” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

You blinked at his answer, a lump forming in your throat. “But you don’t even know me, not at all, Megumi.” you repeated, weaker this time, as if you wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. “How could you stay for someone like me?”

Megumi’s jaw tightened.

You didn’t know half of it.

“I know enough.” he said finally. “I know you’re stubborn and strong, even when you feel like you’re not. I know you don’t like hospital food, but you’ll eat it anyway because you don’t want to make the nurses worry. I know you still draw on the edges of your notebooks, even when your hands shake so much that the lines go crooked.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words and Megumi felt his heart clench at the way you were looking at him, like you were seeing him for the first time. And as though, it was the first time in a while you had known him that he truly saw you.

“I see you.” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every part of you, even the ones you think you’ve lost. They’re still there. You’re still here.”

You felt the tears welling up again, but this time, they weren’t from frustration or anger. They were something softer, quieter. You take a deep breath, to calm yourself for a moment.

And he brushes your hand against your own. He was so warm, even when your hands were cold. He warmed you enough back to life, even for just that moment.

“You make it sound like I’m worth something.” you murmured, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.

“You are. You always have been.” he said instantly, the conviction in his voice startling you. “More than you know. I promise you.”

Your chest ached, not from the illness this time, but from the overwhelming mixture of emotions his words stirred in you. It was almost too much, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to stop bringing you back to life. You didn’t want him to stop giving you reasons to want to live.

“Megumi.” you said quietly, finally looking up at him.

His name sounded different coming from you, like it carried more weight, more meaning than it ever had before. It was as warm as back then, when you would say his name and smile at him, like he was your world. Like he was someone you dearly loved.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice softer now, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

You hesitated, your dulling eyes searching for something you couldn’t quite put into words. Then, with a shaky breath, you smiled—a real smile, small but genuine.“Thank you. For all you have done for me, for all you will ever do for me. Thank you.”

Megumi’s lips couldn’t help but twitch at your words, and for the first time, he allowed himself to give you a wide smile in return. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it was for you, only for you. And you knew that it was only for you.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, his usual stoicism creeping back into his tone, but there was an undeniable warmth beneath it.

That night, as you finally drifted off to sleep, your hand still holding his, Megumi stayed by your side. He watched the rise and fall of your chest, each breath a reminder that you were still here, still fighting. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Megumi let himself hope.

Not for a miracle, no. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe in those anymore—but for something smaller. He hoped that in the time you had left, he could make sure you knew you weren’t just a fleeting soul, a name on a list, a face on a board.

You were everything to him, even if you never remembered why. And as he sat there, his hand still holding yours in the quiet of the night, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could carry that truth for both of you.

══════════════════

HE KNEW THAT HE CAN’T KEEP BUYING TIME. That’s not how it works in this line of work. The higher-ups had been patient with Megumi for as long as they could. They had watched from a distance as he ignored the rules, as he lingered at your side longer than necessary.

He had been told once, perhaps twice, that his attachment was blurring the lines of his duty. But no one had come forward to confront him, not until now.

The meeting room was cold, sterile—just like all the others. It was almost like the hospital. It even smells like it too. The flickering lights did nothing to soften the sharp voices of his superiors, their words cutting through him like a blade. Megumi has always hated this room. As much as you hate the hospitals.

He has lived for a long time. He has been in the reaper department for so long, he doesn’t even remember when he had started. But no matter how many times he stays in it, the smell will always linger and he hates it. Just as much as he hates the higher-ups, perhaps. Yet, he knew he couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Megumi, this isn’t working any longer.” One of them had said it, their voice cutting through the stale air of the room like a blade, sharp with frustration.

The council sat in their cold, unfeeling silence, their dark robes blending into the shadows that clung to the room. The words echoed in Megumi’s ears, even as he sat still, his fists clenched tightly under the table.

“They are already dying,” the voice continued, each word hammering against him. “You know this, you always have. Fate cannot be changed. You cannot keep delaying it. You’re prolonging their suffering, and you know it. We cannot let this go on any longer.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His blue-green eyes stayed fixed on the floor, a storm brewing behind them. He didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself, because deep down, he knew they were right. He could feel it every time he saw you.

In this way your body grew weaker with each passing day, as if life itself was slipping through your fingers. Each breath you took was a silent battle, and every glance you gave him carried an unspoken understanding that your time was coming.

But what they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t understand, was why he couldn’t just let go. Not yet. Not when your laughter still lingered in the corners of the hospital room.

Not when you still found the strength to smile at him, even through the haze of your pain. Not when you had thanked him—thanked him—for being the kindest thing in your life. How could he take that away from you? How could he take it away from himself?

“It’s not for your benefit that they should stay alive, you know that.” another elder said, their voice low but unyielding, like a hammer falling against stone. “Do it for their sake. The sooner you do it, the sooner they can find peace. You mustn’t prolong the suffering for your wants.”

The words cut deeper than Megumi would ever admit, a blow he wasn’t prepared for. His fists tightened until his nails bit into his palms, but he kept his gaze down, unwilling to let them see the flicker of defiance in his eyes.

He wanted to scream at them, to tell them they didn’t understand, that it wasn’t about his wants, it never had been. It was about you. About giving you every last moment, every fleeting second that you deserved, no matter how much it hurt him to watch.

But none of that mattered to them. The rules were the rules. His mission was clear: guide souls to the other side, no matter the cost, no matter the pain. He was meant to be impartial, detached, but he wasn’t. Not this time.

As the meeting adjourned, their final words hung in the air like a noose tightening around his neck. “You have to let them go, Megumi.” the elder had said, their tone devoid of sympathy. “It’s not about you. It’s about them. Do what must be done.”

When the room emptied, Megumi remained seated, his shoulders heavy with the weight of their judgment. He wanted to argue, to push back against the inevitability they demanded he enforce. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t delay forever.

He could feel the edges of your life fraying, could see the way the light in your eyes flickered, like a candle in its final moments. And yet, even as he sat there, alone in the suffocating silence, he made a decision.

Not yet.

Because you deserve those moments, however brief they might be. You deserved the warmth of the sun on your skin, the chance to smile one more time, the chance to feel something other than pain before the end. And if he could give you that, even at the cost of his own heart, he would.

But he also knew the truth, the one he couldn’t ignore forever. Time wasn’t on your side. And when the moment came, when the inevitability could no longer be postponed, Megumi would have to let you go.

Just not today.

Not yet.

He needs more time.

When the meeting ended, Megumi didn’t move. He couldn’t. His mind was too heavy with the weight of their demands, and yet his heart felt too torn to process it. He takes a moment to compose himself before he walks out.

As he walked out into the hallway, he wasn’t surprised to find Gojo Satoru waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall with that ever-present, cocky grin on his face. The two of them had known each other for lifetimes, especially with how Gojo was now his boss.

Though Gojo was the opposite of Megumi in nearly every way. Where Megumi was reserved and quiet, Gojo was loud and unapologetic. He hated the elders too, he hated the rules as much as Megumi too.

But he had never let himself be swallowed by what he feels personally as he works. And Gojo Satoru knew that too well, when he saw that look in Megumi’s face. He had not taught him well enough to separate it all.

“Megumi, hey.” Gojo said, his voice a little more serious than usual. “Can we talk?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gojo pushed himself off the wall and fell into step beside Megumi, leading him down a quieter hall away from the bustling administrative wing. He already knew what he was going to say.

But Megumi wishes he wouldn’t say it. Because when Gojo says it, it becomes even more real. It becomes even more true. And it’s something he can’t handle. Not right now.

“I know what you’re thinking, okay?” Gojo began, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “And I know it’s hard.”

He’s saying it. He’s talking about it. There was nothing that would stop it from being real. Not anymore. Megumi didn’t answer, he didn’t want to. He didn’t need to.

Gojo Satoru could always read him, could always sense what was going on under the surface, even when Megumi tried to hide it. He was always going to tell Megumi the truth, even when it was hard.

“I don’t get it, Gojo–san.” Megumi said, his voice low, rough from the strain of keeping it all in. “I know the rules. I know they have to go. But… but I can’t just let them die like this. Not again. Not this miserably.”

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning to face Gojo, his face a mix of frustration and sorrow. “They’re suffering so much and miserable to boot, and I’m supposed to just… let them go? How is that even fair?”

Gojo’s expression softened, the usual smugness gone, replaced by something much more genuine. He took a step closer, his hands in his pockets as he regarded Megumi with quiet understanding. He takes a deep sigh.

“I know it’s not easy, kid.” Gojo said, his voice lower now, almost tender. “But this isn’t about what you want. You’re not their savior, Megumi. You’re their guide. You can’t heal them, that’s not part of the job description. It never was. You can’t protect them from everything.”

The words stung, sharper than Megumi expected.

But it was the truth, the unavoidable truth.

This was a job, even if it meant the world to him.

It cannot be more than a job, not even like this.

“I know you care about them. Hell, you’re probably more attached than anyone in this damn place,” Gojo continued, the hint of a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But your job is to make them transition to something peaceful. To comfort them. Not to prolong their suffering because you’re too scared to let them go.”

Megumi looked away, his blue–green eyes burning with the weight of his own guilt. He could feel them water ever so slowly as he thinks about you, about everything you suffered — in all your lives. And now, when you suffered the most. He bit his lower lip. How could he just let it all go?

“I can’t just stand by and watch them die, Gojo–san.” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, betraying the deep ache inside him. “Not like this. Not when I… when I care about them this much. Not when….Not when I love them so much.”

Gojo Satoru’s gaze softened further, taking a moment to sigh at him. He’d known Megumi for so long. He’s a good kid, he’s always been the best of everyone here, if he was being honest. But even now, he was still so human. And perhaps that is his weakness. He cannot be a reaper, and be human too. He cannot have both.

“I know, kid. I know.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But this is the hardest part. You have to be strong for them now. It’s time. And you have to do your job. You have to help them let go. That’s the only way they’ll be able to be free from the pain, okay? If you do your job. They’ll be free. And it can be, if anything, the greatest act of love.”

Megumi wanted to argue, wanted to lash out and scream that it wasn’t fair, that this wasn’t right. But something in Gojo’s cerulean eyes made him stop. Gojo Satoru wasn’t just talking about the rules; he was talking about them. About the person Megumi had come to love more than anything in this world, someone who was ever so dear to him in each and every lifetime.

He was right. He can’t do anything about death or about fate. And he was right — death was the greatest mercy, instead of suffering. This could be the greatest act of love, as it had always been in each lifetime. To be there for you, to hold your hand and whisper all the love he has in your ear as you go. To set you free.

The truth was hard to swallow, but the reality was clearer than ever. Your suffering wasn’t going to end unless he let you go. And if he truly cared about you, he would have to find the strength to be the one to guide you to peace. With a deep breath, Megumi nodded, the weight of his decision settling in.

“I’ll do it, Gojo–san.” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ll make sure they’re at peace.”

Gojo gave him a small, approving nod. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Megumi knew it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever do. But as he turned back down to earth, to the hall toward where you were waiting, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what was to come, he also knew it was the only way to truly set you free.

