#and briefly regret her kind actions

[theladycarpathia]

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

Prompt: Microwave Dinner

Billy doesn’t even hear Max until the microwave dings.

“You’re going to burn it,” she grumbles, as she waits for him to pull the crappy microwave dinner out. Billy bites back a curse as the steam singes his fingers.

“It might improve it,” Billy mutters, because the charcoal might actually add some flavor to the mounds of dry potato, carrots and turkey. That was all Neil and Susan had left behind in the fridge for them and Billy wasn’t about to waste his limited funds on grocery shopping.

He waits for it to cool before he tugs off the film and hands it to her. She doesn’t wait for him before she bolts back into the living room and whatever show she’s chosen.

Of course not.

He shoves in the second tinfoil tray in the microwave and puts in the allotted time. While it spins slowly on the plate he leans against the kitchen counter, ignoring the faint sounds of Max turning the TV volume up too high. It would be fine if her choice of entertainment weren’t such trash.

He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting but it wasn’t this.

The microwave dings again and he yanks open the door, tugging the tray out onto the counter and staring at the bland dinner that is apparently all his eighteenth birthday is worth.

He hadn’t expected a lot. But Neil and his stepmother vanished out of the door, leaving him with a microwave dinner and babysitting duties wasn’t it.

Even Max has barely acknowledged the date, instead piling into the Camaro after school, flushed and ten minutes late after the bell. There was a vaguely shifty expression on her face when he’d asked why she wasn’t on time, a defensiveness in the way she’d hauled her skateboard onto her lap. Billy figured she’d just been caught up with that boy and let it go.

At least someone has friends who care.

He grabs a fork and follows Max into the living room. She’s curled up on the couch, legs tucked up underneath her. Her red hair is twisted into two thick plaits and that alone probably says something about how much she’s grown. When she was little, she never used to bother, keeping her long red hair loose around her face. But these days, she wears cute t-shirts, twists her hair into little knots, keeps a lip gloss on her bedside table. 

“Slow down,” he mutters, carefully juggling the hot tray while he peels off the film. Max barely blinks as she shoves dry mashed potato into her mouth.

“It’s fine,” Max says, licking her lip.

“Fine, choke, see if I care,” Billy says flatly and Max smirks.

“You wish,” she retorts. She chews furiously on her last carrot and stands up, empty tray in her hands. “Can I go? I’ve got homework. Here, you can have this.” She doesn’t even wait for an answer, instead chucking the remote control down next to Billy. Billy feels oddly empty as she vanishes, leaving him alone with the jarring sounds of the TV and his rapidly cooling dinner.

He tries not to care. No one’s really given a shit about his birthday since his mom left. Neil certainly didn’t. For a few years after Max and Susan turned up, there was at least cake and a few wrapped presents. Usually shit that Neil thought was an appropriate gift, rather than Billy actually wanted but at least the day was acknowledged. There was a card waiting by his plate at breakfast this morning and that was it. No tapes, no basketball, no socks, or any of the usual shit he gets stuck with. 

It would have been fine, except he’s not heard from…he’s not heard anything all day. He half expected the BMW to be waiting for him in the parking lot - not that with his expected babysitting duties, they could even have gone to the quarry like normal - but it just wasn’t there. Billy had kept an eye on the road while he was waiting for Max, just in case it pulled in late.

But it didn’t and Billy was well and truly crushed.

He gets it. The day Billy Hargrove was born was a celebration to no one.

He morosely eats his meal, barely even tasting any of it. When he’s done, he gets up, figuring that he may as well clean up. If Max is in her room for the night maybe he can watch something decent.

He gathers up both containers and retrieves Max’s abandoned cutlery from the side. He knows the drill. His birthday will not save him from a bruised eye if the kitchen hasn’t been cleaned.

Max sticks her head into the kitchen just as he begins to run the tap. He tries his best to ignore her but she walks over to him like it’s any other day.

“What do you want, maggot?” Billy grunts, because he fully expects her to ask for dessert. Which, aside from a few old bananas and some stale chocolate chips from Susan’s last happy homemaker baking binge, they don’t have any of.

“Come with me,” Max says firmly. Billy digs his heels in, because he can, because he’s had enough, because he’s eighteen and no one cares.

“Get lost, Maxine,” he says, slamming the cutlery into the sink far harder than he really needs to.

“No, you have to come with me now,” she insists and actually grabs hold of his wrist. Her fingers are thin and delicate around his skin, faint flecks of blue nail varnish on her fingers. Billy stares at her resolute face and wonders how much Susan would mind if he tied up her only child and strung her up from a flagpole outside the high school.

“And I said I don’t want to,” Billy repeats. “I have to clean up.” Max looks behind him at the few items in the sink, the discarded packaging from their dinner and makes a face.

“I’ll do that. Seriously, we only have an hour,” she says, pulling on his arm like she thinks she can move him. “Will you come on? It’s for your birthday.”

Stunned, Billy lets her pull him out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“You got me a present?” he asks incredulously, and Max raises her eyebrows.

“Sort of,” she says vaguely and Billy winces as she twists his skin as she tries to bolt headlong down the hallway. “I had to sort it, that’s why I was late. I didn’t know Mom and Neil were going out for sure until this morning and then I had to use the phone…”

To Billy’s confusion they pass right by her room. Max stops in front of his door, her eyes unusually bright.

“One hour,” she instructs, turning the door handle. “That’s all. I’ll set a timer. And I’ll put the radio on.”

“What the hell do you…” Billy starts to say, as she opens his door and pushes him inside. She slams the door behind him, shutting him in darkness.

“What the hell?” Billy starts, before his words are cut off by a rap at the window.

He nearly shits himself when he sees the face at the window.

“Steve?” Billy hisses incredulously, hurrying across to undo the latch and yank the window up. Steve heaves himself up onto the windowsill and grins.

“Happy birthday,” he says and Billy has to take a step back to let Steve slither into the room.

“What the fuck?” Billy says, because apparently his boyfriend and his sister have been conspiring behind his back all day. Steve lands awkwardly on the carpet, a tangle of limbs and hair and good humor, despite his bad landing. Billy quietly shuts the window again and turns around. But he’s not dreaming and Steve Harrington is really standing in his room. Polo shirt, denim jacket, a lump of car keys in his pocket.

“Thought I was going to get arrested,” Steve says, brushing back his hair from his face in a motion that never fails to make Billy’s stomach dip. Steve’s windswept, his face flushed from the cold and the illicit trip through Billy’s window. “I swear I was going like seventy down Cornwallis.”

“How did you…?” Billy starts, but Steve’s looking around with interest and Billy realizes that Steve’s never been in his room before. There’s a flicker of shame in his belly, because he’s been in Steve’s palatial house, slept naked in Steve’s huge bed, and his own room feels small and dingy by comparison. But Steve noses with interest at his assorted hair products, the scantily clad girls on the calendar, the leather bracelets on his dresser, like he’s actually interested in the effects of Billy’s life. 

“I thought you’d forgotten,” Billy says quietly, and Steve sits down on Billy’s single bed. He smooths a hand over the plain blue cover and Billy wonders if that’s why Max was so obvious about the fact that she’d have music on.

“I was going to come visit you at school,” Steve explains.“But Max called this morning and said that your parents were going out. So we planned this instead.”

Billy drops down onto the bed next to Steve, feeling a little stunned that they went through the effort. If Neil and Susan hadn’t gone out, Max probably would have skated to the arcade to buy Steve and Billy some time. But instead, she’d arranged for Steve to come here, ensuring that they’d at least have some time together.

“Your sister is terrifying,” Steve says frankly, perhaps because he can see the gears turn in Billy’s head. He does that - fills the silence with talk when Billy starts to feel a little overwhelmed. “And I say that in comparison to my ex-girlfriend and a kid with superpowers. She called my house at fucking ass o’clock and demanded I get my butt down here.”

“Did she call you again?” Billy asks, suddenly suspicious of Max bolting her dinner. Steve winds his fingers into Billy’s, his skin a little cold from the sharp March bite outside. 

“Yeah, she wanted to be sure that it would be dark and your parents hadn’t come back early,” Steve says easily. “She said I had to use the window…?”

“Mrs Haversham is a nosey bitch,” Billy says bluntly and Steve bursts into startled laughter.

“Yeah, she said that too,” Steve says, fondly. He suddenly starts digging into his jacket pocket with the hand that’s not entwined with Billy’s, finally tugging out a small blue box. Billy lets it drop into his open palm, feeling almost raw. He hadn’t expected more of a present, but here’s Steve bringing him fucking jewelry.

When he opens it, it’s a chunky silver ring, the kind that Billy likes to pick up from thrift stores. Only he gets the feeling that this one is a little more expensive and when he peers at the inside of the band, he catches a glimpse of an engraving in the dim light.

“I thought your dad wouldn’t notice if it looked like all the others,” Steve says, like he’s expecting Billy to hate it. Billy stares at the tiny writing, trying to figure out all of the letters by the slim sliver of moonlight. The delicate curve of a S, the double loops of a B, the matching twin shapes of the two Hs…Steve had their initials carved into silver, instead of into a tree, and somehow it’s just so fucking Steve. 

Billy carefully slides it onto a finger and then, because it’s the only way he really knows how to show gratitude, he flashes Steve a suggestive grin.

“Max said we only had an hour,” he points out, grabbing for the bottom of his shirt and tugging it over his head. “I wonder what we can do in an hour?”

The glitter in Steve’s eyes suggests that he knows what Billy’s doing, that Billy will thank him with his mouth, even if it’s not by words. But he curls his hand over Billy’s ring finger, carefully brushing against the line between skin and silver, and smiles anyway.

“I think we should find out,” Steve says and loops a hand around Billy’s neck to pull him in.

[lovelybucky1]

Ain’t as Good as I Once Was

warnings: old man!logan x AFAB!reader, riding, bratting, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, age gap, punishment, degradation, 18+ minors dni, divider from @strangergraphics

“C’mon, girlie, if you want it, you’re gonna have to take it yourself,” Logan’s gruff voice says from below you.

You’re sitting on his lap, trying desperately to fuck yourself on his cock as he sigs back and watches you. Despite your begging, Logan refuses to do the work for you.

“I’m too old for this shit. If you’re that fuckin’ horny, you can take care of it yourself,” he told you smugly.

You sank down on his cock and have been trying to bounce on it, but the strain on your thighs is too much to reach a satisfying pace.

“Please, Daddy, can’t you just fuck me?” you whine pathetically. Logan smirks a bit and chuckles through his nose.

“I ain’t as good as I once was, dollface. I doubt my old bones can fuck you the way you want me to,” he says, not seeming apologetic in the slightest.

You know he’s full of shit. He may be old and gray, but his healing factor keeps him in peak condition. He’d be able to fuck you just fine, he’s just a crotchety old man who wants to see you suffer for his entertainment.

He places a large hand on your hip and starts gently guiding you, urging you to rock back and forth. You follow his movements and while it’s better than what you were attempting, it’s still not what you want.

“You’re a spoiled fuckin’ princess, that’s the problem. So used to Daddy takin’ care of ya, you forgot how to ride, is that it?” Shamelessly you bite your lip and nod.

You wouldn’t call yourself spoiled. Well cared for is a better term. Logan never lets his girl go to bed unsatisfied, and now he’s suffering from the consequences of his actions.

“C’mon, flip me over and fuck me,” you say.

Logan raises an eyebrow at you.

“Who do you think you are, givin’ orders? If I want you to ride my cock, then that’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna fuck that pretty pussy with it until she’s had her fill.”

Logan lets go of your hip but you keep up with the same pace he set. With his hand now freed, he reaches over to the nightstand to grab his cigar and lighter. He lights up and smokes it as if he were at the bar, not in bed, deep inside his girl.

He looks up at you, bored, as smoke pours out of his mouth. You’ve been riding the edge of just enough for the past fifteen minutes and you’re getting increasingly frustrated with Logan’s lack of help. You briefly consider being more of a brat in hopes of egging him on enough to punish you with a hard fuck, but with the kind of mood he’s in, it’s likely that the punishment would be stopping entirely.

You let your head hang down as you brace yourself with your hands on his chest. The solid muscle covered in gray hair is hot, unnaturally so, under your touch and you desperately want to feel that heat on your back while he fucks you from behind.

“Daddy,” you plead quietly.

“What’s the matter, dollface?” he asks, playing dumb like the tease he is.

“I can’t do it.”

Logan smirks around his cigar like you just said the magic words he’s been waiting to hear this whole time.

“What’re you saying?”

You pout down at him. “I can’t make myself cum. I need you to do it for me”

Logan, surprisingly, grins at you. “Bet you regret calling me an old man now, huh?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, but you quickly realize what he’s talking about. Before this all started, you pounced on his lap and asked him to fuck you. He told you he was busy reading his book, and in your usual bratty fashion, you replied, “What, you can’t get it up, old man?”

“I didn’t mean it, Daddy,” you whine. “I swear, I was just teasing you.”

Logan hums but makes no effort to move. “Guess you better start behaving if you want something from me.”

“I promise I’ll be good. I won’t talk back anymore,” you attempt to bargain.

You both know that’s about as empty of a promise as you could give, but Logan doesn’t seem to care. He prefers when you’re trouble anyway; it’s the game you play. He’s the grumpy and mean and you’re the spoiled, demanding princess.

Logan stubs his cigar out in the ashtray on the nightstand and places both hands on your hips. He lifts you off of him with ease, something that never fails to amaze you, and sets you on the bed next to him.

He moves so he’s kneeling between your legs and holding them up around his waist, his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Spoiled fuckin’ rotten, you are,” he mutters as he pushes inside.

Logan always makes sure his girl goes to bed satisfied, no matter how much of a brat she is.

[kentopedia]

hi rylie!! thank you sm for the recs! and since you said your inbox is open …

could i maybe request a fic where nanami proposes to you? like a spur of the moment thing where it’s not really the “right time” but he just springs out the question bc he wants you forever 🥹😮‍💨

thank you a bajillion! <3

my everything

FEATURING: nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: after nanami remembers how short life can be, he realizes he wants to spend the rest of his with you.

CONTENTS: takes place during jjk 0, slight angst per usual, marriage proposals, sorcerer!reader, nanami's pov, happy ending

note: thank you for this sweet request!! i kind of took it and ran w it, but this was so much fun to write :) i hope you enjoy lovely!! <;33

Kento couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so afraid.

The gnawing feeling of dread was as heavy as the ring in his pocket, the one that he now regretted hanging onto for so long. Shinjuku streets were drenched in the blood of so many curses, humans, and sorcerers and it sickened him, reminded him that life could be cut short at any moment. There was a reason that he’d quit Jujutsu so many years ago, and he started to wonder if he’d made the right decision in coming back.

Kento sorted through the bodies, scanned the mangled corpses for any sign of your familiar face. He never spotted you, but he wasn’t certain if it was a relief that you were nowhere to be found.

Satoru stood at the edge of the street, his forehead lined with sweat, the pale bandages falling away from his icy eyes. Briefly, he dropped the façade that always lingered, and it was obvious how tired he was. How much everything had beaten him down in the last decade and refused to let up.

In that moment, Kento felt sorry for him. Then, Satoru resumed his usual air of arrogance, straightened his back, and the natural balance fell between them once more.

In just a few strides, Kento was upon him, his hair unruly, shirt wrinkled as the tie remained still crumpled around his hand. His muscles ached and he longed for a shower—though any of those trivial thoughts were outweighed by his incessant need to find you.

“Where is she?” The words hung in the air before Kento realized they’d left his lips at all.

Satoru hesitated, almost unwilling to hand over his confession so easily. “I sent her back to the school.”

Kento clenched his fists, but Satoru was defending himself before any irrational actions could be taken.

“She insisted, Nanami.”

Still, he couldn’t help but wish that Satoru had ignored your pleas, even if Kento was unsurprised that you’d volunteered to stand by the students’ side. You weren’t the type of person to let a few first and second years go up against a special grade on their own, no matter how strong they were.

Satoru was squeezing Kento’s shoulder before he had even noticed the movement. Something in his expression had darkened, and though Kento normally would’ve shoved him off, put some distance between the two of them, he wasn’t sure he could remember a time when Satoru Gojo looked so somber. “I wouldn’t have sent them there if I wasn’t certain they’d be alright. I’m not as cruel as you might think.”

Kento knew that he had never behaved warmly towards his ex-classmate, but his opinion of the man was not as low as Satoru believed. For better or worse, Satoru loved his students, and though he pushed them, Kento knew he would never put them into an undefeatable danger.

He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest as Satoru’s hand fell away from his shoulder. “Just take me to her, Gojo.”

Satoru nodded, his lips curling down into a frown before he was teleporting them both back to the high school. There, the sight was even more dismal than Kento had expected. Many of the buildings had been destroyed and there were clear residuals from many sorcerers and curses. It was chaos, a grim sight to behold, and they weren’t even past the gate.

The anxiety twisted up in his chest, and inwardly, he prayed, hopeful that you were as fine as Satoru believed. That Geto, in every inch of his darkened heart, would hesitate when it came to killing an old friend.

“Hey,” Satoru said, tying up the blindfold once more, tightening it across his snowy hair. “She’s fine. This, I’m certain of.”

Kento’s lips were too dry to even offer a thank you, even though Satoru probably deserved it, for all the sacrifices he made, all the time. Instead, he nodded, and turned away from the tall man, haunted by a memory of him once as young as the students that had been left behind to protect humanity.

The leaves and gravel crunched under Kento’s feet as he ran up to the school, taking in the sheer destruction that had befallen the place he’d once called home. It made him ache with a longing for a simpler time, even though he could never go back, and the boy he’d been was long gone.

It was a brisk night—the kind of night that you normally would’ve spent bundled up inside, a bowl of hot soup between you, a movie running while you rested your head against Kento’s shoulder, dozing off before the credits rolled.

That’s how his night should’ve gone. Instead, he was searching every crushed piece of building, every pile of rubble in case your body had been caught between it.

Kento knew that the life of a sorcerer was a miserable one, that it was easy to lose the people you cared about, but he wasn’t certain he’d be able to go on for much longer if he lost you.

The ring was even heavier in his pocket, weighing him down, making it near impossible to move. If you hadn’t survived, Kento would never forgive himself for waiting so long to propose.

He called your name, ripping off his glasses in any attempt to see you better, wondering where you could’ve disappeared to, hoping that you hadn’t died alone.

The grounds, it seemed, had been hollowed out completely, and for the first time, Kento wondered if Gojo was wrong about his old friend.

Panic clawed up his chest, scratching at his throat, sending him into an illogical spiral before a small, shaky voice from behind him brought him back to reality, a light that parted through the black night, so sweet and heavenly to his ears.

“Kento?”

He turned, blinked as you swayed on your feet, making your way slowly down the steps of the main building. You walked awkwardly on your ankle, though you pushed on, heading towards him despite the pain.

For a moment, he watched, and then he was upon you without even acknowledging his movements, two long strides that brought him back to his salvation.

Kento pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair, breathing in the undeniable truth that you were still alive, even as you winced from his stronghold, your arms limp at your sides.

“Fuck,” Kento said, kissing you on the top of the head, your hairline, forehead. His eyes were glossy with tears that had been held back by his remaining shreds of hope. “You scared me there for a second, sweetheart.”

Your hands were on his chest, tracing his bicep before you curled your fingers around his jaw, bringing his gaze to your own. The touch was light, searching for any wounds that hid under his stained button-up. “I’m okay,” you said, softly, even though your face was bruised, your ankle twisted, and you were bleeding from more places than one. “Are you?”

Kento nearly laughed, wondering how you could even think to ask that question when he was untouched compared to you. Though, the amusement died immediately when you looked at him with so much concern that he melted, and he squeezed your hand in reassurance. “I’m okay.”

You nodded, expression serious as you attempted to ingrain the words into your mind, convince yourself that everything would be alright, even though things hadn’t been that way in nearly a decade. You kept your hands on him, as if waiting for some wounds to appear, for him to start bleeding into your palm, even though his injuries went no further than some sore muscles.

“And everyone else?”

Kento pulled you into his chest, running a hand up and down your back, wishing that he could heal you as easily as Shoko could, that a gentle touch could fix everything that had ever soiled your life. “Everyone’s fine,” he said, and as far as he knew, that was true. “A little beat up, but they’re alive.”

You exhaled, nodding into his chest as you rested your weight on him.

Kento would gladly bear it, would carry you all the way home if need be.

Briefly, you were silent, before you squeezed your eyes shut painfully and grimaced. “I got the students to Shoko, but they were all so hurt, so badly,” you swallowed, digging your fingers into his shirt, and Kento suddenly hated that Satoru hadn’t sent him with you, even if he was needed in the city. “Geto—”

You stopped yourself, and said nothing more, heartbroken by a boy you had too many fond memories of to ever see in a malicious light. It was difficult for everyone who’d ever known him back then, even if he hadn’t been that way in a decade.

Kento swallowed and you pushed away your tears, buried whatever conversation had transpired earlier between you and the dark-haired sorcerer.

Though, you’d resolved to be everything that Geto was not. That, at least, had been one positive outcome of his betrayal. “It’s not your fault, love.”

“I should’ve been more prepared to kill him, Kento. I’m not as strong as him, but I should’ve been able to hold him off until Gojo—” You choked back a cry before standing straight, shaking your head. “I tried too hard to reason with him. I left it to a student, and—”

“Hey,” Kento held your cheeks tight in his palms, forcing you to gain a better perspective of the situation. You looked up at him with soft, lost eyes, and Kento was filled with a swell of adoration for you, for the strength that came with the vastness of your heart.

Despite all you’d suffered, you’d managed a smile, been the light in Kento’s life, even when he’d wanted to do nothing but wallow in his own misery. If not for you, he wasn’t sure he ever would’ve come back to being a sorcerer at all. If not for you, Kento would’ve been lost, without an ounce of meaning in his life.

You were so foolish for thinking you hadn’t done enough, when you’d done more for him than he could put into words. Kento’s love for you was enormous, and in that moment, he would’ve let the rest of the world collapse in on itself if it meant you’d be safe and happy.

“Any of us would’ve done the same. Do you really believe that Gojo would’ve so easily killed Geto without speaking to him first? Would I have?”

The look didn’t dissipate from your irises, but you didn’t disagree with him, and that was enough. Kento kissed you, deeply, putting every ounce of affection into that single touch. Everyone had made it out of the night alive, and you’d been there for the students when it mattered the most. That was more than he could say, at least.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else, Kento,” you said, blinking at him once more with those sad eyes, ones that he never wanted to see on your normally bright expression. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promised, even though he knew that there was no way he could keep it, an oath that was almost destined to be broken. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You and I both know that you can’t be sure of that,” you said, backing out of his embrace to wrap a protective arm around yourself. The smile that graced your lips was sad, defeated. “Our world is not merciful enough.”

Kento knew that better than anyone, and he’d been reminded of it that evening. Reminded of the loss that befell those who wanted to fight for a better world, and even those who didn’t. Death didn’t give any warning, didn’t choose based off anything more than a random draw. “Then I’ll promise to love you until the day I die. That, at least, is a vow I won’t ever break.”

The ring in his pocket was practically vibrating now, reminding him how little the non-necessities of life mattered to him. All this time, he been waiting for the perfect moment, to plan everything down to the very last detail.

It seemed meaningless now.

You squeezed his hand, your face brightening despite your sorrow, lips tugging up sideways. “I can promise the same.” Kento’s heart swelled, and you kissed his cheek before dragging him a few steps forward so the two of you were walking in time together. “We should go check on the students. I want Shoko to check my ankle too. I’ve suffered worse, but it’s starting to swell pretty badly.”

Kento nodded, though his mind was too busy whirling with fears of a wedding that might never happen, that you might never know he was going to propose if he didn’t do it soon. You could be snatched away from him at any moment, or perhaps, he could leave this world with the ring still in his pocket, and you’d only know once you found it on his corpse.

Kento wouldn’t forgive himself, even in death, if he didn’t do what he’d been wanting to do for months.

With one arm around your shoulder, he reached the other into his pocket, twirling the box. He wasn’t even sure why he carried it with him that night when he could’ve so easily lost it in the middle of battle.

Yet, there it was, lingering, the constant weight in his pocket that rested against his hip. He swallowed, and you looked up at him, your lips falling back once more into a frown.

“Hey,” you said, slowing your pace, concern evident in your expression. “Is something wrong? Did something happen in Shinjuku, Kento? I didn’t mean to just brush off—”

Kento shook his head, shushing you quickly. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind, and he wrapped the tiny box up in his hand. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of your head again before holding the box out, presenting it to you calmly, without any spike in his normal tone. “I just was thinking about how I was going to ask you to marry me.”

You stopped completely, your pupils blown wide as you took the box from him with shaky hands, blinking back down at it before meeting his tender brown eyes. “Kento?” you said again, calmly, as if waiting for him to explain.

A beat of silence passed between you. Kento, suddenly, felt nervous around you for the first time in a long while.

“Truthfully, I was going to prepare a long-winded speech and buy you some flowers and take you out for dinner. But,” he cleared his throat, regaining his composure as he flipped the lid of the velvety box, revealing the sparkling ring he’d spend hours searching for. “I love you too much to waste any more time. Somehow, until tonight, I’d forgotten how short life can be. I just want to spend every moment I can as your husband.”

Your eyes became glossy as you stared down at the beautiful gem, lifting the ring out of the box to slide onto your finger. As expected, it fit you perfectly, shimmering in the pale light, the perfect complement to your skin. Kento gently took your hand, kissing the knuckle right below the jewelry.

“I’ll propose again to you properly,” he said, laughing quietly, though if it was because of your silence or the joy lodged within him, he couldn’t be certain. “Without all the blood and the—"

“Kento.” Your lips were on his before he could finish his sentence, harsh and passionate despite your injuries. Fingers curled around his chin, holding him into place, making him forget all the horrors that had occurred that evening. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a grandiose display to know I want to be with you forever. I love you too much.”

Kento’s chest warmed, that bundle of affection within him bursting, making its way through every ounce of his being. There, you seemed to glow brighter, every day making you more beautiful than before, and he wondered how it could be possible that he could feel so much for one person.

He relaxed, unknowingly tense, and kissed you again on the forehead, his arms around your shoulder once more. “I should’ve done it sooner.”

You smiled and caressed the harsh bones of his cheeks, shaking your head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” You laughed, pulling him down by the tie, pressing a kiss between his brows to ease the wrinkle there. “Besides, now you’ve turned this awful night into something special. I don’t have to remember this day with a bitter taste in my mouth.”

Kento returned your smile, but it was still weak, even with all of the adoration he felt for you.

Though, when you beamed at the ring, your eyes soft, all of the previous despair gone, he knew that everything would be alright. Perhaps his timing had been less than ideal, but he would do it over and over again if only to ease away the misery from your face.

“So, then you will marry me?” he said again, wanting to hear the words from your lips, even though there was no doubt in his mind.

You rolled your eyes playfully, noticing his teasing smile and indulged him. “Yes, Kento.” You kissed his cheek, letting out a sharp exhale. “I’ll marry you. I would’ve always said yes, even back when we were silly, lovesick teenagers.” You sighed theatrically, adjusting his tie. “Who knows why. You had such a ridiculous haircut back then.”

Kento’s cheeks grew warm, splitting with the force of his smile, one that only seemed to appear with you at his side. Despite all of the horrible things that had happened in all of your lives, he was grateful that there were good moments too.

“Well, I still managed to win over the prettiest girl in the world, didn’t I?” he said, ghosting the words as he laced his fingers with your own, squeezing tight. “Now I get to call her my fiancée.”

You mumbled something less than kind under your breath, but Kento could feel the warmth on your cheeks, the flush the began from your neck.

He laughed, continuing his path back to the infirmary, where the students were likely waiting for you to return safe and sound. “Come on, I’m taking you to see Shoko. I wouldn’t want my future wife’s injuries to get any worse, would I?”

And though the both of you knew your injuries were minimal, your eyes brightened as the skin around them wrinkled, and Kento knew that whatever happened after this, he would live and die a happy man.

[saerins]

⋆୨ chapter seven ୧˚ till forever falls apart

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter six - redefines in every way what love is - end ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 8.8k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, suggestive scenes, mentions of blood/children | notes: we have finally reached the end of infy !! rejoice i will no longer be able to torture you guys with the ending of this hehe but i do hope you all enjoyed this ^_^ & now onto the next !

“I came here to talk to her.”

There’s no speck of kindness left in Sae’s eyes when he looks at what’s left of his former lover. He doesn’t even notice you sauntering up behind him.

“How many times do I need to tell you to leave us alone?” Sae emphasises that last part, uncertain of how else he can possibly phrase it so that she makes herself scarce.

For the first time tonight, Mirin doesn’t even pay attention to Sae. Her eyes look past him, focused entirely on you.

You take your position next to Sae, feeling his hand tenderly grip onto your wrist. At the very least, it gives you comfort knowing that he’s here no matter what’ll happen. Though, judging by the ever slight panic you can make out from Mirin’s face, whatever it is isn’t pretty.

Mirin doesn’t say a word, only stares at you expectantly. Swallowing your ego, you nod subtly. You’re curious.

“I’m sorry,” comes out of her mouth, and you don’t know how to feel. There’s a lot of things she needs to be sorry for, but that’s your personal feelings. Somehow, you doubt it’s related to anything with regards to Sae.

“If that’s all you came to say—”

“Do you know about your parents?” Mirin ignores Sae again, instead looking to you.

Sae’s about to just shut the door in her face when you tug on his hand, stopping him. He’s perplexed by you, but he listens to you just the same.

“Yeah, barely. What about it?” 

Because Sae did tell you briefly about it, about his suspicions on what they’re trying to do. You have to admit, having Oliver and his family’s PI stalk your parents wasn’t on your bingo card this year. And what he’s suspicious of never even crossed your mind. Only because even if they aren’t the best parents in the world, you didn’t think that they’d actually let any harm come upon you.

To think, they would try to take all of the money, not only their own but yours too, in order to save their own asses.

Mirin almost looks like she doesn’t want to say anything, her fingers grasping tightly and desperately on the hem of her dress before opening her mouth and making your heart sink to the depths below.

“The police are coming and it’s my fault and I know I haven’t done anything to earn your trust but can you please let me handle it?”

She says it all in one breath. Hurriedly without pause.

Are the police already that close?

“What the fuck, Mirin?” Sae spits, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you behind him, the vein on his forehead close to popping.

Mirin swallows the lump in her throat and you’re left staring in a daze behind your husband, wondering what you’ve done that was so wrong that you deserved this; your parents, a scorned and jealous ex-lover, legal threats.

“Sae, please,” Mirin’s panicking and you wonder why that is. Correction, you can sense why—it’s plain old regret. Regret caused by rash actions done on impulse. “It’s my fault, I know but we don’t have time. Tabito’s trying to stall them but they’re coming.” Her eyes flicker over to you, and you’d think she’s beautiful if all you’re seeing isn’t just red.

You feel the injustice creeping up inside of you, threatening you to take action. “And why the hell should I trust you?” Your tone is harsher than you ever thought you could go, and even Mirin shrinks back at the venom she senses laced inside your words.

And usually you’d feel bad for it but someone has already called the cops on you for something you didn’t do and that someone is right in front of you asking you for the same trust she wouldn’t have afforded you if the roles were reversed. If you didn’t have any self control, you’d have slapped her by now.

Mirin’s about to say something when she hears seven tight raps on the door. As Sae reluctantly moves away to open the door, Mirin whips her head towards you one last time.

“Please.”

The last thing she deserves is a chance. You know that. Both your head and your heart are in the same place for once and yet why can’t you act on it? Why can’t you just tell her to shove it up her ass?

“Y/N,” Sae calls your name, hushed because you presume he’s just as cautious as you are.