He just hoped that, somehow, you would understand. And that you would forgive him. That you would smile warmly back at him once again, when you meet him again in your next life. That you could love him again, if you can.

══════════════════

HE BRACED HIMSELF FOR WHAT COMES NEXT. Megumi stood outside your hospital room, his heart heavy in his chest. The hallway was unnervingly quiet, the soft beep of monitors and the occasional shuffle of nurses’ footsteps the only sounds that kept him tethered to reality.

He had never been so sure of something—so certain that this moment had arrived. It was time. He swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Having done it once didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder. He’d have to relive this moment over and over again, like all the other times.

But he had no other choice. If you were to die, he’d rather it be him holding you. He would rather it be him you hurt, leave a scar only he could see. Megumi would rather that he would be the one to comfort you one last time, to tell you that he’s got you. That everything will be alright. Because you were together. Because he was the one taking you away.

You were there, propped up against the pillows, looking so small under the white sheets. Your face was pale, your features drawn and tired, but when you saw him, your expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"You're here again, hm?" you said, your voice hoarse but warm.

Megumi stood frozen for a moment, the sight of you sending a wave of emotions crashing over him. You looked so fragile, so close to the edge, and yet here you were, smiling at him like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t been battling this slow, painful decline for so long.

He forced his lips into a small, bittersweet smile. "Of course I’m here."

You sat up a little straighter in your bed, your eyes trying to focus on him. There was a faint sense of confusion in them, as if the fog in your mind was thicker than usual today. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you sought his, and Megumi moved closer, carefully taking your hand in his.

"I didn’t know if you'd come today, you know." you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. “For the last time.”

Megumi felt the weight of your words press against his chest. You couldn’t remember everything, not anymore, but you remembered him. And somehow, that was a mercy. A small one, but a mercy nonetheless. He hated it, but it was all he had. It was all there was left.

"I’m always here when you need me, always." he said quietly, his voice unsteady despite the calm he tried to project. "You know that, right?"

You nodded slowly, as though trying to make sense of everything that was slipping through your fingers. The memory of his voice, the sensation of his presence, the feel of his hand in yours—it was enough to pull you back from the brink.

"I... I don’t remember... a lot." you confessed, your voice faltering, as though you were apologizing for something you couldn’t control. "But... I remember you."

Megumi’s heart squeezed at that, and he fought the urge to crumble. Don’t show weakness now, he told himself. Not with them. Not when they need you the most. Don’t falter. Love them, love them even if it hurts.

“I’ll always be here.” he repeated softly, gently squeezing your hand. “You’ve always been important to me. You always will be.”

You tried to smile again, though it was faint, and the effort seemed to take everything out of you. "I wish I could remember everything... all the good stuff we did together. There was a lot, wasn’t it? Even before…..I’m sorry if I don’t remember it all. But I can remember you right now, Megumi. I hope that’s enough. I hope…I hope that’s alright."

He felt his eyes sting, but he held it back, keeping his gaze steady on yours. "That’s enough. That’s more than enough."

Your grip tightened a little on his hand, your eyes slowly drifting over his face, as if committing his features to memory, trying to remember every detail of him before the fog came back.

"It’s always so funny to me." you whispered, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heaviness in the air. "You don’t look like a grim reaper."

Megumi chuckled quietly, the sound devoid of any real humor. "I get that a lot."

The silence stretched between you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt almost peaceful, like the calm before the storm. You leaned back against the pillows, but you didn’t let go of his hand.There were so many things he wanted to say to you.

So many words that were caught in his throat, threatening to spill over. But now—now there was no time for them. No time for the confessions, for the truth he’d never dared to speak. He simply stayed there, sitting at your side, holding your hand, because that was all he could do.

When you spoke again, it was quieter, slower. "I don’t want to forget you, not ever, not now." you said, your voice so fragile, so raw. "But I know I will. I already am."

Megumi shook his head, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of your hand, as though to comfort you, even though the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. He couldn't promise you anything, couldn't tell you that this would all be okay, because it wouldn’t be.

“I’ll never forget you.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll remember for the both of us. Even when you aren’t here anymore.”

“Then….will you let me fall in love with you again, if I were to be reborn?” You asked him, tears in your eyes pouring down your cheeks. “Will you let me, Megumi?”

His breath hitches shakily. His lips wobbled into a small watery smile. “Of course, I will. You can love me as many times as you want. I’ll let you do it. Over and over again.”

You choked into a giggle. “Then….Then, I’m glad. I’m forgetful, after all. It’s good, you’ll remind me next time.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. Even at the end, you were taking care of him. You were making sure he wasn’t sad. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a brief moment, the confusion in your eyes faded.

The fog cleared, just a little, and you smiled. It was a small, soft smile, but it was there, and it was for him. All for him. As it always has been. You take a moment, a breath. He waits patiently for what you want to say.

“I wish…..” you whispered, your voice trailing off as your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally taking over.

Megumi’s chest tightened as he waited.

But the words never came out of your lips.

As you slipped into a quiet sleep, your breath steady and calm, Megumi stayed by your side, his hand still holding yours. He knew it wasn’t enough to stop what was coming. But for now, he will hold on. He will cherish the warmth that remains.

It was the last time. The last time he would see you, the last time he would hear your voice, the last time he would get to make you feel comforted before you let go. And somehow, it was enough. Because you remembered him. And that was all that mattered now.

“I love you.” He whispers to you as he closes his eyes, letting the tears flow. “Goodbye.”

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fanbasetwo · 1 day ago

Note

first time w anton? virgin anton x virgin reader?

IM ON MY KNEES BEGGING YOU 🙂

✦ BABY GIRL, 143 ! ANTON

001. PAIRING , virgin anton × virgin reader

002. SYNOPSIS , anton had been away from you for some months and now when he was back, you showed him all the texts you had seen on his phone. only ending up sealing the deal at the end.

003. GENRE , smut

004. WARNING(S) , kissing, a little dirty talk but anton is just shameless lol, teasing, pussy slapping, little to no prep, boob play, nipple play (slightly), they make up pretty early after fight, hymen breaking, mentions of blood and pain, too much plot if you ask me, lmk if I missed anything.

005. WORD COUNT , 1.8K

MASTERLIST!! join my taglist by sending an ask or commenting here <3

You had been dating Anton for a few years now. You met through a dating app, and while some might find that odd, you both clicked instantly. For better or worse, you fell in love.

Since you started dating at a young age, you both decided to seek job opportunities outside of town, which meant navigating a long-distance relationship. While many say long-distance relationships often fizzle out, that wasn’t the case for you two.

In fact, Anton would send you those silly memes that made you laugh and would video call you while cooking, asking for your advice if he messed something up. His friends teased you, saying you two were practically a married couple, and while there was some truth to that, the more accurate reality was that you both missed each other terribly.

So when he finally returned after landing a high-paying job—while you worked part-time as a cashier to cover rent—he insisted on paying your rent, but you turned him down.

The relationship seemed perfect, especially with his visit after what felt like two long years apart. But everything changed when you accidentally glanced at his phone. A text from a number with a heart emoji as a name read, “Is my baby fine?” In that moment, the realization hit you hard: the person you thought was your boyfriend was cheating on you.

“SO YOU CHEATED?!” you shouted as soon as you heard him enter the apartment. Anton, always the goofy one, jumped back in surprise at your furious tone and asked, feigning ignorance, “I’m not sure what you're talking about.”

“The message!” you ground out through clenched teeth, pointing at his phone, which he had mistakenly left behind.

As understanding seemed to dawn on him, he cursed under his breath and then smiled, which only confused you more. Why was he smiling? Shouldn’t he be trying to explain himself? Did those years together not mean anything to him?

Then he stepped closer, and instinctively, you took a step back until your back hit the wall of your apartment. His hands cupped your face as he said, “Hmm… Why would you trust the text so much? The ‘baby’ wasn’t me. The ‘baby’ was her dog, the one she asked me to take care of for a while.”

You didn’t buy it, so you pressed on, “Oh really? Then why does her username have a heart?”

He paused for a moment but answered without hesitation, even though you glared at him. “Well, maybe because that’s my mom?”

Processing that, your eyes widened. It actually made a sick sort of sense. The woman in the profile picture looked significantly older and bore some resemblance to Anton. Now you found yourself in a strange situation, filled with doubt.

You had just confronted your longtime boyfriend, your heart racing at the thought of betrayal, all sparked by a simple text while he gently held your face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity.

“I’m hurt, but I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you. I could never cheat on you, Y/N,” he reassured, resting his forehead against yours, the warmth of his skin anchoring you in that moment.

It took you back to when your love was fresh and innocent, when you were just seventeen, lost in each other’s world. Those years apart felt like an eternity, and as you closed your eyes, you longed for the sweetness of his touch, the electric thrill of his lips on yours.

The kiss deepened, a beautiful melody played by your lips as you moved together in perfect sync. He pulled away just enough to catch his breath before diving back in, his tongue tracing gentle patterns that sent shivers down your spine.

You felt the rhythm of your tongues entwining, a lovely exploration you had only ever dreamed of. You had talked about waiting for one another, yet now you felt the exhilarating unknown of your connection. His hands traveled up your shirt, igniting tingles on your skin, and as he broke the kiss to rest his forehead against yours, the world around you faded away.

“Can I touch you more?” he asked, his hands gliding under your shirt as he looked at you with such intensity and love, as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. The truth was, both of you were a bit inexperienced in this area, but let’s be honest, you both wanted to explore… so you nodded.

Before long, his hands were cupping your breasts beneath your shirt and bra. He was touching your bare skin. You could feel both of your breaths hitching; it was something new for the two of you after all.

You feel Anton's warm breath on your face as he leans in close, his lips softly brushing against yours in a tender kiss. "I can... really touch, right?" he murmurs, looking for your confirmation before pulling you closer, his strong arms wrapping around you. His tongue dances with yours as the kiss deepens, sending tingles through your body.

When you nod, he breaks the kiss, and his hands move with a swiftness that takes your breath away. Your shirt and bra are discarded in one smooth motion, leaving your bare skin exposed to his hungry gaze. His thumbs find your nipples, rubbing the sensitive buds until they harden into tight peaks. You can't help but let out a soft moan as waves of pleasure wash over you, your back pressed firmly against the wall.

Suddenly, you're airborne as Anton scoops you up in his arms, cradling you securely against his chest. A warm feeling envelops you, and you can't help but wish that at least one of you had some experience with this. "You don't mind, right?" he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he lays you down gently on the bed.

"Yeah, but..." you trail off, a hint of nervousness creeping into your tone. "Do you know how to...? At least one of us should know what we're doing."

Anton crawls on top of you, his powerful body hovering over yours. He leans down, planting a soft kiss between the valley of your breasts before looking up at you from between them. A sheepish grin spreads across his face. "I may have watched some... for scientific purposes, of course," he adds with a playful wink.

His arousal is evident, a hardened bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. It brushes against your jeans, sending shivers through both of you.

Your eyes flutter shut as Anton unbuttons his pants, the sound of fabric sliding against fabric filling the room. He discards them on the floor, along with your own jeans, the cool air brushing against your now bare skin. His large hand envelops your smaller one, guiding it towards his clothed bulge. You both hitch a breath as your fingers make contact, his arousal evident beneath the thin fabric.

"See what you do to me?" he whispers, his voice low and husky with need. You swallow hard, your heart thumping in your chest as he pushes his boxers down, and you see him, all hard and long, your eyes widening as a deep blush spreads across your cheeks at the exposed sight of him, vulnerable to you.

"Baby, you wanna put it in or do I?" he asks, unapologetic and direct, his tone incredulous. You squirm under him and look away, embarrassment exuding like a palpable scent.

"That's not quite. decent," you mumble, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Anton chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. "For what we're about to do, I don't think we should care about being decent," he says with a raised brow and a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as your clothes join his on the floor.

Again, his hand bumps against yours to move it to his bare cock. You can feel every ridge and vein beneath your fingertips, the heat of his skin searing against your own. Your shyness returns, but there's no denying the effect your touch has on him. He groans and his hips bulge slightly as your hand is constricted around his length.

"Have you never slept with anyone?" you ask, a note of skepticism creeping into your voice because of how confident he seemed. He shakes his head, the dark locks falling across his forehead.

"It's because I love you and I trust you," he breathes, words stuttered over a guttural curse as your hand tightens its grip. "Fuck.”

Your grip tightens on the shoulder of Anton as his cock teases your wetness, the head slapping lightly against your pussy. He lets out a sigh as that anticipation builds between you and him. "I am going to put it in," he whispers, his gaze searching yours for any sign of disapproval. Finding none, he slowly pushes forward, the tip of his cock breaching your entrance.

A shiver of agony rips across you as your cherry is broken, drops of blood trickling down into your pussy. Tears well up from your squeezed eyes, your body tensing against this strange sensation. Anton buries his face in the crook of your neck, his own breathing in ragged gasps. "It—h-hurts—" your voice cracks, the words barely audible.

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours as he asks, "Should I pull out?" Despite the guilt etched on his face, you shake your head stubbornly. "No, I want to do it." Your walls clench around him, your body instinctively trying to accommodate his size.

Anton takes a sharp breath of air. He waits a few moments before pushing deeper. A scream tears from your throat, your body arching off the bed as he sheathes himself fully inside you. Tears stream down your face, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss as he stills, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion.

"This is good, right? You're not scared now. are you?" he whispers against your lips, his hips rocking gently, your body slowly relaxing as it grows accustomed to the stretch.

"Mm." is all you can say, your mind dazed by the shocks of the sensations. His cock spasms inside you, and you and he are suddenly acutely aware of the crimson stain spreading across the sheets. Concern flickers in his eyes, but he knows this is normal, a testament to your lost innocence.

"It's okay, baby. It's supposed to hurt a little the first time," Anton reassures you, his voice soft and soothing. He kisses your tears away, his lips trailing along your cheek and down your neck. "I've got you. We'll go slow."

He starts to move, his hips rocking gently against yours, easing you into the rhythm. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure mixed with discomfort, your body struggling to adapt to the foreign sensation of being filled so completely.

"Breathe, Y/N. In and out," he coaches, his own breathing ragged as he fights to maintain control. "Tell me how it feels. If it's too much, I'll stop."

You whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you try to focus on the instructions. "I-It's intense," you manage, your voice trembling. "But don't stop. I want to feel all of you."

NOTE FROM SENA , this was genuinely just supposed to be a drabble, how the hell is this 1.8k words 😭💕

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fandoms-x-reader · 16 hours ago

Text

Unpredictable

Requested By: @beawesome04

Summary: The brothers and dateables reactions to an MC whose magic is hard to control and tends to have unpredictable consequences when they use it. The Seven Demons Brothers x Reader Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, & Solomon x Reader Word Count: 6,560

Solomon had promised you that everything would be alright when he first suggested teaching you magic.

Solomon was clearly a renowned sorcerer so you believed that he would be an excellent teacher in the matter.

But, Solomon was a very unpredictable person, and as such his magic lessons tended to be a bit unpredictable as well.

He had asked you to summon one of the brothers as a test of your ability, swearing that it would be a simple summoning spell.

You wanted to choose which brother you summoned with your pact, but that choice wasn’t given to you as all of the brothers seemed to be doing something at the current moment.

The only one who wasn’t busy was the strictest one - Lucifer.

You did everything you could to try to persuade Solomon to let you skip the lesson on summoning for now, but he refused to back down.

Before you knew it, you were saying the chant to summon the firstborn.

You swore you said and did everything correctly and when Lucifer suddenly appeared in front of you, you were relieved that you had done it.

But, that relief quickly faded when you took a better look at Lucifer.

He had a bewildered look on his face, clearly confused as to why he was just summoned, but more than that, most of his features had changed color.

His skin color, eye color, and hair color matched yours to the exact shade.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as Solomon stifled his laughter from beside you.

You hoped that you could fix the situation before Lucifer saw what had happened but luck once again proved to not be on your side as you noticed a mirror conveniently placed in the room.

As soon as Lucifer saw himself in the mirror, his expression changed to one of anger and you could tell he was holding back one of his infamous lectures.

He was the one who encouraged you to work with Solomon on your magic so he could hardly be upset if things didn’t go right the first time, but changing his appearance was also not something he could tolerate.

“I’ll fix it, I promise!” you swore, coming up next to Lucifer who was now standing in front of the mirror.

You let out a small gasp as you came to the mirror, realizing that not only did Lucifer have your colored features, but you had his. Your hair was as dark as a raven’s and your eyes as red as blood.

Lucifer couldn’t help but take in your appearance as well, noting that under better circumstances, your appearance matching his own would drive him absolutely crazy.

Solomon’s chuckle brought Lucifer back to reality and he turned to look at the sorcerer.

Lucifer demanded Solomon to fix this mess and once that was done, Lucifer made sure to give you both a good lecture on the intricacies of magic and the consequences of doing it improperly.

Of course, you didn’t end up in any real trouble, but he did make you promise not to summon him again unless it was a real emergency.

Mammon’s experience with your unpredictable magic was entirely his own fault.

You had tried explaining to him on multiple different occasions that you were not fully trained and that you were still learning how to control your magic.

You only knew a few basic spells and you hadn’t even learned how to perfect those yet.

But, as usual, when Mammon had something on his mind, everything went in one ear and out the other.

And, your inexperience in magic was no exception.

Mammon had come up with a brilliant idea to use your magic to help him cheat at the casino so that he could “win big”.

Everything about the scheme seemed like a terrible idea, so naturally you declined.

But, Mammon was persistent and begged you to help him until you caved.

The casino wasn’t the regular one that Mammon went to. This one was on a nice ship and it was one that was only passing through.

It was perfect because even if they caught Mammon cheating, they wouldn’t be around past that one night.

You sat at the bar while Mammon went to the tables to play. He thought that if the two of you were standing next to each other the entire time, it would be easier to spot that he was cheating.

You had no expectations of this working, but you gave it your best shot anyway.

All you had to do was change the cards in Mammon’s hand to ones that he could win with.

You chanted a spell quietly under your breath and then watched intensely as Mammon turned over the cards in his hands, revealing a winning hand.

You let out a small chuckle, surprised at the results and Mammon looked at you from the table, a happy-go-lucky smile on his face as he sent you a wink.

You continued to say the same spell, and to your surprise, Mammon was gathering a large sum of money. Everything was going well.

“Hey, are you using magic?” you heard someone say as they roughly grabbed your arm, making you snap your eyes open.

Magic was strictly prohibited at the casino because people could easily use it to cheat.

You were trying to come up with a reasonable excuse when you felt a familiar hand grab yours and pull you towards him.

“Time to run!” Mammon told you, pulling you past people, his winnings tucked into his arm as he held onto them for dear life.

“You’ve gotta use your magic to block ‘em!” Mammon told you, noticing a few of the security detail closing in on the two of you.

You meant to move the furniture around to block the path after the two of you, but instead, you sent the furniture flying in every which way.

You heard people screaming and running as they tried to dodge the flying tables and chairs that were now putting holes into the walls of the ship. “Whoops,” you said under your breath.

“Watch out!” Mammon yelled. You turned to look in front of you and noticed someone almost grabbed you.

You moved your hand in panic and watched as the demon went flying overboard. “Sorry!” you shouted after him.

“We’re gonna have to jump. Can you make a boat?’ Mammon asked, not waiting for you to answer before jumping off the ship and bringing you along.

A yacht would have done or even a canoe or a raft, but it seemed the more panicked you were, the more unpredictable your magic was.

Suddenly, a massive pirate ship appeared out of thin air and you hit the deck with a small thud as you felt like you could finally breathe again.

Somehow, the ship was steering itself away from the casino ship, but you weren’t about to start asking questions.

You let out a small breath of relief and you heard Mammon suddenly burst into laughter beside you. “Your magic - is really - somethin’,” he told you, nearly crying from laughing so hard.

You gave him a playful smack but couldn’t help but smile at how hard he was laughing.

Next time, you were going to make sure you were fully in control before agreeing to use your magic.

Levi was not one that liked to get in trouble with Lucifer.

Typically, he just tried to keep his head down and do his own thing.

As long as he could be a proper otaku, he was okay.

He didn’t feel the need to get you involved in schemes like his other brothers did.

In fact, he had made a promise to himself to never make you use your magic unless it was an absolute emergency.

And those last six words were key in his promise.

Because an incredibly rare new Ruri-chan figurine had just been released and it was going at an unbelievably fast rate for an incredibly high price.

Normally, Levi would have money saved up for this precise situation, but he had lent some to Mammon, mostly to get him to stop asking, and his older brother hadn’t paid him back yet.

Of course, Levi had done everything from begging and pleading to threatening Mammon to get his money back, but there was no money to give.

So, with no one else to turn to for help, he went to his true friend.

He would never beg you for money like a certain scumbag.

Instead, he just wanted you to use your magic to help him get one of the figurines.

He figured between his hacking skills and your magic, there was no way the two of you wouldn’t be able to swindle one.

You reluctantly agreed to help Levi, knowing how much it meant to him to get the figurine.

You didn’t know exactly what spell you were supposed to say, but you followed Levi’s lead.

He clearly had a plan and nothing would stop him from executing it.

You did as Levi asked and held your breath as you stared at the computer screen.

“Thank you for your purchase,” soon popped up on the screen and Levi let out a shout of triumph while you let out a breath of relief. Finally, your magic went the right way.

Suddenly a loud spark sounded from the computer and you and Levi shared an uneasy look. Spoke too soon.

The spark was followed by multiple smaller ones and then suddenly Levi’s entire computer was on fire.

“What do we do?” you asked Levi who was panicking at the thought of his entire setup going up in flames.

“Do a water spell,” he replied, his eyes wide, the fire reflecting off them.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you replied, looking at the consequences of the magic you had just performed.

The flames grew even larger, threatening to burn everything in sight; and, in an attempt to save his otaku haven, Levi did the only thing he thought was logical - he summoned Lotan.