Slowly, you nod your head, signalling for him to open the door. You don’t know what Mirin is planning, or whether all this is part of her evil plot to take you down somehow.

When the door opens, you see Sae’s friend, Karasu, stepping in first before a detective, a dirty blonde with dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept for days. Behind him, two policemen stand guard, watching you cautiously, as though you might try to jump out the window just to run from them.

“Are you Y/N?”

The detective is addressing you, and you’re sure he’s only doing it out of courtesy because these people always do their work before nabbing their supposed targets. Beside you, Mirin steps one step forward, her earlier panic expertly masked by a puzzlingly professional expression. From your line of sight, behind where the detective stands, Sae tries to move toward you, only to have Karasu reach out to grab his wrist and keep him there, a subtle shake of his head as the only signal for him not to make any moves.

“I am,” you respond, because any under or overreaction would only prove to make you look guilty.

“What is this about, detective?” Mirin asks, a casual aloofness donned on her face now. You’re impressed by just how quickly she can change her moods.

“Oh, it’s you, Ms Seto,” the detective says, realising who she is, and you don’t doubt how influential her father’s been to all of Japan with his work. Immediately, his face softens and brightens up, as though it’s imperative that he stay on their family’s good side. He probably assumes that just because Mirin’s here in this hotel room that she’s close to you. “We received an anonymous tip regarding Ms L/N’s family here, as well as her possible involvement. We’d like to take her down to the station for some questioning.”

So that’s what Mirin had done to you. She had tried to pin part of what your parents are doing on you, too. You nearly scoff if not for the fact you know that the two policemen behind are watching you like a hawk. Mirin is the one who scoffs though, crossing her arms like she’s been through these situations a thousand times.

Beside you, any trace of guilt is absent from Mirin’s expression because apparently, and you don’t doubt it, she’s a very good actress. If it’s up to you, you’d say that her talents are wasted since she’s not one. And while your stubborn ego wants to solve this for yourself, you’d never even gotten in trouble with the local police before for anything, and something tells you that Mirin is way better than you are at this, so you keep your mouth shut and let her handle this like she asked.

“So you have no proof of any sort that she’s complicit in any illegal activities?”

The detective chuckles helplessly, like he expects Mirin to be that attentive. “No, not until the anonymous tipper provides us with what they say they have.”

Mirin’s expression falters just slightly for a split second before she’s back to normal. “So no concrete proof, then?”

“No, ma’am.” The detective seems a little laid back around her—are they family friends? Sure seems like it to you.

“Then I’d appreciate it if you don’t treat Y/N here like she’s some sort of criminal. We wouldn’t want anyone seeing her being escorted into a police car and making assumptions, would we?”

Behind him, Sae seems to have relaxed a little, lacking the earlier blind hostility he held. Maybe it partly has to do with whatever Karasu whispered to him right before this. Still, he’s as surprised as you are that Mirin’s committing herself to covering for you.

“Fine, we’ll meet at the station then,” the detective says, the mirth still on his face as he bids a temporary goodbye.

When all that’s left are the four of you, Sae immediately takes his place beside you, his hand possessively gripping your wrist, an accusatory look thrown in Mirin’s direction. “You did all of that just to mess with my wife?”

Mirin’s expression falters when he uses that term again, for you, because deep down, she still wishes for it to be her. She still wishes for that guy she fell in love with and made all those plans with to be hers. Hers, and no one else’s. But it’s evident enough that no matter how much she tries, even if you somehow ended up dead, it would never be her. He’d rather wait for the ghost of you than live with anyone else.

Karasu walks over, settling himself between the divide. He’s the one who seems the most sane, given this has almost nothing to do with him. “Sae, leave it for now,” Karasu advises, blocking Mirin’s line of sight. You presume he’s just doing it as a favour, maybe to simmer Sae’s anger, because you can feel his hands trembling with rage even as they hold on to you. “We need to get Y/N to the police station before this gets any worse for her and her sister.”

Your throat goes dry. “My sister? She’s been taken in too?”

How ironic that you were doing all this just to protect her from the harsh reality that your parents never loved either of you.

Karasu nods apologetically. “My sources say she was taken in about half an hour ago, but discreetly.”

The passive anger that was only settling on the surface seems to finally boil over, and you thank god that Sae is holding you back from possibly harming Mirin. Otherwise, you’d have probably punched her right now.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Her voice is timid and she’s trembling but you don’t hold an ounce of appreciation for her earlier actions nor sympathy for her current emotions. This was all because of her. Her, and your parents, and you doubt you’re enough of a saint to forgive either parties.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll make sure you regret it.” Your words are a warning, and Mirin takes them in silently.

Maybe you have been too nice, and way too passive. To the point where people like Mirin felt like they could try their best because they had nothing to fear. At the very least, it still comforts you knowing that Sae was never trying to get anywhere with her. If not, it was the very opposite, though you still didn’t appreciate his lack of communication.

“Hey, I’ll drive us there, okay?” Sae tells you softly, his hand tugging yours gently, briefly washing the anger off of you. When you face him and nod, he smiles, his hand coming up to place your head against his shoulder as he walks you to the car, Karasu and Mirin trudging wordlessly behind. You let him lead the way, finding an odd sense of comfort, different from before.

Now, you know that Sae will protect you unconditionally. He’s been doing it up until now, even when you weren’t his favourite person. Despite his shortcomings, despite the fact that he had no obligation to, Sae was always on your side.

And maybe now you can see a glimpse of the future you imagined, the one where you get unconditional love, the one where you can see a happy family who’s not just obsessed with money. A proper one, with its very foundations built on love and not control over another.

When you get to the carpark, you see Mirin getting into Karasu’s car, and you silently thank him for going out of his way to get involved in all of this. The last thing you need is to be able to see Mirin in the rearview mirror of your husband’s car, sitting there as though she deserved any sort of comfort. If you could, you’d stuff her in the trunk and tell her to deal with it.

However, even without her there, both of you stay relatively quiet. Maybe because neither of you have ever been in this type of situation; neither of you know what to say. Even so, as he pulls in to the parking lot of the station, he takes your hand, squeezing it gently, his teal eyes gentle as they fall into your gaze.

“No matter what, I promise you, I’ll protect you, okay?”

You don’t doubt his words. You nod, squeezing his hand back, tightly because you’re more nervous than he is. You’d probably have to face the interrogation alone, or at the most with Mirin, and who knows what she might pull in there?

“Hey, hey,” he calls out to you softly, his other hand coming up to your cheek and turning you to face him, his forehead pressing against your own, eyes still locked on yours, his smile the gentlest you’ve ever seen. “We’ll get through this. Whatever you decide, whatever you want to do, I’ll take your side, okay baby?”

Maybe it’s the way the pet name so easily rolls off your tongue, but you still find your heart skipping a beat at such a simple gesture.

“Ready?”

You take a deep breath, nodding.

“Ready.”

While you’re in the room with Mirin and the detective, Sae finds himself pacing the waiting room restlessly despite Karasu’s attempts at calming him down.

The raven-haired man cocks a brow, amused by what he sees because Itoshi Sae of all people getting restless is always interesting. Usually, he doesn’t even get to see Sae bothered at all. The last time he saw that sliver of emotion was, well, back when Mirin left.

“Dude, relax, your wife will be fine.” That’s all Karasu can offer now, pointless words of assurance. Though he can argue he’s been plenty useful when calming Mirin down back at the hotel. 

Sae shoots him a warning look. “With Mirin in there?”

Karasu sighs, leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t recall knowing when exactly things got so fucked up between them.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck was up with her, I’ll be honest,” Karasu explains, the only person there with any hint of pity for Mirin. “She fucked up, she knows. And you don’t gotta forgive her, really. If it were me I’d have handled it much less classier than your wife did. But trust me, Mirin’s trying to make up for it right now, okay? We can’t do anything so relax.”

Silence falls over them for a while, the sounds of the landlines ringing and clacking of keyboards the only things they can hear.

“What did you say to make her regret it?”

Because Sae’s at the very least curious about why she was so quick to rescind her punishment for you.

His friend shrugs, “is it hard to believe it could be something as simple as realising she didn’t wanna lose you completely?”

The earlier hostility leaves Sae’s body, only a bitter upset lingering behind. Because he can believe it, because at the core, Mirin’s always been simple. The way she acts out, not so much. She’d already alienated Sae by having been the object of his affection once, and that was not her fault, but she’d exacerbated it by acting completely out of line. On the tip of her impulsiveness was just the last chance to either possibly redeem herself or risk thorough destruction of whatever was left of their entire relationship through the years.

Maybe it’s heartless of him, but he doesn’t care. Yeah, he should’ve handled it better in the beginning. He should’ve just told Mirin that he doesn’t want to be someone who wrecks his own home, even if it didn’t feel exactly like home back then. But you didn’t deserve the anger she placed onto you. After realising his feelings, that was where he drew the line. 

He doesn’t give a shit if Mirin woke up and regretted her actions. He doesn’t care if she’s trying to make up for it and save you. All he cares about is you and just you.

Sensing the tension in the air, Karasu forces a lighthearted chuckle. “What kind of magic does Y/N have to make someone like you so whipped, huh?”

There’s a pink hue to Sae’s cheeks at the mention of it, forcing him to look away as Karasu snickers at him.

“Look… don’t get mad, okay? But… do you think it’s possible she knew about it all?”

Never in his life has Sae’s fingers curled into a fist so fast, nails digging into his palms so hard, and Karasu has to throw his hands up in the air in surrender. Both of them know that if anything happens, they’re going to be recorded—and then the media will see it. And then everything will be taken out of context.

It’s routine at this point.

“She had nothing to do with it, so shut it.”

Does Sae know for sure that you don’t? Of course not. He doesn’t have evidence to support you, except that your parents left you behind. If your family’s really twisted, it could all be a part of some ploy. But Sae likes to think he knows you; you’re not sick or twisted. You’re kind and beautiful and trustworthy that he’s not even going to entertain the idea that you knew anything.

It isn’t long after that Sae spots you walking out of the interrogation room, down the corridor and back out to him. For the most part, at least you look fine. You’re trembling a little, so he clasps his hands over yours, holding you to him and kissing the top of your head.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

You can only manage a weak nod, but that’s enough for him. This situation can be a bit much for anyone. He holds you close like that, his warm body cloaking your own. You hate how it’s so easy for you to calm down when he’s here with you, and even if you’d like to condemn him for making such a whirlwind for your life you know it’s not technically his fault.

It was your parents who forced you into this marriage, or else you’d never have met Sae at all. It was Mirin who took it upon herself to try and ruin everything when Sae had refused her. And it was definitely your parents who took all their money and ran before they could get caught for multiple counts of fraud and embezzlement.

All Sae ever did was save your own money, all thanks to making that joint account. Otherwise, your parents would’ve made off with your money too, leaving you with no cent to your name, all properties seized.

You hold him a little tighter now, the tiff over what you thought was going on between him and Mirin seeming so stupid in comparison. Your own parents abandoned you and your sister, looked at you as just a pawn to get what they wanted. You don’t even know how you’re going to face Sae’s parents now that this happened.

A minute later, Mirin also waltzes out of the room, her feigned arrogance still present because the detective is still there. You gaze at them out of the corner of your eye; things only went so easy there because Mirin played her family’s cards right, and now both you and your sister are free to go.

In normal situations, this is where you thank her. But nothing about this is normal, and this was a situation partly borne out of Mirin’s impulsiveness. So all you manage is not paying her back with a slap.

“If you hear anything—”

“We’ll call you,” Sae cuts the detective off, his grip around you getting tighter.

Even if everything had been rocky earlier tonight, you find yourself comforted by the way you just know that Sae would protect you no matter what. You don’t even have to ask him, and he’d do right by you. For a moment, you wonder if this is the kind of unconditional love you’d always wanted.

“Hey, are you okay? Wanna go now?”

Sae’s voice is softer than you thought he could ever be, and all you want to do is melt into his embrace without thinking about anything but unfortunately the world is never so kind and neither is your mind because there’s a thousand questions running through it.

“Where’s my sister?”

“I got her to wait in Karasu’s car with her boyfriend. His car has more privacy and I thought it’d be best if no one outside could picture us.”

Right, because there are already some reporters who got hold of the news and are waiting right outside to ambush you into answering their questions. It’s all sorts of fucked up but you presume your parents are worse so you can’t really say anything.

Sae starts to lead the way to the carpark, his hand never leaving your side. He makes sure to look around, make sure nobody’s there to ambush you. Behind you, you can hear Karasu whispering things you can’t hear, probably to Mirin.

“That would mean there won’t be any space for her, right?” You ask, your mind still doing flips back and forth between being the bigger person and being petty about it. Because you’d love to be as ruthless as she once was to you, but ultimately, you don’t want to feel like you owe her anything.

As you reach the car, Karasu unlocks it, and Sae opens the back door, your sister sound asleep on the other side, her boyfriend muttering a soft ‘hello’. They both look tired, and you don’t blame them. At least you had Sae to warn you about what was going on, but to them it must’ve been a shock, especially for your poor sister who’s always been sheltered against the horrible things your parents could do.

“It’s fine, she can take the train,” Sae mutters, purposefully loud enough for Mirin to hear and hopefully get the hint.

Karasu’s about to suggest otherwise, but you interject—you’re pretty sure you’re the only one Sae will listen to now anyway. Even if Karasu tries to say anything, there’s a high chance that it’ll go ignored.

“She can sit in the front,” you say, because despite knowing better, it’s always been in you to try and be nice.

“Thank—”

“If she ends up getting pictured, it could blow back on us anyway,” you mutter coldly, because being nice doesn’t mean you have to make it apparent. There’s no one here you have to impress anyway, and Sae probably knows you’re just trying to hold it together for yourself, so you won’t have any regrets.

Like you predicted, Sae’s not all for it, but he doesn’t say a thing, following after you into the backseat, squeezing and trying not to wake your sister. Mirin doesn’t say a thing the whole way back, she only thanks Karasu for driving her back and leaves. Neither does Karasu say a thing, awkward silence hanging in the air as you catch him casting quick glances at you and Sae in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks for taking care of her,” you whisper to your sister’s boyfriend as he carries her out of the car. You didn’t get to talk to her all night, but that’s fine, you suppose she needs a long rest after everything she found out tonight.

He shoots you a helpless smile after he presses a kiss onto her forehead. The way he looks at her alone could make people believe in love, and you’ve never been more thankful that you tried your best to protect it. Among everyone, your sister’s always been good and kind, and even if you’ve never seen her around that much after university started for her, you love her all the same.

“You sure you don’t wanna wake her?” He asks you, quietly so he doesn’t disturb her. “She said she missed you, you know.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I’ll call her when things settle down,” you assure him, managing a genuine smile. “Take care of her, okay?”

Behind you, Sae smiles to himself when he figures out he must’ve married an angel, must be the luckiest man in the world. Despite everything that’s happened, you should be taking care of yourself, yet you managed to make sure Mirin got a ride home, and that your sister is in good hands. You’re a much bigger person than Sae can even dream to be and yet somehow, you chose to put all your effort into him and this marriage and even if he can’t tell where this will go from now on, he’s not going to give up on you.

When Karasu pulls out of your sister’s apartment parking, Sae slides over to your side, sitting himself on the middle backseat, putting an arm around you and gently placing your head in the crook of his neck. Then, only then, do you let your tears go, sobbing into his chest because you’d been holding back all this time, and Sae wonders if you do this a lot on a daily basis; put on a brave face as though you need to pretend you’re something you’re not. Though, if this was happening to him and Rin, he would be doing the same thing you are.

In the driver’s seat, Karasu finally understands why Oliver’s been saying Sae is a changed man. Even back then, with Mirin, Karasu doesn’t recall Sae being this gentle. Maybe it’s because he’s older now, or maybe it’s just because of you—the fact that it’s you, that’s why Sae is like this at all, a privilege only for a special person.