And while it did stop the fire from spreading, summoning Lotan once again flooded the House of Lamentation.

Lucifer immediately knew the source. After all, there was only one brother who summoned Lotan.

Levi got his rare figurine, but you and Levi had to sit through an incredibly long lecture from Lucifer about using magic properly and not doing it for something as simple as a doll.

And after he said that, you had to listen to an even longer lecture from Levi, explaining to Lucifer how the figure he bought wasn’t a doll.

Satan was someone who was quite skilled in magic.

He studied spells and curses religiously, always trying to find one to use against Lucifer.

And because of his studying, he knew a lot about training someone in magic as well.

After all, he taught himself almost everything he knew about it.

And, Satan was having a hard time controlling his rage when it came to you and Solomon.

He knew that Solomon was only training you in magic, but in his opinion, the two of you were spending way too much time together.

And the fact that the two of you were always alone together with no one to keep Solomon in check drove Satan crazy.

So, he decided to take some of your training upon himself.

Naturally, you were grateful for the opportunity. After all, everyone knew how talented Satan was in everything he did.

Not to mention, there were a few other times Satan had tutored you in other subjects. So you were sure he would be an excellent teacher of magic.

He would never tell you this, but Satan wore a smug smile the whole day you agreed to let him teach you.

He was just hoping Solomon would ask him why Satan was smiling.

The two of you agreed to meet in one of the magic classrooms after school. They would already have any spellbooks or ingredients the two of you needed and they were well-built in case something went wrong.

You sat down at one of the desks and began reading one of the spellbooks.

Satan sat down next to you, taking a peek at what you were reading. “Has Solomon been teaching you a lot of spells?” he asked.

You looked up from your book and softly shook your head no. “Not really, he’s more of the experiment and see what happens type than following spells in a spellbook,” you replied.

Satan let out a small chuckle before saying, “For someone just learning magic, the results must be a bit unpredictable.”

You chuckled in response before nodding your head and telling him, “You have no idea.”

Satan then gently took the spellbook from you and began flipping through it.

You leaned in a bit closer, taking a look over his shoulder as he skimmed through the pages, looking for the perfect spell.

“Here, this one is simple,” Satan told you and you read through it briefly.

It was simple candle magic. All you had to do was light a candle.

Satan got the candle and placed it in front of you and you followed the spell exactly how it was written in the spellbook.

You closed your eyes to focus and then opened them again to light the candle.

Instead of lighting the candle, you managed to create a large fireball that flew through the classroom and burned a hole in the wall in front of you.

You winced at the damage and then turned to look at Satan who was staring at the hole with wide eyes, temporarily at a loss for words.

You were getting more and more anxious the longer Satan remained silent, unsure if he was going to laugh, get angry, or give you a long lecture.

After another moment, Satan took in a deep breath before locking eyes with you and telling you, “No more training with Solomon.”

You let out a small sigh, once again taking in the destruction you caused before replying, “Fair enough.”

Because Asmo and Solomon had a strong friendship, it was common for Asmo to be at your magic lessons.

He usually wasn’t listening to what you were being taught. Instead, he would do his nails in the background or start planning his next social media video.

Of course, he would take intermittent breaks from doing his own things to be your own personal cheerleader, encouraging you as much as he could.

And if you were ever starting to get tired, Asmo would be the first to tell Solomon the lesson was over for the day because you needed rest.

Because Asmo was hanging around the two of you often, it also made him the perfect test subject.

Today, you were working a potion to bring someone good luck and fortune.

Solomon had been a little lenient on the ingredients that you were using, wanting to see if you would be able to create the potion on your own, using your own intuition.

You were completely against the idea but Solomon swore that you wouldn’t be able to do magic on your own if you didn’t learn how to be independent with it instead of following a spellbook.

His logic made some sense, but you were also beyond nervous.

All you had to do was make the potion and then get Asmo to drink it.

Asmo, having not listened to what was going on, was more than happy to try your potion, accepting it as a gift from you.

You watched in anticipation as Asmo downed the mysterious liquid.

Asmo let out a small cough after drinking it, telling you, “It has a good kick to it.”

You held your breath as a pink mist slowly surrounded Asmo and in the blink of an eye, Asmo was no longer standing there.

In his place, on the ground, sat a beautifully made wicked cupcake.

Solomon took a step closer before crouching down and examining the cupcake, letting out a quiet sound of questioning.

“What were you thinking about when you made the potion?” Solomon asked you, glancing up at you from his spot on the ground.

“I was thinking about what you told me. In order to make a good potion of fortune, you have to think of the person you intend on giving the potion to and what would bring them fortune,” you replied.

“What do you think would make Asmo more fortunate?” Solomon questioned curiously.

“Being more irresistible,” you answered.

“As irresistible as a wicked cupcake?” Solomon asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you, a hint of a smile on his face.

You let out a small gasp as you realized you had turned your friend into a cupcake.

“Is it reversible?” you asked Solomon and he nodded his head, standing up to his original position.

Solomon chanted a spell quietly and you watched as Asmo slowly morphed back into himself.

When he was fully back, you and his locked eyes, and you immediately began apologizing.

Asmo stopped you after your third apology and told you, “How about we just save your potions for Mammon from now on, ‘kay?”

You were in your bedroom, studying hard for an upcoming exam when there was suddenly a knock on your door.

You invited the person in without getting up or even looking up from your book.

So, it wasn’t until they were sitting down next to you that you were able to see who it was.

A small smile formed on your lips as you saw the orange-haired Avatar of Gluttony sitting there with an unusually large pouty look on his face.

“Are you okay?’ you asked him and his big puppy dog eyes looked up at you as he shook his head no.

“I ate everything in the fridge and Lucifer said that I couldn’t eat anymore until dinner,” Beel replied.

“Well, dinner is just in a couple of hours. You should be fine, right?” you questioned, and Beel let out a small sigh.

“I worked out twice as hard today to get ready for the big game. So, my appetite is twice as big and I only had half the amount of food I usually would post-workout,” Beel explained.

As if to confirm what Beel was saying, his stomach let out an unnaturally loud growl and Beel winced slightly in pain from the hunger.

“I’m sorry Beel, if I had any snacks in here, I would give them to you,” you told him and he let out another sigh as his mind began turning.

“Maybe you could make a snack appear,” Beel suggested, his eyes lighting up at the idea.

You immediately understood where he was going with this and you shook your head, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please, it could be something small. Just to help me last until dinner,” Beel begged you, desperation shining in those big eyes.

You fully intended to stay away from magic today and just focus on your actual studies, but how could you say no to him when he was begging you so wholeheartedly?

You took a moment to prepare yourself before doing a spell, and Beel watched your every move eagerly.

Once the spell was completed, you were expecting a small meal on the table, or at the most a couple of things.

Instead, your entire room was covered from floor to ceiling in food.

Beel’s eyes widened in excitement as he told you, “You’re the best at magic.”

He immediately got to eating, and you let out a small chuckle. Of all the consequences that came from your magic, this wasn’t too bad - as long as Beel ate all of it before Lucifer found out.

Suddenly, you heard a lot of commotion coming from elsewhere in the House of Lamentation. You and Beel stayed quiet to try and focus on the noises you were hearing.

Only then did you realize the other brothers were shouting about how the entire House of Lamentation had been filled with food.

You and Beel shared a look of panic as you heard a familiar set of footsteps coming your way and you knew that another long lecture was just around the corner.

Belphie liked to be a little more hands-on with his magic than simple spells.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

He and Satan were up to true Anti-Lucifer League business and they had found the perfect spell to try and prank Lucifer with.

Belphie gathered all the ingredients and it was up to Satan to actually perform the spell since he was more proficient when it came to magic.

Somehow, like always, Lucifer had caught wind that the two of them were up to something and Lucifer had decided to lock Satan in his room for the time being under the pretense that, “He was too busy right now to have to deal with something childish.”

This naturally only made Belphie and Satan even more angry and now they were hellbent on finding some way to get revenge.

Belphie still had all of the ingredients and so he approached you - someone who was both in the Anti-Lucifer League and learning magic.

You were already treading in deep water with Lucifer because of your previous magic mishaps.

You were pretty sure that you were one more mistake from him banning you from using magic ever again.

So, the last thing you wanted to do was use a spell that specifically targeted the eldest.

But, Belphie was very convincing and before you knew it, the two of you were in the Assembly Hall, quietly scheming.

The spell itself was simple enough to cast. All you had to was put the ingredients together and then cast it on the intended victim’s chair.

Then, when that person sat in the chair, vines would slowly wrap around them, entrapping them in the chair.

You had suggested that you perform the spell on the chair in Lucifer’s study but Belphie thought it would be so much funnier if it happened in front of Lord Diavolo.

This left the two of you trying to quickly get this spell done in the Assembly Room because Diavolo and Lucifer could walk in any second.

“That’s all of the ingredients,” Belphie told you and you nodded your head, knowing it was your turn now.

You began chanting the spell and everything was going smoothly.

Right as you were stating the last part of the spell, you suddenly heard voices outside the door of the Assembly Hall.

You faltered at the idea of being caught, and in that moment you had turned away from the chair slightly as you finished the spell.

Suddenly, you heard a strangled shout from Belphie and immediately looked in his direction, only to find that you were already facing him.

You realized you had cast the spell at him, and instead of a chair turning into vines and trapping him, they came down from the ceiling, wrapping him up and suspending him from the roof and covering his mouth.

You let out a small gasp, somewhat stifling some laughter as you watched the youngest squirm in the air, doing whatever he could to get out of his restraints.

You didn’t have enough time to help him before you heard the door to the Assembly Hall open and you quickly hid, knowing that it wouldn’t do either of you any good if you got caught.

You covered your mouth to stay silent and you listened as Barbatos, Diavolo, and Lucifer all seemed to be in conversation.

All conversation stopped though the moment they laid eyes on Belphie, helplessly strung up from the ceiling.

Lucifer let out a long sigh as he stared at his brother before sitting down in his chair.

“Shouldn’t we help him?” Diavolo asked but Lucifer shook his head.

“This is his own fault, I’m sure of it. Let’s continue with the meeting,” Lucifer replied and you once again had to stifle your laughter at the thought of Belphie hanging from the air, slightly swinging with a look of rage on his face as he attempted to curse Lucifer.

Diavolo had heard about your unfortunate magic mishaps from Lucifer a few different times.

And every time, Diavolo laughed wholeheartedly as Lucifer explained exactly what happened.

He found it both amusing and endearing that your magic was so unpredictable.

And he had to admit he was starting to feel a little left out that everyone was getting to have such fun experiences with you except him.

He wanted a chance to experience your magic for himself, so he invited you over to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

He told you that he simply wanted to evaluate your progress in magic, even though he had gotten plenty of progress reports from the eldest demon brother.

He invited you into one of the many rooms of the Demon Lord’s Castle.

Despite most of the rooms being completely furnished, this room was nearly empty - perfect for magical misfires.

He tried to remind himself to breathe as you began performing a spell, waiting on the edge of his seat for what was about to happen.

There was something exciting about not knowing what events were about to occur.