“Hey man,” Karasu calls out to Sae after you get out of the car. He smirks when Sae looks over at him, very much like a hopeless man in love because out of the corner of his eye, Karasu can tell that he has his hand in yours, keeping you there. Since when was he ever this clingy? “Congratulations.” Something he didn’t get to say because he wasn’t at the wedding.

But at least saying it now, he can really mean it.

Sae smiles subtly, but your head pops back into Karasu’s field of view before your husband can say anything.

“Hey, Karasu, right?”

He looks surprised, but he smiles at you all the same. “Yes, I am.”

You grin at him, and Karasu can already tell Sae’s a lucky man. Pretty wife, and from whatever Oliver’s mentioned, it sounds like you’re a keeper.

“I just met you tonight but… thank you, really,” you tell him, and he chuckles. 

You’re really something, because even Mirin had mentioned it to him earlier when she was having a full-on breakdown, when he had asked about you. Karasu thinks that it would just be a lot easier to think screw everyone and just focus on yourself, but apparently, not for you. Maybe he understands a little more of why Sae can’t help but fall for you.

“That’s a lot of shit to unload on someone who didn’t exactly steal Sae from you,” Karasu remarked, trying his best to steer Mirin in the right direction.

Mirin clicked her tongue, annoyed because she knew she wasn’t exactly acting with common sense. All she had wanted was to remove you from the picture, through any means necessary. So why? Why was it that whatever she tried would backfire on her? Why was it that no matter what, Sae would never give up on you? Where was the guy that so easily gave in when Mirin had suggested a breakup?

Why did she have to teach him everything only for you to get everything she ever wanted?

“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but if you keep doing this…” Karasu trailed off, sighing as he looked away, scratching his head. “You’re really gonna lose every ounce of a friend you could possibly have in Sae.”

Mirin kept quiet for a while, then, as if she was considering something. Back then, Karasu hadn’t even known that anonymous tip she sent in to the police. If he had, he would’ve definitely acted faster.

“Is that Y/N even that bad of a girl?” Karasu thought out loud, wondering why there was all this trouble over you and Sae.

And for the first time since she got back to Japan, Mirin was completely honest with herself.

“No, she’s not.” (It was so quiet, Karasu had trouble deciding whether it was just the figment of his imagination.)

Because what had you ever done to her except unwillingly be placed in the middle of their by-then non-existent relationship?

“At your service, ma’am,” Karasu responds, grinning at you when he says his next words. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep Mirin in check.”

You still for a moment hearing those words, then pout at him before you slowly retreat out of the car, pulling Sae with you. You’re not even sure why you can find it in yourself to be worried for someone like Mirin who tried to screw you over. Maybe it’s because Sae had told you about her parents, about how she just didn’t have anyone and leaned on Sae for support out of habit. Somehow, Karasu’s words manage to comfort you a little bit; at least you knew that there was still someone else looking out for her. Your empathy is there, but that doesn’t mean you want to forgive her or even think about it.

Karasu laughs at your subtle reaction, rolling down the window, “hey Sae, your wife’s kinda cute,” he teases, and you see why Karasu managed to calm Mirin down back at the hotel. Whatever he did, it was definitely effective. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he oozes sincerity despite his jokes, something you can’t really say for Oliver and Shidou.

Beside you, Sae uses his body to block your line of sight as he flips Karasu off. “My wife, go away,” he quips, and you can only watch as Karasu laughs it off while he drives away from your apartment.

The moment you’re back in the house, Sae sets your bag down slowly on the couch, and you pause right before you enter the bedroom. Everything somehow feels light yet awkward and it feels like you’ve been through so many emotions in the span of one night and now it’s already 2am and you’re tired but it’s not like you can sleep right away with all these thoughts in your head.

You feel Sae’s chest press up against your back, his arms wrapping around your chest. Now that you know he’s never actually even cheated on you, or even thought about it, it’s like a huge weight has been lifted off your chest.

“What’s on your mind?” There’s a strain in his voice, and you can tell he’s gotten a cold just from tonight alone.

You sigh. “I don’t know if I can handle all of this…” you mutter honestly. Everything has just been too much. It was manageable back when you thought your marriage was the only thing in ruins, but to learn now that your parents are wanted fugitives and the fact that they’d leave you and your sister to clean things up and bear the brunt of being damned just for being their kids is a lot to take in for one night.

“You know I’m here for you whatever you need, right?” Sae asks, holding you tighter, pressing a kiss on your temple.

You want to be soft for him so bad, you want to melt into his touch and let him comfort you and hug him to sleep, but can you really afford it right now? Can you afford letting him feel that everything is fine after keeping everything from you and driving you to the point of thinking about divorce?

It’s not normal. It shouldn’t be.

And while you appreciate what he’s done for you in secret, that’s exactly what you’re not so sure about—secrets. You’re husband and wife, and if there’s going to be any hope moving forward, you can’t have him try and bear the burden of knowing alone.

“If you ever keep something like that from me again, I’m not giving you another chance,” you tell him, your voice quivering but he listens to you seriously all the same. It’s times like these where you appreciate that he isn’t the type to be joking around all the time. He’s serious when you need him to be, and that means a lot to you already.

“I promise you, I’ll talk to you, whatever it is,” he says, slowly turning you around, his fingers gently gripping your chin, tipping your head up to face him. “I meant what I said, by the way. I love you, Y/N, and I’m sorry I was being stupid. And I’ll try to make up for it, however long it takes me, okay?”

This is a first for you that it makes you emotional. For your entire life, you feel like it’s been you who’s been the one trying to take care of other people’s feelings and needs so much that you step all over your own. For your entire life, no one has cared about you so much so that they’d actively try and take care of you. Everyone lets you take care of everything yourself without thinking that it’d be nice to offer you help even if you looked like you didn’t need it.

For your whole life, you’d wondered how it would feel like being loved by someone who wants to take care of you just because. And here he is, making you feel like you’re loveable, like you’re worthy of being treated like a princess, like you don’t have to mask who you are to get his love because no matter what you do, his love overpowers it.

“So don’t leave me, okay?” Sae’s lashes flutter against your own, his teeth clenched because he’s thinking of how close he was to losing you and he would’ve never forgiven himself if you did.

And maybe it’s the way you realised he’s loved you in his own way all this while, or maybe it’s the way he keeps you so close to him now, so afraid of losing you, that you feel it’s okay to let yourself go, to let yourself be you, to wear your heart on your sleeve because no matter what it is, Sae will take care of it.

“I love you, Sae,” you whisper, both of you with your eyes closed, breaths mixed together, Sae subconsciously pushing you into the bedroom because he never realised that such simple words from you would ignite such an urgency inside him.

That night, for the first time, you experience Sae’s love for you. The way it’s so subtle, so gentle, a complete opposite of what you initially thought he was. The way he holds you in the palm of his hands and takes care of you completely; a dream you thought you’d never live to see come true. So many people go their whole lives being stuck in a relationship that they find lacking and yet here you are, getting everything you need and want and you don’t even have to ask for it because Sae knows you well enough to give it to you.

In the dim light of the moon that makes it into the slivers of your blinds, Sae marks you as his own, and even though neither of you have been through it, it feels right. It feels so right even when you’re lying in bed together after everything, legs tangled together underneath the blanket, bare bodies enveloping one another as the exhaustion finally kicks in.

Sae watches you as you fall asleep, finger lightly brushing your arms and lulling you to sleep. There’s a lot he still doesn’t understand about relationships, and the only form of experience he had seemingly meaning nothing in the face of his actual love, yet he’s strangely motivated now. There’s no way he’s going to let anything, much less himself, fuck this up.

No, he’s going to do his best to keep you happy, to take care of you and make sure you don’t have to be the one who acts strong all the time just to appease everyone else. He’s going to make you smile everyday because you deserve it, and he’ll do anything to make sure that happens.

Anything.

“She had nothing to do with it.”

Of course, Sae’s parents didn’t take too well to the news. One night isn’t enough for it to blow over, because the moment they got the news, they were here to get to the bottom of it. As expected, you received nothing but accusatory remarks, and unlike Mirin’s, at least Sae’s parents had the right to be upset.

Still, Sae’s standing up to them, a protective arm keeping you behind him, making sure they don’t throw daggers at you.

They’re angry, but they’re not as bad as your own parents. At the very least, his father isn’t throwing a tantrum and breaking silverware. Doesn’t even look close to it. He only crosses his arms in disbelief, the vein on his forehead threatening to pop.

“Are you sure you want to defend her?” He asks his son, scoffing. “You know how bad of a reputation we have now thanks to her parents?”

“He’s right, honey, if you want to divorce her now we’d fully support you,” his mother joins in, and she’s every bit as submissive as your own mother, you bet. Anything for their money bag.

“I’m not divorcing my wife ever, so if that’s all you came to say, you can leave.”

Suddenly you feel guilt for being the one to bring up divorce in the first place.

The argument goes on for a while, and you keep quiet all through it. Only because Sae asked you to. It’s fair; he wants to handle his parents, so you’ll trust him to it. If there’s a need, you’d interject anyway.

Like right now, when you realise that maybe your silence is making things even worse, like your admittance of guilt.

“I’m sorry for what my parents did,” you speak up, bowing ninety degrees because as much as you hate their actions, you want to help Sae as much as you can. He must hate talking to his parents as much as you do, so the least you can do is alleviate that. “I really didn’t know what they were up to, and I didn’t expect it to affect your family’s reputation as well. I can’t even begin to repay you for what my parents did, but I can offer you everything I have now, and I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Then easy, leave—”

“Except leave your son,” you affirm, straightening up and looking them in the eyes. “We love each other, so we’re going to make this work.” Beside you, a smile tugs on the corners of Sae’s lips at your declaration. Are you really the same person who used to be so meek in front of yours and his parents once upon a time? “As for my parents, I’ll let the authorities do their work and capture them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead to me.”

Perhaps it’s because of your strong words, but the Itoshis leave not ten minutes later.

You flop down on the couch, an exhausting morning followed by an exhausting night is entirely too much for you. Sae shamelessly lays himself down on top of you, head resting on your chest. He must still be tired, judging from the bags under his eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair. “You were pretty hot, though, sticking it to them.”

You stifle a laugh, though your smile speaks for itself. “Guess we should’ve expected that. They got conned out of their money too, after all. Wonder when this is all gonna blow over,” you sigh to yourself, just wishing that the problem would disappear.

Over the course of the next few days, you received texts from colleagues asking what happened, and Sumi in particular loves to cuss your parents out over text and then apologise for being insensitive afterwards. It carries a sense of normalcy that you needed, though.

It takes a few months before everything completely settles down for you, until your sister has come to the realisation that your parents abandoned you and deserve whatever hell they’re going to get. It doesn’t stop her from saying yes to her boyfriend when he proposes, and you and Sae watch on lovingly as she leaps into his arms and kisses him silly.

“You know what, a family like this doesn’t suck so much either,” you ponder out loud. All you really need is just your sister, and Sae—both of them have never failed you after all.

Sae puts his arm around you, holding you close like he always does. You notice that; that when Sae loves you he’ll crave your proximity everytime. Sumi likes to joke that he’s too clingy, but you like him just like that.

Seeing the scene unfold in front of them, your eyes twinkling as you watch the movie-like proposal in front of you, Sae feels just a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you,” he mutters, though he already knows you don’t mind. To you, what matters the most is that the both of you are still together, still happy.

And that’s exactly what you say with your hands wrapped around his neck, kissing him with those perfect lips of yours, pulling him in so naturally without having to do anything.

“You give me more than enough, Itoshi Sae,” you whisper, oblivious to Sae falling even more and more in love with you.

“Have I told you I love you?”

You chuckle, nodding and Sae’s completely taken by your grin.

“We love you too.”

“We?”

And when you break it to him, in a hushed whisper because you don’t want to ruin the proposal, Sae gives you the most lovestruck expression you’ve ever seen.

THREE YEARS LATER

A lot has changed.

Turns out, you’re not as cold-hearted as you thought. Mirin is still on the list of your least-liked humans, for sure, but it’s not like you care enough to harbour any resentment anymore. She’s not worth vexing over, and much less so after that one time years ago when she came over to personally apologise. You haven’t officially forgiven her, but you don’t particularly wish the worst upon her. You’re not even sure where she is or what she’s doing because Sae doesn’t care for keeping in touch with her, but you’re both indifferent about her now.

Reo had apparently met someone special last year when he attended a charity gala. You’ve never met her in person, but from the pictures Reo takes and shares on his socials—all to show her off, no doubt—she looks absolutely breathtaking. He was there with you throughout the whole fiasco too, lending his family’s support to weather you through the tough times. You’re happy he finally found that special someone. From his texts, sometimes it seems rocky, but he’s “pretty sure she’s the one,” and you’re honestly happy for him.

Your parents have been caught—apparently, a year out they’d tried to seek shelter with one of their friends only for them to tip the police off. It wasn’t even like you, but you visited your mother in jail, just out of curiosity, and the only thing she had begged you was to help them get a good lawyer. Not that you didn’t expect it, or that it would make any difference if you did agree. Frankly, you just went there to say “no”, to let her feel the same helplessness she and your father cast upon you. You’ve never visited her since.

Sae’s been busy ever since his career shift two years ago. (His parents weren’t all too happy about it, but ever since their screw up with yours, they weren’t as forceful anymore.) Now, he’s one of the assistant coaches for Japan’s national team, and you’ve never been happier for him. It gives him more flexibility too, getting to spend more time with you back at home, but also getting to invite you with him whenever they travel.

You guess it’s lucky that you managed to land a spot helping the team out with marketing, so more often than not you get to see your husband play some soccer. Like right now, when you’re bent over the railing, watching him coach the two main midfielders and looking completely different than when he’s at home.

For one, it’s definitely the first time you get to see him all intense. With you, he’s pretty much the opposite, going all soft whenever he gets home, and you wonder how you got so lucky to be building a home with someone who loves you so much he can spot you a mile away and give you the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen.

Sae calls for a break, jogging towards your direction looking handsome as hell but you’re not going to tell him that or else he’ll tease you about it.

“How are my girls?”

Oh, and you’ve apparently managed to give him a daughter that looks so much like him. She sits on the railing, your arms wrapped around her to support her as she jumps into her father’s arms.

“She’s been bugging me all day to come and visit you,” you remark.

Yeah, she’s a daddy’s girl—and you smile watching Sae kiss her all over, her laughter ringing in the air, her happiness meaning the world to you.

Neither you nor Sae have ever experienced what a good family is like, nor have either of you seen what good parenting is like. But your daughter seems happy everyday, with parents who support her whenever she wants to try something different, so you both take it one step at a time, learning as you go. If it ever gets too difficult for you, Sae steps in, and he’s never let you down.

“Remember what we’re gonna surprise mommy with later?” Sae asks your daughter, and you’re still trying to get used to him calling you that.

You arch a brow, “I get a surprise?”

Your daughter giggles, nodding as she melts in her father’s arms. “Of course, mommy! You’ll love it!”

Her smile is infectious, a grin forming on your face just by looking at her. You shift your gaze to your husband. “What is it?”

All he does is look you in the eyes, smirking. “You’ll see.”

That night, you entertain your daughter by letting her blindfold you and lead you, well, wherever the surprise is. It smells nice, wherever you are because you’d been blindfolded even during the car ride, and you can tell it’s grand because of the way your heels are clacking against the marble and the way Sae had dressed tonight.

By your guess, you’re probably at one of the nice hotels here for one of their signature buffet dinners. Your daughter’s never been, so that could be why she’s making a huge deal out of this. Like father, like daughter, so cute.

But when your daughter urgently whispers for you to take the blindfold off, you find yourself at the entrance of huge double doors, two hotel staff smiling and opening up to unveil a huge ballroom filled with people, most of them you recognise because they’re your friends.

It’s already bringing tears to your eyes when you realise what this must be.

They’re all cheering as they see you, your daughter skipping happily into the room, choosing to run straight to your purple-haired best friend at one of the tables who you thought was still busy abroad. Beside him, his beautiful girlfriend mouths a ‘hello’, but you’re still too surprised to respond.