Diavolo asked you to perform a simple teleportation spell.

You tried and tried, but every time you opened your eyes, you and Diavolo were still in the Demon Lord’s Castle.

You let out a sigh after the fifth attempt and Diavolo gave you a supporting smile.

“Maybe some fresh air will help,” Diavolo suggested, motioning for you to follow him.

You nodded your head and followed him to the door of the castle, but when he opened it, you realized that none of the surroundings outside looked normal.

Diavolo froze for a moment, noticing the same thing you did, and as he tried to piece together where the two of you were, you realized that the teleportation spell did work.

But, instead of teleporting the two of you like you were supposed to, you teleported the entire castle.

You held your breath as you waited for Diavolo to say something, and when he didn’t, you were afraid he was mad at you.

You were about to ask him as much when he started laughing. It started as a small chuckle, but by the end of it, he was practically doubled over from laughing so hard.

“This is fantastic,” you heard him mutter under his breath before he turned to you, closing the door.

“Try and get us back to the Devildom,” Diavolo told you.

You took in a deep breath, before reciting the spell, silently praying that it would work.

Praying - that was a mistake.

As Diavolo opened the door again, you realized that you recognized your surroundings this time, but it wasn’t the Devildom. It was the Celestial Realm.

Diavolo seemed a bit concerned as he looked around. “We should leave here immediately,” Diavolo stated, shutting the door and letting out a small sigh.

Your hands shook slightly as you realized the mistake of bringing the ruler of the Devildom to the Celestial Realm and you quickly recited the spell again, desperate to get out of there.

This time, when Diavolo opened the door, you heard a terrible screeching followed by a large fireball flying toward you and Diavolo.

He quickly shut the door, barely saving both of your lives and you chanted the spell one last time.

You let out a deep breath of relief as you saw the usual Devildom surrounding you when Diavolo opened the door this time.

“I’m not doing that ever again,” you told him, feeling like you had just gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.

Diavolo let out another chuckle, a smile resting on his face as he looked at you. He clearly enjoyed himself.

He didn’t get the chance to enjoy himself much and he noticed that whenever he did, you were always somewhat involved.

“With more training, I’m sure you’ll get your powers under control,” Diavolo reassured you.

He wasn’t mad at you, but he also probably wouldn’t ask you to use your magic again until you’ve had a bit more practice.

A trip to the Celestial Realm and nearly getting incinerated was enough excitement to last him for a while.

Diavolo may not have been mad at what happened, but Barbatos certainly was.

He wasn’t mad at you - he could never be mad at you.

But, he was mad at Lord Diavolo. The young master knew how unpredictable your powers were and yet he still asked you to use them.

And he was the most mad at Solomon. Though, that was a grudge he had been holding onto for a while. Barbatos was always looking for a reason to be mad at Solomon.

And your lack of control in magic certainly qualified as one.

Solomon had been entrusted with teaching you magic since he was supposed to be a great and knowledgeable sorcerer.

But, Barbatos was beginning to doubt Solomon’s abilities.

And, since your magic had nearly gotten the young master killed, Barbatos could no longer let this slide.

Barbatos had invited you over to the Demon Lord’s Castle once again to try and teach you magic his way.

He was a very powerful demon himself and he knew how hard it was to control your powers.

It took him a long time and lots of experience before he was fully able to master his own powers.

And you had to admit, out of everyone, Barbatos had come the closest to getting you to perform magic without anything going wrong.

He had put every ounce into helping you concentrate and take slow, deliberate movements so that every single part of the spell was performed correctly.

It was a transfiguration spell. There was a cat statue in front of you and all you had to do was make it real.

But, when you opened your eyes, you realized the horror and chaos that you had created.

There wasn’t just one creature in front of you, but at least a dozen. And, they weren’t cats but rats. And there in the middle of it all sat Barbatos, his eyes wide and crazed.

You were certain he was about to freak out and you were proven correct as Barbatos suddenly stood up and sprinted out of the room, returning with the proper supplies to get rid of the rats.

He was frantically chasing them around the room and you felt terrible, so you attempted to help him.

You wanted to teleport the rats to the underground labyrinth but instead, you teleported yourself and Barbatos down there.

“At least I got the right location this time,” you said sheepishly as you looked at Barbatos who had a somewhat exasperated look on his face.

Before you knew what was happening, Barbatos had you locked down in his room, you presumed so that you couldn’t do any more damage.

It took him hours to get every last rat out of the castle and when he finally did, he returned to you in his room.

He seemed much calmer now that the rats were gone and he even brought you some tea to apologize for locking you in his bedroom.

He promised that he would help you get better control of your powers, but no more transfiguration spells until you completely mastered them.

Simeon had seen you at Purgatory Halls many times since you went there a lot for your magic lessons with Solomon.

But, Simeon rarely listened in on your lessons or watched you perform magic, so he had no idea if it was going well or poorly.

He assumed things were going well since there were no accidents that happened at Purgatory Hall.

But, that was mostly because when you went there, Solomon had you reading spell books and getting familiar with different types of spells.

He saved the actual practice of magic for the classrooms at school or outdoor areas - somewhere he believed it would be okay for a mishap to happen.

So, how was Simeon supposed to know your magic was unpredictable?

Luke’s birthday was coming up and Simeon wanted to surprise him by baking a special cake since Luke loved all things sweet.

Simeon knew how to bake a simple cake, but he didn’t think that would be enough.

He wanted something more extravagant - something that would surprise Luke.

So, he enlisted your help and asked you to help him bake the cake.

Simeon believed with your powers and his baking ability, the two of you could bake something that would truly surprise Luke.

And that’s what you thought about the entire time. In your mind, you wanted to surprise him by possibly creating a cake that reminded him of the Celestial Realm or one of his favorite things.

So, you were really disappointed when the cake came out looking like just an ordinary cake.

Simeon reassured you that it was fine and that you did your best. He promised you that it would taste great and Luke would love it anyway.

Everyone gathered in the Assembly Hall after school as a makeshift party for Luke and Simeon brought the cake before running off to fetch him.

The others complimented the cake that you and Simeon made and you thanked them kindly without giving them any more details.

After the experiences you and all of them had with your magic, you were sure that they would be afraid of any cake that was made with your magic.

So, you figured it would be better not to tell them about it. Besides, the cake came out completely normal, so no harm no foul, right?

Luke came into the Assembly Hall a bit timidly, afraid of why he was being summoned to a room full of the Devildom’s most powerful demons.

But, as he looked around, he quickly understood what was happening.

The smile on his face as he now confidently walked up to the rest of you was enough to make baking the cake worth it and you proudly presented him with the cake.

Everyone wished Luke a happy birthday and then you lit the candles and told him to make a wish and blow them out.

Luke did as he was told, but when he blew the candles out, he was met with disaster as the cake exploded.

Everyone in the room, including you, and most of the furniture was coated in both the cake and its frosting and other miscellaneous toppings.

You stood there, still holding the plate the cake was on and you realized that your powers did have an effect on the cake.

“Surprise,” you weakly said as everyone turned to face you. A deep blush coated your cheeks at the mistake, but thankfully, the cake hid most of it.

You sat down the plate that you were holding and attempted to fix the situation by using magic, but Solomon stopped you and performed the spell himself.

He knew that you could fix the situation if you were given the chance, but the look in Lucifer’s eyes after being covered in cake gave Solomon the feeling that he was about to lose it.

So, he performed the spell himself for your sake and miraculously the cake managed to come off the furniture.

Everyone had to go home to get the cake off themselves and you decided to go to Purgatory Hall with the angels and Solomon. You felt terrible about ruining Luke’s birthday cake.

Once you were all cleaned up, Simeon apologized for making you use your powers and explained that he didn’t realize they were a bit unpredictable.

He felt like he pressured you to use them but once you reassured him that you wanted to help do something nice, a lot of the weight was lifted off his shoulders.

He offered to bring you some books on magic from the Celestial Realm, hoping that there would be some different information in them that might help you learn to control your powers.

As for Luke, he didn’t understand why you had baked him an exploding cake, but he wasn’t angry and he was definitely surprised.

He just wished he had been able to eat a piece before it exploded everywhere.

Solomon had been hearing an earful from almost everyone about your magic training.

No one seemed to think he was doing a good enough job at helping you control your magic.

But they didn’t realize how hard it was to train someone in magic, let alone someone who was as powerful as you.

A lot of people thought that the unpredictable consequences of using your magic were mistakes but Solomon thought differently.

He thought it was a good thing for you to experience all the goods and bads of your magic.

It was the only way you were going to get a full grasp of your abilities and how powerful you were.

Solomon loved being experimental when it came to magic.

He didn’t give you spell books to read from or give you specific instructions on how to perform a spell.

If he did, then you would become dependent on those things, unable to perform a successful spell without wanting to refer to a book first.

Solomon wanted you to be able to figure things out for yourself - to be able to perform magic on your own without needing help from someone else, or a spell book.

And he always looked on the bright side of things if something did go wrong.

So what if you turned the cat statue into rats instead of a real cat? At least you were able to do a transfiguration spell.

And maybe you teleported the entire Demon’s Lord Castle to a few different places you didn’t mean to; but, most sorcerers have a hard time doing teleportation spells on themselves, let alone something so big.

Everything you did and every consequence that may have come from it was all a testament to your powers and it always made Solomon proud.

Because of the incessant lectures from the others, Solomon would do his best to help you control your powers.

But, he’ll never treat your mishaps as something negative. In fact, sometimes he even encouraged them.

There was one time that a potion you had been making accidentally backfired on Solomon rendering him unable to speak properly.

Every time he spoke, his words would get jumbled together so he couldn’t reverse the spell himself or tell you how to do it.

Eventually, you had to go to Satan to help and although he agreed, he gave Solomon a long “I told you so” conversation about how this is why he needed to be more proactive in helping you control your powers.

That was the closest Solomon ever came to being “upset” about something that happened with your magic, but even then it was just because of Satan’s speech.

There has never been a day where Solomon wasn’t grateful that he got the opportunity to teach you though.

Not only did he enjoy getting the chance to grow closer to you, but he had never met someone with such magic potential.

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rootspiral · 23 hours ago

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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 6

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7])

(I can't believe I squeezed six entries out of this dang episode!!!)

agatha sees billy waking up and takes her usual moment to wipe all genuine emotion from her face and put on her mask. it's getting increasingly clear that this wretch of a woman is always wearing a mask and playing the larger-than-life uncaring witch she wishes she could be

not that she cares about you or anything.

billy does that thing children do. he doesn't say thank you or ask why she's crying, he asks about himself, his current troubles and fears, looking for guidance. that's the wonderful thing about a parent, they give a child a safe environment to grow and make mistakes and explore. A parent is, or should be, selfless. That billy feels safe doing this with agatha tells you he instinctively trusts her much more than he realizes.

agatha never lies to billy

and the way she's always drawn to teaching and explaining and guiding despite herself. deep, deep down agatha is a nurturing person who only ever got to nurture for a short time

I just realize agatha cannot actually say the name billy, can she? because of the sigil. so this is her going, I know it's still you kiddo, behind all that. I see some people arguing that agatha might actually think he's Nicky at first and personally I don't believe that's the case, the dialogue is muddy only to mislead the viewers before the big Wiccan reveal.

Two reasons agatha knew this was billy all along: she's had three centuries to sit with nicky's loss now. nicky is gone for good, no matter all her tricks and her pleading and her endless pit of sorrow, that is the one irrevocable fact that she will never be able to change. that is the cornerstone, the whole core of who agatha is today. she has lost nicky, she has committed unspeakable horrors to cope with that loss. she is afraid to die because nicky is on the other side and she cannot face him.

The second reason is that agatha loves billy for being billy, not just as a nicky stand-in. she was uniquely equipped to understand and empathize with wanda, and that's even more true for billy because he's a little boy and agatha's whole heart is wired and predisposed to reach out to him. she saw the miracle that was his birth, she saw first hand what chaos magic can do. this is a child flung out in the world carrying an immense power and no instructions on how to use it. he's capable of terrible things that could easily turn him into a monster and a pariah, and agatha is, besides wanda, the only person in the world who truly understands what that means. do you remember what happened to agatha at around the age billy is now? everything in her is demanding to guide and help. selfishly, because all that power would be hers to control. selfishly because he reminds her of herself and she wants to undo what her mother did to her. and selfishly because helping billy would in a way redeem what she did to nicky.

and also, selflessly. because she wants to help him grow and be successful and be happy.

billy created the Road to find tommy, sure. but what he's been doing on the Road is finding community. or rather, getting close to witchfolk to find out who he is in relationship to them, exploring the identity he was born with that he cannot express with his adoptive parents. he started with a lot of silly ideas on what witches should and shouldn't be and created trials that are, let's face it, rather stereotyped and demeaning. next trial is agatha and he is puzzling her out now, willing her to become the ideal witch and mentor he's looking for. he's doing it with the grace of an elephant in a china store, but that's just what being a kid is.

aaand the wall is all the way up and she runs away. but we made some progress there, didn't we?

oh to be a vampire and getting to bite patti lupone's neck

rio looks so engrossed and fascinated listening to lilia! rio just loves people, you know? she loves life in all its multifaceted forms, and that's not at odds with her job description at all. she is The Green Witch, she has embraced nature, which is to say life, so completely that all of it is important and precious to her. my headcanon is that as the original green witch she started ferrying souls because she deeply understood and accepted death as natural and organic and sought to help it along. it's funny, lilia is terrified of her but if asked, rio would have such a long list of things that make lilia special.

and that such a being would fell in love with agatha of all people?? god that is amazing. that is how you write a beautifully doomed epic love story. billions and billions of humans throughout history, and agatha is who caught her eye. and not because agatha is a serial killer mind you, that's just foreplay. it's because she is the most intense, the most interesting human Death ever came across. while others saw a damaged girl, rio saw poetry in her extraordinary complexity

and then, through agatha and nicky, rio experienced grief from a new point of view. Death, no longer impartial.

a wiser future Lilia pays another brief visit

and she's gone. her puzzled little face!

from being awkward and fearing her oddities to laughing with her about it. another step toward a deeper understanding, and acceptance, and love.

look at agatha's body language when she approaches. uncertain, arms crossed. these people have seen her without her mask now, openly weeping about billy

and then she puts her hands in her pockets and postures, ready to underplay things. pppft, crying? moi? you guys must have dreamed it.

alice with her big compassionate heart will never be able to think of agatha as cruel and distant again

agatha picks up rio's flower

rio looks at her

pretends she wasn't looking when agatha looks back

you could cut the damn tension with a knife

jen trying to include agatha??? man they did really see her cying fr

look how interested lilia is! I wish shows could just be 15 hours of women hanging out and chatting, no plot, just vibes

agatha glances at rio as if saying, you know exactly which scar this is. and rio chuckles because she remembers the story. THE INTIMACY BETWEEN THESE TWO. I'm going feral again.

what is this, camaraderie? community? perhaps even, dare I say it, friendship???

agatha doesn't know what to do with herself!

behold the textbook definition of 'awkward turtle'

oh rio's DETERMINED

'no you don't' 'yes I do' STOP IT YOU STUPID GAYS

agatha all casual like honey I've seen every inch of that body

just... the way they fell into a rhythm. the doMESTICITY.

lol jen's and alice's gaydars pinging at the same time. like somETHING FRUITY IS AFOOT. AND WE WOULD KNOW.

and fuck fuck fuck fuck I cannot believe I've run out of space again and I need to do a part 7

LOOK WHAT THESE LESBIANS ARE DOING TO ME (it'll be up in like an hour guys don't worry)

go to episode 4 part 7

#agatha all along #agatha deep dive #agathario #agatha harkness #rio vidal #billy maximoff #lilia calderu #jennifer kale #alice wu gulliver #character study

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ask-akira-natsumi · 2 days ago

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These are some good points. I also believe that he fell in love with Feyre, and that he was just really bad at communicating/ bad at romantic relationships in general. (I'd felt like Lucien, throughout the whole first book, had been coaching Tamlin step by step on how to woo/seduce Feyre. ie. Lucien tagging along to the lake of starlight date as an emotional-support best friend)

Though some of my thoughts still differ in a few places, I do also agree with a lot of your points against Rhys.

I remember ready the story for the first time and telling my friend, who'd already read the full series, about what a terrible person Rhys was in the first book. I think Rhys was living way too deep in his Hewn/UTM persona because he did unnecessary and terrible things to Feyre in order to 'piss Tamlin off' under the guise that it was so Tamlin would turn feral on Amarantha once the spell was broken.

Considering the first book ends with Rhys fulling realizing that Feyre is his mate (though its later explained that he knew before that), I think most of his behavior towards her UTM was him trying to interact with his mate as much as possible because he wanted her attention and she was in love with someone else, so he was willing to have bad attention over none at all. Also as a way to distract him from the all the things Amarantha made him do, taking comfort in his mate without her knowledge or consent.

I digress, your points have convinced me that I would now like to see a Tamlin 'redemption arch' in the series where he gets happy ending too.

The way people switched on Tamlin the moment Rhys was introduced is diabolical.

“Tamlin never really loved Feyre, it was all a trick from the start”: It is stated that Tamlin was disgusted by the idea of forcing someone to fall in love with him and considered it slavery, but ended up being so in love with her that he ultimately lets her go and choses her freedom and safety over that of his own people. Rhys confirms that Tamlin loved Feyre too much. And he loved her truly. Not because he had to. Tamlin treated Feyre with dignity when she was engaged to him. He introduced her as his lady, to be respected and cherished by all. And she really was loved by his people, too. Rhysand uses her as his lap dog to scare Hewn City and parades her as his whore.

“Tamlin never did anything for Feyre, he just used her”: He improved her and her family’s life in every aspect and offered her everything he had.

“Tamlin had sex with someone else in Calanmai”: Out of duty and responsibility because he didn’t want to force Feyre, who still wasn’t sure about her feelings, into it. All of the High Lords perform the Calanmai. Lucien says so. How convenient that this is never brought up with Rhysand. He surely does perform it as well. All the theories in here, “Lucien doesn’t know what he’s talking about/ This is a SC ritual only/ He probably just passes the duty on to someone else” are just a way for people to villainise Tam and glorify Rhys again. All of them inaccurate. The Calanmai is canonically performed by every High Lord. There’s no evidence that proves otherwise. As the son of one High Lord and the ambassador of another, Lucien would know. He is 500 years old. It’s just more convenient for SJM to never bring this up again because it raises the question of “Who was Rhysand fucking all these years?” and it makes her favourite character look bad. And once he is engaged to her, Tamlin flat out refuses to do it. Let’s be real for a second.

“Tamlin didn’t help Feyre under the mountain”: He literally could not. He was bound by a curse. He was forced to be Amarantha’s consort and a consort cannot oppose you. His powers were bound. Alis warns Feyre that Tamlin will not be able to help her. Stop acting as if he didn’t want to help her. He decapitated Amarantha the moment he got his autonomy back. Claiming that there’s no proof that Tamlin was under the influence of a spell when he literally didn’t break the curse and Amarantha’s magic didn’t allow him to use his powers is crazy. And even if he tried, he could never provide actual help. We see this when he begs Amarantha for Feyre’s life. Him showing he cares about her would only make Amarantha more jealous and vicious towards Feyre.

“Tamlin made out with Feyre instead of helping her”: He couldn’t help her run away. No one could do that. She would never make it, Amarantha would find her. In fact, Tamlin specifically could not help her in any way. He could only assure her he still wants and loves her. And she wanted that just as much. Rhys abused her physically, mentally, verbally, drugged her and much worse. And he enjoyed all of it. If he didn’t want to raise suspicions, he wouldn’t have placed a bet in her favour. Rhys is a sadist, SJM just decided to mellow him down in the next book so that we’d all like him over Tamlin.

“Tamlin ignored Feyre’s wishes and only wanted her to be his bride, he didn’t let her be High Lady”: Both Tamlin and Feyre were bad communicators going though trauma and Tam had a whole court to care for. Tamlin was unaware of how Feyre felt because she barely spoke up once. Rhys knew because he literally lived inside her head and had all the time in the world to focus his attention on her since his court suffered zero consequences during Amarantha’s reign. And Tamlin simply told her the truth: there’s no such thing as High Lady. Even her current title is given to her by Rhys, the magic of Prythian has not actually chosen her to be High Lady. The title and its power are decorative. And she said she didn’t want that anyway.

“Tamlin locks Feyre up and uses his magic to harm her”: He locks her in his humongous palace to keep her safe, after she just came back from the dead and his worst enemy is kidnapping her every month, while he runs off to protect his borders. Rhysand locks Feyre in a fucking bubble. Tamlin loses control of his magic. He doesn’t want to harm her. That’s not abuse. Abuse is intentional. Feyre and Rhysand lock Lucien and Nesta up. They lock the people of the Hewn City up in a cave. Feyre loses control of her magic and harms Lucien’s mother. Double standards I guess.

“Tamlin is a bad and conservative ruler”: Tamlin is such a beloved ruler that his sentries literally begged to die for him. Feyre had to fuck with their minds to finally turn them against him. They were his friends. He was so progressive that the lords fled his court once he became their ruler because he wouldn’t put up with their bullshit like his father did. He loved all of his people. He is against slavery. The Tithe was just tax collection. Rhysand practically rules over just one city, while ignoring Hewn City and Illyria. He treats 2/3 of his realm like shit and everyone except the residents of Velaris hates him. He collects tax, too, but we conveniently never see this. He ranks the members of his inner circle (my 1st, my 2nd etc.) and reminds them every moment that they are his slaves first and anything else second, while Tamlin treats them equally and even gives Lucien an official title by naming him Ambassador.

“Tamlin conspired with Hybern”: He was a double agent and his short lived alliance, two weeks all in all, not only didn’t harm a single soul, but ultimately saved all of Prythian as he was the only one who brought valuable information to that meeting. He dragged Beron to battle. Rhysand’s alliance with Amarantha harmed thousands and only helped save one city, Velaris.