Everyone’s clapping and cheering and all of a sudden you feel the familiar presence of your husband right beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses you on the cheek.

“Surprised?”

Honestly? Yes. Very. And you’re not one to be easily surprised at all.

“I wanted to give you the celebration you deserved,” he tells you, waiting for you to take it all in.

It’s a far cry from the pathetic reception you got from people you barely knew during your actual wedding reception. Sae had been nothing but cold to you back then too, so it felt more like a prison than anything.

Now? You recognise so many faces in the crowd that you can’t help but smile and wave back. You’d always wondered what this would be like, and your husband somehow manages to give it to you without having you ask for it and you’re in love. Because he seems ice cold and awkward and rough around the edges but his love for you has always, always been warm. His love has always felt like coming home and having a safe space and this might be the unconditional love you’d been praying for your whole life.

You almost gave up on it. But you know now Sae never will. And neither will you. You have a family now, a proper one built by two people who never had a stable environment, by two people who never came close to being provided one themselves.

Sae’s your pillar of support, and you begin to see now that you’re his.

Now you know it’s true what they say; you don’t have to beg for someone’s love if they truly cared about you, because Sae has always gone the extra mile for you every single day. You don’t have to act like someone you’re not just to please them so they don’t leave—because no matter how many disagreements you have, Sae is always there to listen to your point of view. You don’t have to beg someone to treat you right if they really love you, because Sae’s been actively choosing you ever since the day you got married, and whether it’s intentional or not, you think you’re the luckiest person in the world.

And now you can’t be happier; you have a wonderful daughter who has two parents who absolutely love her. You have a husband who takes care of you in every single way, loving you in every essence of the word. You have friends like Reo who would burn the world if it was ever unkind to you and dance with you atop their pile of bodies. You have everything you could ever want and you couldn’t have seen it without Sae by your side.

The do-over of your wedding reception is perfect. So, so perfect, and it’s almost hard to believe it’s the product of Sae’s ideas. He doesn’t even particularly like celebrations like this but he did this for you, for both of you, and being able to make your daughter be a part of it is like icing on the four-tiered cake he had ordered.

“I’ll love you forever, Y/N,” he whispers suddenly into your ear as you guys are making rounds at the tables.

You accept the kiss from him, flashes going off as you smile against his lips. “Yeah? What if it falls apart?” you ask, teasing him, though you never thought he’d answer you seriously.

“Then I’ll rebuild it,” he tells you, your lips hovering just above each other and his beautiful teal eyes looking into yours, a small smile on his face. “But with you, I’m pretty sure that would never happen.”

And you’ve always been pessimistic. You’ve always chosen to believe the worst because it alleviates the pain you’d feel when things don’t go as planned. But somehow, you believe in Sae with your whole heart. You’d trust him with your whole life. So you want to give him what he’s given you—everything. (He thinks you already have.)

“I’ll love you forever, Itoshi Sae.”

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover @xoxojisu @karmatiz @sagejin @minnieminnie00-got7 @hearts4heidi @shiinobu-x @n1uh @prepchuu @leeyzhuo @shidouryusm @tsukishiro-yue2402 @kaiserkisser @pookiebearcave @dcvilxswish @saeskiss @whtflrr @arminseas @raphsimp @saharei @danibxe @lectris00 @comet-kun @ishitam67 @gskill @sweet2wthsblog @scaraslover @beaniedoodz @bersuadikotatua @idk-bro-gay @etoiile @sanzu-sanzu-sanzu @yourstrulyharu @noimnotttt @tinyfurytaco @bxddiebloss @biaonww @kunirayuna39 @sikuthealien @vollereix @notepadgirl16 @zareri @c4ttheart @iovefilled

[sultrybaby]

Nothing Compares To Being In Love With You (S.G)

(pics are not mine. credit to rightful owners. divider also from pinterest)

summary🦢 In which a cluster of old letters stand as the only testament of gojo's love for you, from birth to (quite literally) death.

genre 🦢 romance, angst, some fluff

pairing (s) 🦢 gojo x reader | reader x naoya zenin

warnings 🦢 reader/main character death, MAJOR ANGST obviously, not exactly forbidden love but more unfortunate circumstances, domestic abuse, mentions of bleeding and punching (no actual description of the abuse this is unrelated bleeding and punching), excessive use of the word sin in one of the monologues, mentions of glass, naoya zenin sucks, letters are from gojo's pov which might be hard to follow I am not sure. Gojo is down bad.

DO NOT ROMANTICIZE ABUSE. THIS FIC (AND ME) DOES NOT CONDONE ROMANTICIZATION OF ABUSE AND IF U ARE LOOKING FOR FICS THAT DO (WHICH IS SICK) THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR U AND ALSO PLS BLOCK ME CUZ EW.

a/n: this was supposed to be an enhypen fanfic but then I changed my mind. I'm honestly just shocked I actually finished this. Hopefully this idea has manifested to be as good as it seemed in my head and isn't confusing to follow. ENJOY BESTIESSSSS.

🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢

"So apparently, this house belonged to a young bachelor once," explained Mary to her all-too-curious daughter eveline, who sat wide-eyed like a little lamb on the floor of the new house the family had just moved into.

'Really?"

"Yes, baby," Mary chuckled, running her fingers through eveline's (or evie, as they lovingly call her) hair to brush the strands away from her face.

"Where is he now?"

"Oh I don't know sweetheart," Mary sighed, lightly amused at the disappointment on evie's face.

"But maybe there are some clues around the house! If you ever get the time,  you should explore. Who knows, you might find something…"

Evie's eyes twinkled in excitement at the prospect of having an adventure in this foreign pile of bricks that she now had to learn to call home. Perhaps this will create a sense of oneship with the house.

Determined to uncover the secrets of the mysterious young bachelor, little evie started on her mission to unearth every corner of the building. After toppling boxes, crawling through crevices, and occasionally bumping her head on random walls, evie finally uncovered a rather absurd looking block.

And that is the story of how Mary was gifted this curious looking box by her exhausted daughter, waddling excitedly to show her the discovery.

The box had an old-fashioned grace to it. It was clearly disintegrating; cheap, fading, yellowed white  paint hung off the corners, all dried up, waiting to be chipped off. It seemed as if there was some kind of locking mechanism in the front of the box which has long been broken. All it took was a simple motion for the mouth of the box to open wide, revealing a neatly stacked set of what one could assume were letters.

The first letter was different to the others. While the rest were prettily folded, this one had a texture much more rough- as if it had been crushed and then straightened again. And on it, in extremely feathery ink, was written,

Dear ____,

You are the sun and the stars and the rose and the beautiful sky. You are made of the serenity of heaven and the tempting evil of hell. You are everything created to be beautiful, and you also make anything beautiful by association. Every day and every night, in light, in darkness, in life, and even now in death, you make me realize why Orpheus would go to the deadly underworld just to get Eurydice back. I understand his pain and longing.

I know we parted ways hurtfully and there is no action I regret more. And in my attempt to tell myself I hated you, I failed in my life's purpose- to truly let you know how much I loved you.

This is a memoir of the love I lost, a love that was but a bubble in air- shining briefly with all the most beautiful colours, then popping abruptly. And this is just an attempt at preserving some of that wonder and beauty so that when my heart aches a bit too much, I can cry to the essence of your soul (which is funny, because you are too much, too great, to be put into words).

Lovingly,

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru Gojo.

A love story- a tragic one, was etched in the letters following. In that little white box was the history of Gojo Satoru's love for this mysterious woman to whom he had devoted his heart entirely.

And so Mary started reading…

Dear ____

Today I decided that I would start attempting to put into words my love for you. In these scraps of paper lie not the true extent of my love- that would be impossible to boil down to mere letters- but just enough for my heart to no longer feel as if it is at the brink of explosion from the pain of carrying the weight of my love for you.

The first time I saw you was when I was rushing to work. What started off as a normal day turned into an irreplaceable, unforgettable memory when I heard an angelic voice bantering with a baker.

"Jesus Antonio a damned second grader could bake better bread in their sleep- it’s not worth more than a dollar a loaf. So I ain't paying any more than that"

I felt compelled by fate to turn around and figure out who was truly the source of this wildly amusing diatribe.

Saying that my eyes were unprepared to capture the beauty I was about to witness would be an understatement. I found myself unable to move, nailed to the ground as I took in the sheer magnificence of your existence. And then I blinked. And you were gone.

I remember shaking my head wildly to see where the angel had disappeared off to, and my heart sighed in relief as I saw your unmistakable figure walk with a triumphant smirk and a loaf of bread that you surely had not paid more than a dollar for.

Today marks the second year since we've known each other. Every day since I have carried the burden of my love with utmost pleasure, because loving you is the greatest experience of my life. Nothing compares to being in love with you. But every so often when I stare at you, hoping the longing in my heart doesn't show in my eyes, I wish you were mine.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

The first time we ever talked was in the same bakery I first saw you in, although I will admit it is not as much of a coincidence as it may seem. For every day since I saw you, I wandered around the bakery, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hair again.

First I would wander around the area, walking up and down the road multiple times.

Then I started to stick to the stores right next to the bakery. I bought so many snow globes that I really didn't need, not to mention all those picture frames…

Finally, picking up the courage to meet you, I walked into the bakery. I waited around a bit, but eventually it became clear that you were not making an appearance. Dejected, I decided to get something anyway. I had come to the bakery after all.

"Excuse me, how much for kikufuku" I'd asked

"That's be $3 good sir"

It was as I pulled the notes from my wallet that I heard a familiar voice shrieking,

"ANTONIO HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF THIS GOOD MAN?"

To this day it might be my favourite statement of all time.

I turned around to meet your eyes. All was a blur and before I knew it I had a loaf of bread in my hand along with two of the three dollars I was about to hand in.

"..hello?"

I blinked myself back to reality as I saw you waving your palm good naturedly in front of my face.

"Oh h-hi…"

I saw you giggle, probably at the sight of my extremely flustered face. I could feel the heat absorbing all common sense from my brain.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Sato- Gojo…Gojo Satoru…" I breathed out, "and you?"

"____"

I don't think you will ever realize how much that day changed me. And that's okay. I don't want you to feel the anguish I do. I just want you to keep smiling and giggling as you love to. Oh, and chewing off Antonio's ears, of course.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

I know we're just friends, but sometimes when you show up at my door with a bag of sweets that you just happened to remember were my favourite, I wonder if there is something deeper; if there is any possibility that you could feel what I feel. And when you hand me the bag, I wonder if I was just imagining the way your touch lingered as our fingers grazed, if I was just imagining your gaze momentarily resting on mine with the same intensity with which I look and think of you.

I know we're just friends, but then why is it that every moment we spend apart from each other feels like my heart is getting ripped out piece by piece? And I know that you would never experience the anguish I do, but then as we spend hours and hours on the telephone talking and laughing about anything and everything, I can't help but wonder if you would do this just for a friend. I again let myself hope that maybe, maybe you felt at least a fraction of the deep devotion I felt for you. But I would never, ever mention it. For the thought of losing what we have now, of losing the ability to experience heaven even in such simple ways, brings me fear that gnaws at my heart and soul. So I hide my worries and my wishes as I keep listening to the sound of your voice through the telephone.

I know we're just friends but do friends have such deep understanding of each other to the point where your wish is nothing but my instinct?

I know we're just friends but are the lives of friends so deeply intertwined in each other that when you lie next to them you can't sense where you end and they begin? When you can't remember if you're in your house or theirs for that is how much time you spend in each other's lives. At what point of spending every day together does my life turn into yours. ____  I don't know how I can go on living without telling you how much you mean to me.

I know we're just friends, but sometimes I feel the line blurring away when we're drunk and unstable and tangled in each other, both of us holding the other for support. And as we messily fall onto the floor, giggling at our pathetic state, I take the moment to cradle you in my arms. In your drunken frenzy you place the softest of kisses on my cheek, only to fall asleep on my shoulder immediately after. When I'm staring at you longingly I can't help but wonder, what are we? What is this love, this gentleness, this warmth? Is this friendship? Is friendship supposed to be so overwhelming? The weight of these questions momentarily crush me, but it all fades away as I stare at your beautiful being, peacefully snoring on my shoulder. And in that moment, all my worries take the backseat, and all I care about is protecting this peace of yours. Whether I do that as a lover or a friend is not a matter to me.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

This might be the last time I speak of my love for you, for today you told me that you love me too. So I no longer have to express it in secret, but I can let you know wholeheartedly.

I will never forget the way your head rested against my shoulder, nose-deep in your book. And as I failed to look away from you, I didn’t realize that you had turned to look at me too. I will never forget the way your hand rested on my shoulder as you pulled yourself up to look me in the eye, while I sat there stupidly, mesmerized by the way you moved, so gentle, so light, so ethereal.

Most importantly, I will never forget the way you cupped my face, the subtlest of tears shining in your eyes, and told me, breath hitching at every note,

"Satoru I don't know what I'm feeling. I know I shouldn't be feeling this but I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if you do either. It would kill me to ruin our friendship but this anguish is killing me too and so I'm going to kiss you now and if you don’t like it feel free to punch me"

You leaned forward, and just before you kissed me you stole a glance at my face. And that was when I let go of all the restraints I had placed on my heart.

It was something in the way that our eyes locked;  the brilliant world built on the lies of our hearts crumbling as I cried on your lips in prayer. Maybe this was sin, but the tears I drank were proof that underneath all the chaos hid something real, and it was hidden for no reason but the fact that the world my god created was also made of the same kind of sin as her touch, unprepared to accept the beauty of it all. Damn the preachers, look at her face. Will not the angels sing in her name? If God hated sin so, why did he give her the same beauty as that of his mountains and oceans and the moon? We all are born of sin and sinners at the hour of our death, but I alone had the privilege of being absolved by sin.

I love you, ___. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

I know I said I wouldn’t write more of these since I don’t need to hide my love for you any longer but it turns out I'm incapable of stopping my expression of devotion towards you. I love you in ways that I want to etch down. I want to world to know how much I love you. Even after we're dead and gone, I want these words to stay there forever, because that is the nature of my love for you. Permanent. Everlasting.

I love the way your pretty little hands smooth over my tensed shoulders when I've had a long day. Your chest against my back, your hands enveloping me from behind, the way you whisper into my ear has me wishing for nothing more than the moment to last forever. I love you.

I love the way you kiss me. I love the way you cup my cheeks like a child before kissing them. I love the way you kiss my forehead, the way you kiss my nose, the way you kiss my upper lip, my chin, my shoulder, my eyes. Every bit of proof that an angel like you could ever love me has me in awe, in reverence of how simple it is for you to have me wrapped around your little finger. I love you.

I love the soft little touches that are so characteristic of the way you love. I love the way you fix my messy hair. I love the way you pull me closer during cold breezes, claiming it is to keep me warm. And I stand there in adoration of how cute you look as you hide yourself in the crook of my jacket. And I embrace you in my warmth as if I could never let you go. I love the way you absent mindedly play with my fingers. I love the way you link your arms with mine. I love the way you lean in close to wipe something from the corners of my mouth. I love all of it I love you.

I love it when you're so happy that you do a little dance. I love it when you're so nervous about sneaking away from an important meeting with your family members and running to me that you keep spacing out a little, making that really cute zoned out face of yours. I even love your beautiful diamond tears, even if I hate what it is that made you cry, when you're frustrated with all that your mother and father want from you. I love you I love you I love you.

I love you so much, ___. I can only hope that I remind you of it enough.

Love,

Satoru

"Mama that paper is pretty crumplyy- Mama are you ok?"

Dear ___

No.

It can't be.

I keep telling myself it can't be but your words cling to my skin, the cacophony of which psychedelically revolve around my soul.

It can't be It can't be It can't be

“'toru… we can’t do this anymore. It’s over. I'm getting married.”

 “Married? You’re joking, right? Did your parents finally find some guy who fits their impossibly high standards?”

 “This isn’t a joke, toru, They have found someone. He’s a good match. Someone stable, responsible. I’ve… agreed to it.”

“Wait… you agreed to it? So you’re just… going along with it? After everything we’ve been through? After us?”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is. My family expects me to marry someone who can provide stability, someone they can rely on. You and I… we were just… a dream.”

“A dream? That’s what this was to you? A dream? And you’re just going to… throw it away?”

“Yes I mean… toru, look at you. You live life as if you’re still a kid, as if nothing really matters. You laugh everything off, even the serious things, and that’s— That’s not what I need! I need someone who can give me certainty. Someone who can give me a future.”

“Certainty? Is that all I am to you, just some silly guy who can’t give you a future? Because I would have. I would have done anything to make it work, and you know it.”

“No, Satoru, you wouldn’t have, You’d have tried for a while, but eventually, you’d get restless. That’s who you are—you go wherever you feel like going, with no thought for consequences, no… no sense of commitment. And I can’t live like that.”

“You don’t know that! You’re deciding all this for both of us. You’re… you’re running away, choosing some path that someone else picked out for you. How is that the stability you want? It’s just… it’s just giving up.”

“No, it’s not giving up! You don’t understand. This isn’t just about you or me. It’s about family, tradition… things that are bigger than both of us. You’re acting like a child who thinks love is all that matters. Well, it’s not. Not in my world.”

 “I see. So you’d rather marry a stranger than even give us a chance? Than let me try to be what you need?”

“Gojo… I love you. But love isn’t enough to change everything. I wish it were. But it’s not.”

“Maybe you don’t love me as much as you think, then.”

“Don’t… don’t say that, I’ll never stop loving you, but I need to let you go. And you…You need to let me go, too. It’ll be easier that way.”

“Easier? You’re not making anything easier, trust me. I’ll never forget you. I’ll always wonder what we could’ve been… but you’re right, aren’t you? I’m just too silly, too carefree to matter.”

Naoya Zenin. The heir of one of the biggest families in the nation. Rich, powerful, handsome. Perfect. He was perfect it seemed. And so were you.

But the anger in my heart doesn’t still. Maybe because I don’t want to accept the truth- that I truly was never enough for you.

Because I know that you are not that perfect. Because it was your imperfection that I fell in love with. And the imperfect you casted the imperfect me away because you were imperfect in a way that everyone loved and I was imperfect in a way no one could bear to see. You were imperfect in a way that could be fixed by getting you married (as your wretched family never failed to mention) while I was…unfixable.

Broken.

We were both broken shards, and in our interweaved misery I deluded myself into believing we came from the same piece of glass. When you bled on me I drank your suffering, living through my burning throat just to hold you up. But you were always meant to be great, and I was not. And I told myself that I made you, breathed you into creation. That you were nothing without me. That the time I spent crafting your wings made me something, as if you had not discarded them as soon as you could. Your apathy was cruelty, your fame a testimony to the different seas of being that we are. And as I hung from the broken bridge I built, you flourished.

But in those fluttering moments when our eyes meet, those intense seconds where two frail souls reach out their hands in memory of what once used to be, of what once was the truth, I see that broken woman again. It makes me realize that you were a gorgeous vase dropped on accident, while I was a pair of rose tinted glasses broken in frustration. You were crafted to be beautiful, temporarily set back by fate, while I would forever just be a memory of the lies we tell ourselves.

But a broken vase can never be put back together, and someday, the world would know that your greatness was just a house of cards; fated to be toppled over by the dying breath of the frail strands that tied our hearts together.

Yours,

Satoru.

Dear ___,

I was so sure I understood, so sure that I was the one who’d been wronged. All I saw was you walking away, slipping through my fingers, and it burned—I let it fill me with anger, as if I was the only one hurt by it all. I couldn’t see past my own pain to realize you were scared. You weren’t breaking up with me because you didn’t care, but because you were… trapped.

The Saddest of stories are always of the happiest of people; the ones whose heart lit up at the sight of the world. But the world was too cruel to some of them, and love is never enough to carry one through the ugliness of this world we live in. And soon enough comes a time when looking at a glass of water causes heartache, and every light is so blinding that it physically pains you to get out of bed, and when all that lingers is the feeling of cold numbness inside. By then love is all forgotten, holding no meaning. No amount of care or happiness can fix the damage caused by the seemingly harmless boredom. Boredom then turns to dissatisfaction, and dissatisfaction turns to hopelessness, and through all of this there are those who can put up the façade of a healthy life.

We never see them- or at least see them as they truly are. Sad, Bored, a little dead on the inside. It's not like they seem to be happy or cheerful either- just nothing out of the ordinary. But the ordinary deceives the mind, and we leave out those little moments when their face breaks and the tears slip and the bandaid falls of- not because the wound has healed, but because it has bled too much. And also because it is not the kind of wound that a bandaid can fix. But they ignore this, and keep sticking bandaids (sometimes loosely attaching the same one over) in hopes that it will one day work the way they expect. But this only causes the wound to turn toxic, until it turns numb. And you think this means it has healed, but it is only when it is slightly brushed against, and the unbearable pain jolts throughout, that you realize that its just gotten worse in silence.

I didn’t even think to ask if you were okay. I thought you were just cold, maybe even heartless, telling me you needed someone more stable, someone responsible. But now, I see that you were pleading for something I didn’t understand. You needed help, someone to see through what you couldn’t say. You needed someone who’d ask why you said those things, why you looked so… afraid. And I missed it. I didn’t stop to question why you had this sadness behind your words, this weight pressing on you. I was too focused on being right, on feeling betrayed, to see what was right in front of me.

I convinced myself that you just wanted a different life, something that didn’t involve me, when really, you were… struggling. I should have seen that the way you talked about him, about your 'future,' was hollow. I should have noticed how you’d say the word 'marriage' like it was a sentence, not a choice. And instead of asking you, instead of listening—I let myself believe you were leaving me for someone else, that you’d never loved me the way I loved you. I made it about me, when all you needed was someone who could see what you couldn’t say out loud.

And now, here I am, replaying every word, every conversation, and wondering why I didn’t ask the right questions, why I didn’t push just a little harder to know what was really going on. I was supposed to be the one who loved you. But instead of standing by you, instead of seeing your fear, I just… got angry. I made you feel like you were wrong for leaving me, when in reality, you were just trying to survive. You were terrified, and I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to realize you needed me.

So now I’m left here with nothing but regrets, wishing I had seen the truth, wishing I’d known enough to tell you I’d help, that you weren’t alone. And now… now it’s too late. And I’ll never forgive myself for that

If only you knew that I would have been there for you. When he hurt your body and your heart and mind, I would have been there. If I had known, an angel like you would not have suffered more than a mere second in the house of a tyrant. If I had known, you would be laughing in my arms instead of crying on his floor. If I had known, maybe you would still be here with me.

Naoya Zenin.

That monster. I always hated him, but I thought… I thought it was jealousy. Just me being petty. But now I see him, in my mind—the way he looked at her, the way he… possessed you, like you were some damn object. He never saw you, not the way you really were. No. To him, you were just something he could cage, something to crush under his control.

How could he do it? How could he look you in the eyes and destroy you? How could he even live with himself? You loved life; you loved people, loved him, once—God, that makes it worse. He didn’t deserve a second of your love. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as you, and yet he was the one… he was the one who had you, day after day. His hands, that sick, twisted mind—you suffered because of him. And he’ll never pay enough for what he’s done. No punishment, no hell is deep enough for him.

I should have seen it. All those times I got frustrated with you, thinking you were pulling away, that you were lying to me. But you weren't lying, were you? You were hiding it, hiding the pain… because you knew I wouldn’t understand. I’d always get so mad, so impatient, thinking you were just… playing games, trying to hurt me. But you weren't. You were crying for help, and I just walked away, time after time. I thought I was so… righteous, so hurt. I thought I deserved the truth, that I had the right to be angry.

But I didn’t see your pain, did I? I never stopped to look closer, to ask you if you were really okay. I didn’t see how you’d flinch when he’d call, how you’d go silent, like you were somewhere far away. You were in hell, and all I cared about was my own heart. I was supposed to protect you, and instead, I pushed you back into his arms. I let you go back to him, and now… now you're gone."

And there’s nothing I can do to bring you back. Nothing I can do to make up for the times I failed you, for not listening, for not… seeing. It’s too late. I lost you forever. And it’s my fault.

I'm sorry, love.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

Today I watched you buried. I couldn’t see your face, as I maintained my distance, not trusting myself to be able to bear to be next to the ones who allowed you to be hurt. Moreover, I refuse to believe that you are gone. You're in my heart, and you always will be.

But as the day descended into night, and the yard was empty for miles, I dared to come close.

And I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I don't know when the hot tears started falling, mind blank as my knees thumped against the cold hard ground. And suddenly, all the agony clutched at my throat till I couldn't breathe, and I sobbed. I sobbed and bawled till I couldn’t feel my breath anymore. I needed the pain out of me but I didn't know how and in a vain attempt to ease the pain I punched and punched the ground as if it would cause you to come back to life again. As if it was the fault of the earth for taking you away from me. I cried hideously and clawed monstrously at the ground, but nothing changed. I rested my head on the grass in exhaustion, and thumped my head against the ground in anger as the tears kept falling. But even as I choked on the soil, nothing changed. I was still alone except for the company of the solitude taking pity on my pathetic state. I could feel the nothingness embrace me, comforting me, for I was truly alone in the world now, and I could feel it to my core.

And although my heart is numb and even as the bruises on my fingers from punching the floor bleed onto the page, I cannot stop myself from writing. I write and write and write because these letters are the only thing keeping you alive and I'm afraid if I stop then you will truly be gone and that can't be it can't be it can't.

 Because no matter where you are, my heart still beats for you. And despite the pain that follows the realization that yours no longer beats at all, I want to live forever. I want this simple heart of mine to thrum in your honor until the end of time. So that I can keep the feeling of being in love with you. So that I can, just for a moment, remember that I had the honour of being in love with you. Because nothing compares to being in love with you.

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru.

a/n: hope you enjoyed. ive never written for jjk before and although ive watched the show and am familiar w the manga idk if this is ooc im sry. i have wanted to write for jjk for a while now tho so i am glad i did. i love angst if you couldnt tell btw.

[vxnuslogy]

🍿lights, camera, action .ᐟ

chapter 1 — red suit

— prev | masterlist | next

“what the hell is going on?” was all you could say as you entered your co-star’s dressing room with a half empty coffee cup.

adam looked like he was on the verge of killing someone, sera was looking at him disapprovingly, emily looked so lost and confused, and lute was recording with her phone. they all looked over at you briefly but shifted their focus on adam when he ultimately decided to continue his little hissy fit.

“i am not doing that fucking interview with him!” to further emphasize his anger he threw a middle finger when alastor’s face came on the small tv screen in the dressing room. you only raised a bemused brow before setting your things down beside lute.

“soooo,” you stretch your legs and throw the girl beside you a smile, “what’s gotten your boss so out of sorts at 6 in the evening?” lute let out a chortle before readjusting the phone she held in her hands. “he doesn’t want to do the interview.” you wanted to ask more, but the shoe that was sent flying just over your head had you shutting up. 

“this is where you come in, my dear friend.” a shiver went up your spine when a familiar arm swung around your shoulders. tufts of white hair loosely tied in a ponytail paired with blue eyes slotted himself in front of you. “and how exactly am i supposed to do about…” you awkwardly gesture your hands in adam’s direction who is now holding one of your props – a silver sword you’re supposed to use in the next episode – in his hands. flinging the thing around, threatening to put someone in a coma with the way he was using it.

the way azrail grinned at you made you slightly regret coming to this dressing room after multiple sos messages emily had sent you earlier.

“because you will be taking his spot in the interview!”

the color from your face was drained and the smile on your lips began to twitch, threatening to fall apart with how azrail had started to drag you up from your seat and in the direction of his hair and makeup artist.

“says who?!” you shout in protest, trying to pry your poor wrist away from your supposed bodyguard. 

“says me!”  

you’ll have to talk with your scriptwriter and convince them to allow you to throw azrail into hell.

───── ✦ ─────

“we’re going live in 20… 19.. 18..”

you only sigh exasperatedly. arms crossed over your chest as you tried your best to beg sera and emily to get you out of this situation despite it being too late. in the blink of an eye, you had been seated in the chair right in front of azrail’s makeup artist, trying her best to put together a simple look for you while you had tried to claw at the man beside you.

now here you were, standing backstage with one of the managers offering you a smile as you shifted from one foot to another to quench the bubbling nervousness that began to form in the pit of your stomach. the backstage was a lot bigger than you expected, it had a full body mirror right where you were situated, so you took this chance to fully soak in what you were dressed in.

your hair was in its usual hairstyle but what stood out was the bright red shirt you wore that was a size bigger than you. the sleeves hang loosely in your arms but the black vest you wore over it somehow balanced it out. paired with some black slacks and shoes, and the gold accessories – your earrings, belt and bracelets adam was kind enough to lend you made the overall outfit very put together.

“going live in 10.. 9… 8..”

“are you ready?” the manager had asked you, pressing a finger to the in-ear she wore. taking a deep breath you nodded. “ready.”

“lights, camera, and action!”

───── ✦ ─────

to say you were entertained was an understatement, you were wholly enjoying your time with the man clad in a somewhat matching red suit that sat beside you. with his hair styled to the side - a few loose curls escaping - and his dapper red suit truly made you realize how much the color red suited him.

alastor was just as charming as the media presented him. you were slightly worried about how your interactions would go, after all, you didn’t know him besides the times you’d see him on tv, and even in those times adam would never fail to situate himself in front of the tv screen and flip it off. but so far, you hadn’t felt the slightest bit awkward. you, him, and the host glided from one question to another, laughing here and there whenever he cracked a little joke or pun and you wouldn’t fail to add a quip of your own.

“but i must admit, it is quite a surprise.” the host said, his hands rubbing at his chin in curiosity. “i was informed that adam would be the one to attend this interview! oh but of course, i don’t mind you replacing him, [name].”

you only laugh, crossing your leg over the other as you make yourself comfortable on the sofa. pushing away the stray hair that fell over your face, you answer the man in an amused smile, “i didn’t expect to be sitting here myself! emy had sent a few messages saying she needed help with something. i didn’t think what she needed help with was finding adam a substitute.”

“and you were the candidate?”

“unfortunately.” you roll your eyes when you catch a glimpse of adam flipping you off backstage. azrail holding in his laugh and throwing you a thumbs-up. leaning over to grab the cup placed atop the coffee table, you stop mid-sip when you hear your co-star laugh lightly beside you. you raise a brow, a smile breaking from your features, “what? finding my demise funny?”

alastor chuckles along with the crowd. you’ve already lost count of how many times you’ve rolled your eyes tonight. clearing his throat, you set your cup down and slightly turned to him, “but of course not! what kind of gentleman would i be to laugh at a poor soul’s misery. especially if it was caused by someone like adam.”

you laugh at that comment. “but it would suit your character, actually,” you say. “should i feel nervous that the infamous radio demon is now sitting beside me?”

you couldn’t help the way your grin grew wider, your cheeks starting to hurt from smiling too much, as his eyebrows raised in entertainment at your comment. alastor sighed dramatically, shaking his head back and forth with his fingers pressed into his forehead. 

“fear not, my dear! i’m not as bad as some people may say.” his brown eyes were shaped like little crescents because of the smile on his face. “though i have to admit, not very many people stay as calm and cool-headed as you when they first interact with me.” somehow his smile grew wider, “you are certainly one of a kind.” he mutters to you when he picks up your hand and presses a soft peck on your knuckles.

“don’t listen to a fucking word he says!”

the two of you look at each other briefly before bursting out laughing, your hand still in his all the while. streams of curses, laughter, and lectures could be heard from backstage as you and alastor try to fight off the bubbling giggles from your throats.

“now, pray to tell,” you turn to alastor with an amused smile. “what did you do to adam to have him not turn up in this interview?”

alastor laughed, eyes crinkling intro crescents by sheer amusement.

“let’s just say,” he readjusted his tie and stared directly into your eyes as if challenging you to try and maintain eye contact. “this radio demon garnered more votes than the first man in the latest popularity poll.”