“Tamlin is responsible for turning Nesta and Elain into Fae”: No, that was Ianthe, who got the info from Feyre. Tamlin was fooled by her, just as Feyre obviously was, or she wouldn’t have trusted her. Tamlin was disgusted by that act.

“Tamlin is less powerful than Rhysand”: Rhysand himself says that a battle between them would turn mountains to dust. Tamlin killed Rhysand’s dad, the previous High Lord of the Night Court, in one blow. He is just as powerful as Rhysand. SJM again just wants us to believe otherwise. And he is smarter, too. He was the only one not to trust Amarantha. And he was a good spy for Prythian against Hybern.

All of these takes are cold as fuck. SJM was testing the waters with ACOTAR and she made sure the main love interest, Tamlin, was insanely likeable, so that the book could be a satisfactory standalone story in case she couldn’t land a trilogy deal. She didn’t know it would be such a big hit. But once she realised she could turn this into a franchise, she had to figure out a new story to tell. She may claim otherwise, but there’s just too many plothotes to convince me. And in order to make her new main love interest seem like the best choice, she had to character assassinate the old one. There was no other way. ACOTAR Rhys was too much of an evil monster to be loved by the majority of the audience. But Tamlin was introduced to us as such a heroic and passionate man that is literally impossible to turn him into someone despised by all. Feyre’s relationship with Rhysand reads too much like cheating on Tamlin. That’s why anyone with basic analytical skills is able to realise the flaws of the narration.

#acotar #tamlin

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myechoecho · 1 day ago

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Watch the first two episodes of When the Phone Rings and where has something like this been ALL year in kdramaland???

There is something delicious about how Sa Eon and Hee Joo are both in communication yet have zero communication with one another. I love that she told him off at the party in sign language knowing he would not understand. The fact that she's been quietly defying him this entire time and he's only just realizing it now.

Did I suspect that Hee Joo was not actually mute? Absolutely. It would have been more surprising if she was mute. However, I was floored when it was revealed that Hee Joo had the phone and was using it to taunt Sa Eon in a moment of sheer rage and hurt. The utter betrayal she feels because he told the kidnapper to go ahead an kill her then he has the nerve to say at the party she is his weakness what just too much for her. I fully support this deranged and brilliant move.

Now we get this bizarre flirtation between the two, with them weirdly learning more about the other all through the voice modulated cell phone that Hee Joo swiped. . Hee Joo taunting him with all he doesn't know about her. Sa Eon learning he does not know about Hee Joo and then becoming determined to learn about her. Though that, Hee Joo learning that he actually does care and probably always did. This is what is going to push them together.

Though for someone that says they are in absolute control of everything, it's slightly odd that Sa Eon would not learn sign language. Like what if she was telling the ambassador that she is being held hostage and needs help? I guess she's been isolated and hidden enough to not matter. Even the way he "confirmed" how she was home in order for him to say to the kidnapper to kill her was a bit lazy.

At the same time, there was clearly some nagging doubt that Sa Eon had. He was very much relieved that she was safe. He was also absolutely furious to learn that the kidnapping was real as seen by his bloody knuckles. Not sure why he thought he knew her when they did not speak through their 3 year marriage, but now it's driving him nuts to know that there are pieces of her he simply does not understand. He is going to rectify that.

I am very curious as to how their marriage came to be. The reveal at the end that it was Sa Eon to suggest the bride swap seemingly to save Hee Joo from marriage to a terrible person. Even though he is cold and indifferent to her and literally called her a hostage so it's still not a great situation for Hee Joo to be in. I have a strong suspicion that person texting Sa Eon was Hee Joo, and NOT her sister. The language used in the text is identical to the language Hee Joo used in the present to threaten Sa Eon.

If I am right about this, that opens up so many questions. Why did Hee Joo want to stop the marriage? Where is her sister? Did her sister know? What secrets of Sa Eon's family did Hee Joo know? Why did Sa Eon suggest the bride swap after leaning Hee Joo was to be married? Did he always care for her? Why did Hee Joo agree to this marriage, since the person on the other end of the text was obviously thrown by the suggestion? We know that Hee Joo's mom/step mom uses her father to manipulate her so that probably plays a role but is there more to it?

Clearly the kidnapper is also going to make a reappearance since he's not going to let all his carefully laid plans go to waste. The preview for the next episode has me excited. And Hee Joo and Sa Eon have bucket loads of chemistry.

I will end with my now obligatory rant on how this show should be 16 episodes. At least it's 12 episodes since those shows tend to work a bit better than the ones that are 10 eps or less. But I am still bitter about the episode count.

#when the phone rings #kdrama

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maxdibert · 3 days ago

Note

“Sirius killed people-“ so did Snape, supposedly loved Lily but betrayed her location to Voldemort because he was jealous of James actually winning her heart, not to mention convincing Harry the abuse was his fault, nearly giving Neville PTSD to the point where his boggart was Severus Snape himself, being a racist pos to anyone born of muggle parents, and becoming a high ranking member of the death eaters so what? He could protect Harry?

“It’s easier to cry in a Ferrari-“

it’s easier to defend a terrible character and play the racism and eat the rich card when you can’t understand context and inference clues that JK Rowling laid out.

What’s easy is inventing canon. What a load of made-up nonsense, mate.

1. Learn to read. I didn’t say Sirius killed anyone, but he did attempt murder. And he did it because he thought it was funny to torture Severus.

2. There’s no evidence that Severus killed anyone before Dumbledore asked him for euthanasia. This is made quite clear when Dumbledore talks about his concern for Draco’s soul, and Severus immediately questions him about his own soul. If Severus is so worried about it, it’s implied he hadn’t killed anyone before—or at least not in cold blood.

3. Have you even read the books? The only person who knew the Potters’ location was Peter. He’s the one who betrayed them.

4. There’s no evidence he was a racist. First off, equating racism with the concept of blood purity not only trivializes a serious social issue but also makes it clear that some of you have no idea what racism is or its history. The discriminatory dynamics and their foundations are completely different. But anyway, putting that aside, there’s no evidence whatsoever that Severus discriminated against Muggle-borns. The only time he makes a comment is during the incident with Lily—which, conveniently, happens when James and Sirius are sexually assaulting him, and Lily seems to smile at James. I don’t think you can judge someone’s ideology based on a comment made in an extremely tense moment. Canonically, Severus doesn’t treat Muggle-born students worse in class or make comments about their heritage. Nor does he badmouth Muggles. At most, he makes condescending remarks—which, let’s be real, all the characters do, even the “good ones,” because they’re ridiculously patronizing toward Muggles.

5. Severus was literally a double agent and reached the highest ranks of the Death Eaters to, yes, protect Harry. That’s literally why. He’s following Dumbledore’s orders. Like, have you read the books, or are you just pulling this stuff from fanfics? 99% of what you’ve said so far is pure fantasy, mate.

6. Yes, love, it’s actually pretty easy for me to defend people whose actions are a direct consequence of their life circumstances, and whose poor decisions were directly influenced by a lack of opportunities, security, and the violence of their environment. In fact, that’s literally my job. That’s what I do for a living.

Look, I don’t give a damn if you’re a Sirius fangirl. You can love a character while admitting he was a massive piece of crap. I love The Penguin, and there’s no way to justify him at all. Like, it’s fine, you know? You also have every right to feel sorry for him—I’m not going to judge you for that or anything. I’m not invalidating other people’s feelings if they think Sirius’s life was super tragic and feel a lot of compassion for him. Everyone has their own feelings and points of empathy. But that’s not the case for me. I don’t feel sorry for him. There’s no excuse for being an abusive bully with sociopathic tendencies toward someone who was canonically in a position of social and economic disadvantage. If Severus had come from a good family, with money and power—or if Sirius had been someone without a name, wealth, or status—then I’d view the situation differently because they would have been on equal footing. But just like the Black family chose Muggle-borns to torture because they knew they could, Sirius chose Severus because he knew he could. He’s a hypocrite and a piece of garbage. At least Bellatrix admitted her tendencies.

#severus snape #pro severus snape #severus snape defense #sirius black #sirius orion black #so i’m sorry but sirius background didn’t excuse his actions #sirius black you posh bastard #sirius black sadistic bitch #sirius black meta #severus snape meta #sirius black headcanon #harry potter #harry potter meta

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hhoneylemon · 22 hours ago

Text

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴”

summary: you love sam. it hurts.

genre: angst/comfort

word count: 3k

edited

you knew the life. you knew what attachments could do. you’d heard about hunters who fell in love and had their terrible endings, watching their partner die or waiting for them to come back (they never did). yet you couldn’t help yourself.

more often than not, you felt as though you were drowning. the little smiles he would send you, his dimples and the way his eyes would brighten. how his voice sounded so gentle when he spoke to you, how his hands were gentle whenever he gave you little touches. they were all friendly. you knew that. you wished they weren’t.

you always got so worried when he got hurt during hunts. when he was thrown to the ground, or when he was cut or shot. it was funny; dean got hurt just as much as sam, yet you didn’t worry over him as much as his younger brother. you still cared for dean, just… not as much as sam.

the day you accepted your feelings for him, you cried. he had gotten into a fight with dean, prompting the older of the two to go on a walk. sam had sat on his motel bed, researching the lore. you felt bad; you were showering during the fight, didn’t pick up the details. you didn’t know who was right or wrong, but you tried to comfort him nonetheless.

you had sat at the edge of dean’s bed, frowning at sam. you gave him gentle eyes, wanting him to know you were being friendly.

“what happened?”

he had glanced up at you from the book he was reading. your heart beat a little faster at his puppy eyes. he sighed heavily.

“he’s just… being dean. he makes me so mad, sometimes, y’know?”

you nodded, because you did know. dean was protective of you too, although not to the same extent of sam. it was annoying sometimes. he thought he could control so many aspects of your lives. you also understood that it was just his way of taking care of the two of you, knowing he was scared to be alone.

“yeah, i know. he does that sometimes, hm?”

sam huffs, nodding. his lips fall into a tight line. you frown, crossing your arms and leaning forward a tad. you didn’t like how upset he seemed.

“well, i mean, i kinda understand him too. he’s just trying to protect you.”

he had rolled his eyes, sighing, annoyed.

“yeah, yeah. i know. he just needs to understand i can protect myself.”

you nodded in agreement. he turned his attention back to his book, but you looked at him just a moment longer. the way his hair fell onto his face, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated. the small bite of his lip as he reads, the way he squints when a sentence is confusing.

he glances back at you after a few minutes.

“do you have more to say? you’re staring.”

you shook your head, standing up from the bed.