───── ✦ ─────

“i have to say, the media has not done you any justice in regards to that ever appealing moxie of yours my dear.”

you turn around to be met with the devil your little group has been talking about. gone was the red blazer and vest he wore in the interview, now he was left wearing his white shirt with that black bow tie of his.

“speak of the devil, and he shall arrive.” he laughs at your remark. “missed me already?” you ask playfully, cocking your head to the side just to be extra as azrail laughed at you to which you replied with a slight stomp on the foot.

“oh fuck you that hurts.” the man glared at you, clutching his now sore foot while you just stuck out your tongue at him childishly. you only snapped out of your banter when you heard the man in front of you chuckle again.

“ah it seems like i’ve been caught red-handed.” he sighed dramatically, throwing up both his hands in mock defeat making you snicker. “would you ever be so kind as to lend this man a bit of your presence?”

“hmm, i don’t know.” you put your hand to your mouth to not make the grin creeping up to your face so obvious. “my hands are, well, currently full as of now.” turning to your co-stars waiting for you in the dressing room, you revel in the slight pout on the man’s lips. though by no means was it genuine - you know that it is all in playful jest but regardless you throw him a smile. “how about we chat some other time?” you suggest.

“delightful! i’ll see you soon then, dear!” without another word, alastor turned on his heel, waving exaggeratedly at you as you let out another laugh.

when you turn around the sight of emily and azrail grinning at you while adam sneers, you tilt your head in confusion. “what?” you ask. the first two only shrug their shoulders, seemingly speaking telepathically when their eyes met and their grins grew wider. “and you?” you turn to adam. “what’s gotten your dick up in a twist?”

“fuckin’ traitors, don’t rock!” 

you just snickered as you made your way inside the dressing room, starting to take off the accessories and putting them back in adam’s little jewelry box.

“sooo,” a voice spoke from behind you. “a date with the radio demon, huh?”

you only sighed half-heartedly when azrail has once again draped his arm over your shoulders.

“it was a lot easier than i expected. and its not a date.”

you wanted to punch that teasing shit-eating grin on his face after that.

taglist ━ open .ᐟ

@aboveasphodel @itssupernaturalavenger @coldcattale @yoongibabs @reverse-soe @juskonutoh @mei-simp @puredreamagination @justgiulia

[cr4yolaas]

the night shift — slow down

day 5 | masterlist | day 7

now playing: heart to heart by mac demarco

"you're late," she hums, with a lilt of tease and jest. she doesn't look up at him. the jingle of the doors opening cues her into fixing her posture, her spine fitting into the shape of her chair. he watches the action but can't quite process it, too overwhelmed with all the sweat and clothes and hair sticking to his skin.

an apology falls from chapped lips instinctively. he slips into the space behind the counter and discards his jacket from his figure, haphazardly throwing it into the break room before taking his usual seat beside her. "practice ran overtime," he heaves out as soon as he settles into his spot. like routine.

it's a slow day. the night shift is busy, for the most part, but there are the rare handful of days where the store is stagnant. they're silent, save for the hums of the heater and the refrigerators and the wind outside the window, and compared to the last shift they'd worked together, it's not so tense. it's light, almost, the burden of unspoken words and misdirected emotions no longer weighing heavily on their shoulders. he basks in it, just for a moment, before she gets up from her chair to busy herself with something, anything to escape the stasis. he follows suit.

restocks are her favorite task, he's noticed. it's her go-to to pass time, when her hands don't know what to do with themselves and her mind runs rampant. the boxes sit beside the snack shelves, the tape sliced open and the flaps lifted, ready to be emptied and organized. his shoulder brushes against hers briefly as he situates himself next to her, leaning into the depths of the first shipment and handing each product to her one by one. they fall into a slow, steady system. he passes. she places.

"remind me why you didn't go pro?" she questions almost a bit too loudly, failing to consider whether or not she's breaching a checkpoint that she isn't meant to pass yet. she notices the stutter in his movements, the flicker of a hitched breath, the avoidant stare. the perspiration still sticks to his forehead from before, evidence of the effort he had been putting into practice moments before clocking in.

kageyama stands, his shoulders rolling back and the bones popping slightly. an inhale through his nose, an exhale through his mouth, and he droops, as if physically bearing the mental baggage of what she presumed to be his passion. "i burned out, i think," he starts. it's barely there, barely audible. "i think i was also just scared. i was becoming someone i didn't recognize, so," he pauses. "i dropped it."

i think, i think, i think, as if he was still unsure in a decision he made years ago. she leans against the shelf with one shoulder, her eyes fixed on his while he fidgets with a bag of candy. "do you regret it?"

"sometimes," he whispers, almost sheepishly. "i do want to seek help for it. yachi recommended therapy, but," he pauses again, placing the candy in his palms into hers. he wills his mind into ignoring the way her hand ghosts over his, but his body can't seem to follow suit, with the ticklish feeling running through his palm and the dusting of pink on the corners of his ears (it's only visible if you look hard enough). the bag is set up neatly on the shelf, in line with all the others of its kind. "id want someone i know to listen to me. someone who actually knows me, not someone who's forced to."

she doesn't ask any more -- she knows not to. her shoes squeak against the tile as she makes her way to the next row, kageyama following behind her with the cart of boxes. they fall back into routine. he passes. she places. again, and again, and again, until it's muscle memory, so much so that they just barely miss the chime of the doors opening.

the pair from across the street -- none other than her two favorite new grounds employees (and his, though he'd never admit that) -- waltz into the building, steaming hot coffees cusped between their gloved hands and thick, wooly scarves (matching, of course) wrapped around their necks. "we thought we'd visit," yamaguchi explains first, taking his and yachi's drinks and placing them on the counter as if the place were their own. "it's slow tonight, and i think i'd rather kill myself than make small talk with our boss."

the two rid themselves of their garments -- the scarves, the coats, the gloves -- and just like the coffee, it all finds itself splayed across the counter.

a warmth spreads through her chest at the sight. it comes again when they all sit behind the register, two spare plastic chairs pulled out for the newfound company. and it rises once more when they all laugh in unison, the sound reverberating in both the store and her heart. it trickles up from the bottom of her ribcage to the top of her head, and with each pass it makes, she feels even lighter.

she wonders where it all was before. the white-hot glow of everything around her washes over the burden of being once riddled in her bones, and she questions the bigger picture that had consumed her life before: the false yearning for what once was, the reminiscence, the overbearing memory of someone that isn't quite her. a soft breath falls from her tongue, and another, and another, and another.

ᡣ𐭩 sooo cheesy LOL. but i loved when i first thought of this chapter bc the vibes were so cute and warm and i needed it to be in this series

ᡣ𐭩 updates r obvs going much slower be of school..... i need to be shot before APs kill me (AP phys and AP calc bc i will always hate you)

ᡣ𐭩 kageyama very often comes in sweaty from practice. do with that what u will

ᡣ𐭩 it's not very common for yachi n yams to come into the store at all. to kind of clarify the relationship btwn yachi yams and yn, it's like online they're oomfs and irl theyre just moots. do u catch my drift. in all srs yn is the one to visit them more often (bc it's new grounds, duh) which is kind of what sparked the household connection (outside of kenhina)

ᡣ𐭩 it's ALSO not very common for kageyama to be asked about the decision that sort of haunts his entire life. his roommates know it's a sore topic, and they were also there when the decision was made, and hinata brings it up way too much already, and it's just such an awkward conversation that they try not to pry too far. which is both great and horrible for kags, bc while he doesn't necessarily want to talk about it all the time (again, the theme of running away from his problems), he knows that bottling it up doesn't help at all

ᡣ𐭩 am i projecting? i guess we'll never know!

ᡣ𐭩 as i'm typing this i'm realizing that i need to finish mezzo forte (might discontinue it to be honest but ARGHHGHGHSD its so close to ending)

ᡣ𐭩 the fall of mezzo forte is like my fall of the roman empire. but this isn't about mezzo forte this is about the night shift

taglist: @causenessus @strawberryurii @iiwaijime @savemebrazilhinata @tiramizuloz @conrad4life13 @wyrcan @zazathezaer @nperoconelcositoarriba @cupidsblonde @thechaosoflonging @diorzs @aozui @fefesooli

[catflorist]

omg that sasusaku art you reblogged... i would pay so much money for your take on that prompt!!!

hi anon! here you go! :) thank you for this prompt, it's been a long time since i wrote anything and it was really fun! i hope you like it!

inspired by this incredibly beautiful artwork by @millientea!

dreams [post-war sasusaku, rated T] ao3 / ffn

In the brief time between the break of his fever and the break of dawn, Sasuke was absent of all his guilt. He held onto Sakura’s hand, and fought sleep to experience the sensation for as long as possible.

After the war, Sasuke's injuries keep him stuck in the hospital. Sakura visits every day.

First Sasuke lost a war with himself. Then he lost an arm. Then the infection and the fever struck, making him keel over then shiver feebly in his hospital bed for three days straight.

His more lucid moments were filled with strangers whizzing into his room to poke and prod him and stick needles horribly into his arm. And when the fever took hold, it carried him downstream to delirium. His nightmares were kind enough to visit him in waking hours, magnified and painted in strong color and detail. And each time he drifted briefly back to consciousness he was greeted with hot, billowing pain at the stump of his arm and the sound of his vitals blaring.

Later a team of doctors inform him that he’s survived a deadly case of sepsis and avoided a second amputation of his left arm. He’ll need bedrest and continued close monitoring. Naruto’s healing well, he hears. Figures.

The days blur. An IV chains Sasuke to bed, where he chokes on boredom thick as smoke. He memorizes the markings of each bird that lands on his windowsill. He watches a ball of dust in the corner move three riveting inches to the left over the course of twenty-four hours. He whips out his sharingan to memorize the lines of his palm, and compares that image to a corresponding record from the last time he was bored to death in a hospital. His heart line has grown longer.

Monotony breaks whenever Sakura breezes into his room.

“I brought you apples.” She smiles at him, a little knowingly. The apples are cut neatly into decorative slices.

She visits at the beginning and end of each shift. In the mornings she smiles brightly in a crisp white coat, and twelve hours later she still smiles brightly, with tired circles under her eyes and loose uncombed hair. This time she’s wearing civilian clothes, here to see him even on her day off.

She’s fearless, for her part. He’s quiet.

When he thinks back to the haze of fever, he remembers slender and cool fingers smoothing damp hair from his brow. A swirl of healing chakra that felt like the way her voice sounds. When he awoke, a nurse mentioned the doctor attending his case invented a new chakra technique on the spot to siphon away the infection.

Sasuke didn’t need to ask who. She never said anything, and he never asked.

He suspects Sakura’s involvement elsewhere, too. When he thinks about why he’s not kept in handcuffs or locked away entirely. In the roasted tomatoes that appear on his meal trays. The reason why Naruto is allowed the occasional visit, shuffling in on crutches and staying until the nurses chase him away.

Sakura sets the plate of apples at his bedside. Today, they resemble rabbits. Sasuke has never eaten more apples in his life, but he does not think of complaining.

“Good news. Your IV is coming out tomorrow!” She smiles, waiting for his reaction.

Right. He should be happy. The feeling flickers dimly and goes out like a damp torch.

Sasuke doesn’t know what his life will look like from here on out. There’s nothing left to hunt after. The main sources of his suffering have all vanished or changed form. All that awaits him is empty space and time—time to reflect, to let the cumulation of all his actions and decisions sink in.

He doesn’t regret the desertion, the treason, as much as others might hope. If he were to go back in time, knowing what he knows about the village, his choices might even look similar. But he regrets hurting the people who cared for him.

He regrets hurting her.

Sakura’s smile has faded. “What’s wrong?”

Sasuke wants to sink under his blankets, to be alone with his guilt. “Nothing.”

“Are you in pain?”

He throws her a glare. “I said it’s nothing.”

Years ago, this would have been enough to scare her away. Now green eyes meet his with full force. “Don’t do this. Don’t be distant.” Sakura’s fingers flex and curl at her sides. “Whatever is on your mind, you can tell me.”

She treats him with such kindness, such patience, though he’s certain he doesn’t deserve it.

“Why are you here, Sakura?” he asks quietly.

“I’m a doctor,” she says, with a flash of irritation.

“You know what I mean.” Sasuke’s vision swims like the beginnings of a migraine. “Leave me. Get on with your life.” He wants the words to carry a touch of contempt, but the lump in his throat filters it all out.

“Why would I leave you?” The pure sincerity of her voice cuts him through. “We just got you back.”

His tongue feels thick and heavy. “I’ve hurt you.” How could she forget?

“I’ve hurt you, too.”

He manages a shake of the head. It’s not the same.

“It’s in the past,” she insists. “We want you in our lives—we always have!”

“I don’t understand why,” he bites, gaining strength.

“Because I love you!”

Birds take off from the windowsill.

Wringing her hands, Sakura clarifies, more weakly, “I love all my friends.”

An icy flame tears through Sasuke’s entire body. He doesn’t believe her. Somehow, he must have tricked her. After everything he’s done, how can someone lower themselves so deeply as to love him? Hot pressure rises behind his eyes. He opens his mouth to recite every reason why she’s wrong.

“So get used to it,” Sakura snaps, recovering and doubling down, like she knows what he’s about to say. Sakura, who has always been a little brazen with her affection, who has so much love and care to give that it confounds him and most others. “I don’t care what’s happened or how long it’s been. You’re still my teammate.”

Sasuke feels a phantom of his past self crouch on his chest. It whispers, push her away, break the plate of apples. Trust yourself and no one else. Be alone. This is the way he knows to protect himself. It’s worked so well, all throughout his life, he can’t imagine anything different.

Does he need to protect himself, from her? Did he ever?

“And…you’re still my friend.” Sakura’s shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. “If that’s what you want.”

Outside, a raven’s feather drifts in a slow spiral of wind. Sasuke nods.

Sakura straightens. “Good.” Her eyes are jade reflecting fire. “Being friends won’t kill you, I promise. See you in the morning.”

In the morning, Sakura arrives to remove his IV. She’s still carrying an air of quiet victory. To inch this close, to insist on picking up their friendship exactly where they left it, that’s some audacity. Bravery, even.

He needs it.

His heart would crack without it.

Sakura carefully loosens the adhesive and presses gauze over the IV site. Sasuke is already looking away, taking a shallow breath to prepare himself.

“There’s no needles at this part,” she says.

It’s true, he hates needles—one glimpse and he breaks into a cold sweat. But he’s never told anyone. It bothers him that she noticed. “How did you know?”

“I’m a doctor,” she says, which explains very little. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Still hate it,” he breathes.

“I know,” she says. “Done.”

He looks back. She smiles when their gazes meet, holding down pressure on his arm. He didn’t feel a thing.

“You make a small sound.” Her voice is soft. “Under your breath. Like you’re trying to speak but hold it back.”

Sasuke thought he hid the discomfort well. If he can miss such small details about himself, no wonder he was wrong about almost everything—what path to take, and where to place blame, and who to trust. His world has turned over too many times to count.

His senses hone in on Sakura’s touch, muted as it is through gloves and layers of gauze. She’s never changed. Never failed to ease his hurts.

He wants to ask about the fever. The infection that strode in like one last attempt by the world to kill him. She saved his life.

He feels his hand float through the air, stretching towards her face.

Empty air buzzes where his fingers should be grazing her brow. He’s still not used to the loss of his dominant hand. His stump lowers back to his side. Sakura’s expression remains calm, unknowing.

“Thank you,” he says instead.

He knows what the words will mean to her. And so he says it.

A soft smile overtakes Sakura’s face. Sasuke is known for his infamous gaze, but now he doesn’t know where to put it. When to meet her crinkling eyes and for how long. If it’s considered normal to observe the rise of her cheek, the strands of pink hair falling around her face. If he should risk a glance at her smiling lips. The decisions overwhelm him, and he finds he must look away.

Something is different, he thinks.

.

.

“He’s on your roster today? Good luck.”