“no, sorry. got lost in thought.”

you had wandered back to the bathroom to collect your dirty clothes. you paused in the mirror. you could feel your cheeks were warmer, and you were suddenly aware of your heartbeat. it was faster than normal. you just stared at yourself, lips slightly parted. you had always thought sam was attractive, but that was it. he was your friend. you weren’t even sure if he was over jessica yet. you bit your lip at the thought. was he not over jessica? were you just waiting for him to be so that you knew if you had a chance or not? you didn’t like the thought. if jessica wasn’t completely out of the photo, were you even there period? he might love that woman until the day he died. there was no reason for him to feel for you when he had already found his person. maybe it’s good you had never met her yourself. you’re sure her prettiness and kindness would’ve made you a jealous beast. maybe you would’ve began hating yourself within that time.

you’re not sure how long you were in the bathroom for, but a hand on your shoulder snapped you out of it. your cheeks were warm and wet with tears. your eyes find him in the mirror. his are soft and comforting.

“i noticed you weren’t out yet. what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, wiping your tears.

“nothing’s wrong.”

“you sure? crying in a bathroom is suspicious.”

“i’m sure, sam.”

you brush him off of you, walking into the main room. you take your spot on the couch, climbing under your blanket. maybe sleep could take you to a better place. to be fair, anywhere would be better than here. you could hear him sink onto his bed, and then you could feel his eyes on your back. you were sure he was trying to assess you, trying to figure out what was wrong and if he could fix it. the answer was no.

after that day, you tried being distant. you would look everywhere but him when speaking to him. you would favor sitting beside him at restaurants so that it was dean who was across from you and in your immediate vision. you stayed polite and tried to have less conversations about everything you normally did, sticking to just hunting and lore and stuff during cases. it felt easier this way.

of course, sam was confused. the person he considered his best friend was growing cold. did he do something? so he wouldn’t go out of his way to have conversations with you, much to your chagrin. he would be extra nice, offering his bed to take the couch (even if his long legs would dangle off of it), he’d let you shower first after a hunt, he would take the burden of researching so you could relax. he was getting frustrated when you didn’t seem to be getting as close as you used to be. why?

you, however, felt as if you were hurting every time you saw him, heard him, even smelled him. he smelled like crappy motel soap most of the time, but there was always a hint of coffee and sweat and dirt. you hated it. it wasn’t that he necessarily smelt good, unless you were posing as agents or reporters where he would spritz his cheap cologne. it was good cheap cologne, you were sure it was from his days at stanford. you were jealous of the people he sat beside in classes everyday who got to experience a good smelling and actually happy sam. you wish you had gotten that.

there was a point where you realized you couldn’t have him. you were sure of this, because you began speaking to him normally. you were sure your eyes betrayed you and looked at him as though he were a lamp and you were but a moth, but he never commented about it. you were happy about this. you didn’t have to embarrass yourself with that conversation. the times you spent speaking were heavenly, the amount of attention he focused on you and the looks and tone he reserved specially for you. that look and that tone were something you kept in a pocket in the background of your mind.

you wish he’d love you.

you started to feel suffocated the longer this went. you know it’s been months, maybe even a year. it was terrible. little comforting touches he gave you after a hunt were everything to you, letting you melt against him and give him a smile.

you had confided in dean one time he caught you crying, unable to be alone any longer. he had given you a sympathetic look, a small hug. you began sitting side by side, your head on his shoulder. his arm was around your waist, giving you a comforting squeeze as you began calming yourself. he gave you his soft big brother voice when he finally spoke.

“i’m so sorry. i thought you two would’ve been dating way before this.”

you weren’t sure what he had meant. you hadn’t asked him to elaborate, just wanting someone to lean on. you had fallen asleep and he tucked you into his bed, taking the couch. when sam came back from getting dinner for everyone, they just left your portion in the bag. they ate in silence and went to bed, not wanting to rouse you. dean was extra careful about teasing the two of you from then on.

sam wasn’t sure when he had began loving you. he was sure of why, however. in the way you actually listened to him when he spoke, how you were so kind and caring, how you understood him and had shared experiences. he feels a tug at his heartstrings every time he sees you with a fresh injury after a hunt, or every time he can swear he hears you crying in the bathroom. he just wants to wrap you in a big bear hug and keep you from everything in the world. he wanted you to realize how he felt, now. maybe all you needed to cheer you up was a relationship. he was sure the hunting life was driving you crazy, though he’s unsure since you’ve done it for so long. maybe it was a seasonal thing? he could’ve sworn you’ve been so upset for months…

one hunt was your breaking point. you posed as journalists, all wearing nice suits or just a nice outfit in general. sam wore that cheap cologne.

you had been talking to an older lady that had been in the building during the attack, asking the usual questions.

“what are you aware happened?”

“did you see or hear anything beforehand?”

“any flickering lights? cold spots?”

“did you know this person? what were they like?”

“i’m so sorry you experienced this. those were all of my questions, thank you for answering. have a good day, ma’am.”

you had then gone to a local cafe to purchase a coffee; it was early and you were still tired. maybe it could get your mind jogging the way you needed it to. you had left the shop, finding the brothers speaking in hushed tones where you left them. you got back to them and were quickly caught up in their plan; they would fight the ghost off that night, trying to save tonight’s night shift workers. you would have to find the bones and torch them. simple enough.

the ghost wasn’t appreciative of this. it threw the brothers around, they swung at it with the fire pokers they had brought, it would vanish and then come back. after one of dean’s swings, it didn’t reappear. they stood en guard in case it did, and when it didn’t, they assumed you had finally torched it. they walk back to the impala, laughing about another hunt finished and how they would celebrate.

they got to the graveyard, expecting you to be waiting for them by the gate. you weren’t. sam climbed out of the passenger side, a feeling of dread settling in his gut. he got his fire poker back from the trunk of the impala and wandered in, feeling uncomfortable not knowing what he would find. why weren’t you waiting for them, smiling and ready to celebrate?

his question was quickly answered; he spots you standing several yards from where he remembers the grave being. the closer he gets, the more he sees. the bruise on your forehead, the salt circle surrounding you, slightly illuminated by the moonlight. then there was the ghost, angrily growling and hissing, unable to reach you through the salt. she’s staring you down, waiting for you to accidentally nudge the salt or to step out of the circle. you don’t.

the ghost notices sam before you do. in a flash she’s in front of him and scratching with her freakishly long claws. he fights back with the fire poker, yelling for you to ‘torch the bitch!’ and so you run back to where you remember the grave being.

you sprinkle the corpse with salt, then coat it with gasoline. you sigh sadly, giving an apology before throwing in the match. the body catches up in flames, and after a few moments, sam is at your side. he’s panting, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“c’mon.”

he’s saying, voice gentle as he begins directing you to the impala. he’s not sure if you’ve got a head injury or if she just hit you from the look of your forehead. he won’t take any chances, opening the backseat door for you. he sits in the passenger seat, though he keeps glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

you get your shower once you get to the motel. you don’t dry off fully, being quick so that sam can get his turn. he was very urgent that you took pain killers, even giving you his own plastic water bottle to drink from. he gives you a smile, only heading into the bathroom once he’s sure you’ve swallowed. you sit on dean's bed for a moment, fingers digging into your thighs. the walls of the motel are suffocating you; sam’s scent is lingering almost everywhere, specifically in his bed and his bag and the couch. you need out.

you step outside and sit on the curb. your legs bend in front of you and you lean onto them. it’s a cold night and you find yourself regretting not grabbing a jacket. you’re sure dean’s gone to get food for everyone; the impala’s missing. you watch cars drive by the motel, you look at the stars, you occasionally close your eyes to soak in the tranquility and peacefulness of it all. that gets taken from you. for once, you don’t mind.

a jacket is draped over your back and it curls around your shoulders. sam sits beside you, wearing sweatpants and a different jacket. you hug the one he draped over you close to yourself for some warmth. the two of you sit in silence for a while.

“are you okay?”

he finally breaks the silence, although his voice is so close to a whisper that you can barely say that. you know the question is loaded. he’s not asking about after today, or if you’re in pain (he already gave you some pain killers and his plastic water bottle to take them with, so it’s not this), he’s asking in general. it may actually be about these past few months. you’ve been acting different and even you knew it. how do you explain it to him?

“no.”

you finally respond, voice weighted. he huffs softly into the air. he sounded amused.

“no shit. wanna tell me why?”

you look to him. he’s already looking at you. his eyes are soft but imploring, he’s got a gentle smile on his face. his hair is damp and sticks out at weird angles. there’s a bruise forming on his cheek. you don’t think he’s looked better.

“not really.”

he sighs gently in response. you can tell he’s about to gently scold you, tell you he can’t help if he doesn’t know what the problem is. he so badly wants to help.

“however, i’m tired of being alone.”

this confuses sam. it shows on his face, in his eyes. you’ve never been alone. one of the main reasons he was drawn to you in the first place was that you were similarly struggling.

“sam…”

you begin. he knows not to interject. he gives you a comforting smile, imploring you to continue.

“i’ve felt suffocated these past few months. as if i were drowning. i wish i had drowned, it would have saved me from this.”

a flash of something passes in his eyes. you couldn’t read what it was. you pull the jacket closer to yourself, searching for comfort.

“but here i am. so, i’m telling you my biggest secret. i thought i’d die before i voiced this to anyone. this is my second time telling someone, so i was clearly wrong.”

you pause to close your eyes and gather your thoughts. you never thought you’d be able to tell him, of course you hadn’t rehearsed.

“sam, i’m so upset with you. you and your long legs. they’re taking up my whole heart. give me room for other things!”

the look you give him is almost angry. the lights from the motel betray you, however, illuminating the tears in your eyes.

“you can’t love me back. and that sucks. so, i don’t know… reject me or yell at me for being stupid or something.”

sam does not like the look in your eyes. he gulps, reaching out and cupping your face in his big hands. he offers a comforting smile.

“i think that’s an over exaggeration. i do love you, alright? you and your pretty eyes and your big heart.”

he smiled at his own small joke, prompting you to do the same. he loved you? you’re about to ask questions as he leans in and presses his chapped lips to yours. he’s gentle and slow. it’s everything you’d hoped it’d be. you feel tears begin slipping from your eyes; he feels them as they hit his fingers. he smiles fondly at you, pulling away to wipe the tears.

“you didn’t know? i tried making it so obvious. i’m sorry you couldn’t tell.”

he kisses you again. the warmth in your gut turns to a fire that warms your heart. you feel yourself melting into him, your own hands reaching out to hold his forearms. he breaks the kiss, his breath fanning across your face before he leans farther back.

“i can offer you the other side of my bed, and i won’t touch you ‘til you initiate, okay?”

his thumbs gently caress your cheeks, right under your eyes. he’s giving you his puppy eyes, a small smile spread on his face.

“will you have me?”

you find yourself the one to initiate the third kiss, gently cupping the back of his neck to bring him back to you. this one is shorter, more just to feel the warmth of his lips once more. you sigh against him as you pull back, being the one offering a smile this time.

“of course.”

he smiles wide, humming in content. he then pulls all the way away so that he can stand. he offers a hand.

“let’s go inside before dean gets back. also, it’s cold, i don’t like it out here.”

you laugh softly, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. neither of you let go even as sam unlocks the motel room door and you walk back inside, not even as you both sit on his - your - bed and begin talking about whatever. you finally have what you want, what you craved so badly.

he loves you.

thank you for reading <3

masterlist

#sam winchester x reader #gn reader #male reader #fem reader #spn x reader #sam winchester

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