Sasuke’s room is stationed at a quiet bend of the hall, a blind spot between patient rooms and administrative offices where hospital staff stop to gossip before continuing on their rounds. Whether he wants to or not, he’s often forced to eavesdrop.

“—ripped out his IV. Yes, just ripped it out. Three times. Maybe four. Wouldn’t let anyone touch him.”

“Have you noticed all those horrible birds outside his window? The crows?”

A laugh. “Never seen anything like it. Like a curse, I swear—”

“Excuse me.” The conversation grinds to a halt at Sakura’s sharp voice. “Room Four is still waiting on warm blankets.”

Footsteps scatter in two different directions. Sakura sweeps into his room. Her face is a storm. If he saw that expression on a battlefield, he would reach for his weapon. He pictures her cutting apple slices into playful shapes to reverse the effect.

“Don’t listen to them,” she mutters, and throws the curtain divider closed.

“I don’t care.”

“I care.” Absent-minded, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth, Sakura does something she’s never done before: she sits on his bed. All Sasuke’s attention is pulled to the hand’s width of space between his ankle and the slight dip of her weight on the mattress. He slowly shifts his legs away, careful not to draw her notice.

Sakura pulls a velvet pouch out of her coat. “Here. I brought something.”

The most exciting part of Sasuke’s day was when the scent of antiseptic wafted through the door a little stronger than usual. His interest spikes. “What is it?”

Sakura opens the pouch and pours dozens of black and white Go pieces onto the bedspread. She begins arranging the board among the folds of his blankets, and after a moment, Sasuke leans forward to help. He hasn’t played Go since he was a child, but the smooth, round stones feel familiar in his palm, and the rules come back quickly. They play five games in a row without speaking. Sakura wins the first, and he wins the last four.

When they look up again, it’s dark. Sasuke’s neck is stiff from bending over the game for so long. Time has never passed so quickly for him in the hospital.

Sakura is sitting fully atop the bed now, as she has for the past three games, legs crossed with a pensive hand held to her chin. She packs away the game pieces in silence and pulls the drawstring shut. A crease lingers between her eyebrows.

“You could have died.”

Her eyes swell with tears. She doesn’t make a sound.

“I didn’t,” Sasuke says, soft as he can.

“But you could have.” The tears flow faster than she can wipe them away.

“You didn’t let me.” It makes his gut twist to see her cry, even if she cries because his life matters to her.

“I almost didn’t bring the flowers that day. I didn’t know if you’d want them.” Sakura lifts a sleeve to her face. “If I wasn’t there when the shock hit…”

Sasuke struggles to follow. His memory of the whole ordeal is hazy. He has a vague recollection of a nurse removing a vase of wilted flowers from the bedside in the days after the fever lifted.

Sakura’s shoulders tremble with a sob. “I could have lost you.”

“You didn’t lose me.” He catches her hand. Fingers slide together like whispering a secret. “You have me.”

She lifts her tearstained face. Sasuke feels feverish as his words echo back in the silence of their breathing. Her lips part, bitten and red.

“You only ripped out the IV twice, Sasuke-kun.”

Her expression is knit with determination. Sasuke can’t stop himself—a smile twitches onto his mouth. Sakura seems confused by the reaction, studying him hard.

Movement flashes in the corner of Sasuke’s eye as a large black bird lands smoothly on the windowsill. He recognizes this one for a miniscule nick in its leftmost flight feather.

“And the birds. They’re ravens,” he says evenly. “Not crows.”

Sakura smiles, sudden and shining and wide. Sasuke doesn’t fully understand the meaning of the exchange, but contentment sweeps over him.

The warmth of her hand lingers long after she lets go, and he remembers something about the fever.

.

.

The infection stalls for days, but when the worst comes, it comes quickly.

First Sasuke’s mouth fills with saliva, then arrives a tsunami of inexplicable dread, and that’s all the warning he receives before an important current in his body shifts off-course and begins to sweep him away. Sasuke breathes deep. A sweet scent hovers in the air. Sakura arrived a moment ago with fresh-cut flowers.

His stump throbs with such a sick, bleeding ache that he loses his grip on his senses. His limbs are all trembling. Another breath. His lungs allow just enough air to call out her name.

Footsteps, a sharp voice. “Sasuke? What’s wrong?”

Healing chakra skims over his body. Sakura lets out a tense breath.

Sasuke knows suffering like he knows the face of an old friend. He can feel it loom over him, its breath ghosting the back of his neck.

“It’s—it’s serious, Sasuke-kun.” The air thickens with chakra, a thrum strong enough to detect by ear. “But you’re going to be fine.”

The breath returns to his lungs, but in exchange, screaming hot pain erupts at his arm and reverberates through every corner of his body. Each pain that flares and fades is replaced quickly by another. His mouth and the tip of his nose go numb. His vision cuts in and out. He is a boat tossed by angry waves, kept afloat solely by the light touch of Sakura’s fingertips.

“Don’t leave,” he hears himself say.

Her voice finds him like sunlight. “I won’t.”

“Do you hate me, Sakura?”

Not long ago, Sasuke hated her. The ache of hatred never left his chest. He hated her so much that her face sometimes replaced his nightmares, and he would wake up blinking away tears. He understands if she feels the same.

He never hears her response. A dark, turbulent quiet rushes over his head, and his old friend follows after him.

At dawn on the day his fever breaks, Sasuke floats awake, greeted by swirls of light floating on the inside of his eyelids. His body feels like his own, but different, like he’s been pulled apart and put back together in a different order. He curls his fingers—the numb tingle of phantom pain lights on one side. The fingers of his other hand tighten around something.

He opens his eyes to a world washed in soft grey. To Sakura’s sleeping face, her hair silver in the light. A dream? No, his mind doesn’t grant him peaceful dreams.

Her head rests tired and heavy on the edge of the bed. Between them lies their hands, tightly clasped, as if they met in a moment of turbulence and held on ever since. Long enough so he can’t distinguish her touch from his own. Flowers watch on the windowsill, shedding petals.

.

.

Sasuke plays more games of Go. Less needles are stuck into his arm. He begins to walk again. He feels fresh air on his face. Sakura’s visits continue like clockwork, until one morning she fails to walk through his door.

He sits and watches the birds as morning stretches into afternoon. The chair that has never left his bedside remains empty. After years apart, how quickly he’s grown accustomed to her presence. But this stretch of time is coming to a close. When he leaves the hospital, he doubts he will see her so often.

His window looks out onto the hospital roof, crisscrossed with pipes and exhaust vents, and a small sliver of the street. When the wind blows just right, the branches of a sakura tree wave into view, buds unfurling.

Hard as Sasuke tried to shunt away his past life, he could never escape the spring. The torture of falling petals, of green and pink. The world around him transformed as if to ensure he could never forget her.

Daylight is getting long when Sakura wobbles in, rubbing her eyes. “Hi.”

Sasuke’s spine straightens. “Hey.”

She sits in her spot by the bed, where he’s been playing a game of Go with himself. “How’s the game?”

“I’m losing,” he says.

Sakura smiles and shifts one of the white stones to a dangerous location. Warmth floods Sasuke’s chest, though now he’s certain to lose. Their hands move back and forth over the imaginary board, bold and quick.

Sakura yawns victoriously as she captures his last tile. “Another?”

Exhaustion shadows her eyes, but if he answers yes, she’ll delay sleep even longer. Does she ever sleep? Hospital staff are always wandering the halls to seek her opinion, or pull her into surgeries, or hand her a stack of paperwork. Yet she carves out a portion of her valuable time for him.

Sasuke shakes his head. But he’s not selfless enough to give up her company so soon. “How are you?”

Her tired gaze lifts and flicks away. A faint blush dusts her cheeks. Why? Is it strange for him to ask? He’s still ruminating when she answers. “I’m okay. It’s been a long day. Emergency surgery, complications, everything. I can’t remember the last time I slept…” Their fingers brush twice as they put away the game pieces. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

Sakura leans against his bed and drops her head onto her arms. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

What can he say? He did miss her.

Springtime has come again. The season used to drive him mad. The sakura flowering all at once, all over the continent, wherever he looked. The petals scattering like rain in the wind, catching in the folds of his cloak. The sight of blossoms on bare wood, crossing over his head in a blooming lattice. The five-petaled flowers, the five fingers of a hand he would never touch again. The color. It tested his patience, his devotion to his goal like nothing else.

Sasuke skims his fingers over the pink wave of her hair. He’s always wanted to, deep down. Sakura cracks open her eyes, catches him red-handed in his affection. He runs a thumb in the barest caress across her cheekbone. He is at his weakest in the spring.

“Come here,” he mumbles, fairly certain that she will. Terrified that she won’t.

“Where?” she whispers.

Sasuke lifts his chin. He rests his hand on the blanket. His fingertips burn from touching her. “Here.”

In the brief time between the break of his fever and the break of dawn, Sasuke was absent of all his guilt. He held onto Sakura’s hand, and fought sleep to experience the sensation for as long as possible. He did not deserve her, but he pretended he did.

Even as Sakura slides into the bed, rests her head in his lap, he cannot fully believe what he’s seeing. She presses closer to him, as if she wants to be close, and her eyes drift shut, as if his presence soothes her. A spell falls over Sasuke as he listens to her breathing. His hand lowers to her back.

Maybe, in the end, it’s as simple as she said. She loves him.

Sleepy green eyes blink open with a trace of shyness, of the girl that used to blush each time he spared her a glance. He will never admit how often he tested his powers. “You don’t mind?”

“No,” he says.

Sakura climbs higher. She folds her arms across his chest like he’s a pillow and tucks her cheek into the crook of her elbow. Sasuke’s heartbeat grows unsteady. Her hair smells the same, like jasmine.

Sasuke never imagined a future beyond his revenge, that his life could continue on and contain moments lit in a glow like sunlight through petals. Holding her awakens desires that have nothing to do with pain and sacrifice. He wants to stroke her hair until she falls asleep. He wants to visit her dreams. He wants even more. His chest aches in the way he once thought was hatred.

He touches her cheek, straightening out a lock of silky hair. She doesn’t stir.

Sasuke closes his eyes, and like he’s never had trouble with it before, dreams.

.

.

.

.

[iamsherlocked-1998]

NUTS AND ENGINES

SUMMARY: A visit to the mechanic and a new beginning.

WORDS: 1200

WARNING: Nope, only that the reader is a Mandalorian here and not Din, so when I say "Mando" it´s about her.

In the bustling spaceport of Mos Eisley, Din Djarin worked diligently in his small mechanic's shop, surrounded by the hum of engines and the clatter of tools. He was aware of the fame he had built up over the past few years, known for his ability to repair all manner of spacecraft, Din considered himself a quiet and solitary figure, but affable and cheerful, content with the mild isolation of his work.

One day, a mysterious figure dressed in Mandalorian armor entered his shop, seeking repairs for her ship. He couldn't help but shudder a little, his scant knowledge of them based on perceptions from childhood when he was rescued from the ashes of what used to be his forgotten home before being sent to this piece of land to live with a relative he barely knew.

The first day she just hung around the workshop and briefly introduced herself as Mando, but an old friend from an adjacent cantina managed to find out that the enigmatic woman turned out to be a renowned and legendary bounty hunter with a reputation that preceded her. Intrigued by the enigmatic Mandalorian before him, the next day Din offered to work on the ship, eager to test his mechanical prowess.

"It could use a tune-up and my usual mechanics are taking a break, how many credits would that be?"

Djarin offered a sardonic smile.

"Well, that's something you can't know until you check it out in depth, sweetheart, but I promise I'll give you a good price" (That was accompanied by a slight wink in a crude attempt to get attention).

The Mandalorian just nodded softly and left without another word, leaving the man blushing intensely. That wasn't even close to what he regretted the most. As Din delved into the intricate repairs of the ancient ship, which could well be described as a relic, he reflected on the other, much more interesting things he could be doing, but he was still a man of his word and he wasn't going to give up. Despite the two brief interactions, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the stoic yet captivating presence of the Mandalorian warrior. Their conversations were meaningful, with an unspoken understanding floating in the air between them, especially when the woman simply rolled up her sleeves and began to help him.

"Where did you learn?" (The question surprised the dark-haired man, but he wasn't going to waste the opportunity).

"Well, when I was young I spent a lot of time alone because my uncle wasn't a man of many words and even less with alcohol, so one day I went to the city and signed up as an apprentice, that's how I earned a living and killed time".

The woman turned her visor to the ground thoughtfully.

"Is that where you got the necklace from?"

He was about to ask when she looked where the jacket was leaning, it was a kind of tool box where he kept an amulet from the worst day of his life. A mythosaur.

"No... I don't like to talk about it but your people helped me in a time of need and I preferred to keep it".

"I could say the same".

The man reached for a dirty rag to remove the oil dirt from his hands. A sigh of understanding left his lips.

"Is it true what they say, you always wear that helmet?" (He pointed to his own face inquisitively).

"This is the way".

The days passed in apparent tranquility, the young woman had become a little more vocal and was proud of having gotten a kind of laugh out of her once. However, before Din could finish his work, chaos erupted in the spaceport as a group of bounty hunters descended upon the girl, seeking to claim the bounty on her head. Instinctively, Din sprang into action, using the few skills his uncle, a man better with his fists than with words, had instilled in him, upbringing to support Mando and fend off attackers.

He and his peculiar client barricaded themselves behind a set of scrap metal. The woman had a sharp aim that made him think with pity of their targets if they weren't in this situation.

In the heat of battle, Din entered the ship for added safety while his partner dealt with several stray undesirables mercilessly. He inadvertently discovered a secret Mando had been hiding: a small, green creature emerged from a cubbyhole of sorts, looking frightened and immediately turning its face away when the mechanic approached.

"Hey... little one, it's okay" (the man extended a finger for the boy to hold, which helped, as he was able to pick up the baby and find a better place to hide).

So that was the reason the woman was so scrupulous about emptying the warehouse before starting work and always left for a while, maybe she knew someone nearby who helped her with the child.

Once she understood that the man was inside, the child's guardian (mother?) entered the ship abruptly and prepared to take off. Apparently the rescued pupil was named Grogu, he had a connection to the Force like nothing Din had ever seen before, although the Mandalorian never heard of it. This revelation struck a chord within Din, awakening emotions and memories long buried in him, when he lost his parents as a tender infant.

A few hours later Grogu entertained himself by floating Din's necklace through the air, the only thing he could rescue when the attackers were too many and left without further delay.

"He is amazing" (Djarin meant it, he understood that any self-respecting person would want to keep him safe).

"He is" (The woman used a surprisingly soft tone) "You can't go back to that place, now they will look for you too".

With no choice but to leave the safety of Mos Eisley behind, Din made the fateful decision to accompany Mando and Grogu on their journey, his heart torn between the prudence of duty and the new connection he felt towards them.

“I suppose there is no other remedy, at least for now. Would a mechanic suit you?”

The hunter said nothing but the playful clicking of fingers on the control panel expressed all he needed to know.

Weeks turned into months. As they traversed the galaxy together, facing danger and adventure at every turn, Din and Mando found themselves growing closer, their bond forged through trials and challenges that tested their resolve. In the quiet moments beneath the starry sky, Din found solace in the reserved woman’s unwavering strength and determination, while she discovered a depth of compassion and loyalty in Din’s open character that touched her heart. Casual touches turned to frantic kisses in the darkness of the ship’s belly.

Amidst the chaos of their unpredictable lives, love blossomed between the stoic Mandalorian bounty hunter and the intrepid mechanic, tying their destinies together in a story written in the stars. And as they sailed across the vast expanse of the galaxy side by side, Djarin and Mando knew that in each other they had found something worth fighting for: a love that transcended the boundaries of space and time, binding them together in a bond that was as unbreakable as beskar steel.

NOTE: This was really funny to write, maybe I'll write about this universe again, the fic is an idea of @toomanystoriessolittletime for the 8k celebration, hope you like it 🤗💕

[cordelia-noir]

I have a DBDA prompt for you, if you're interested! I realized earlier today that in episode 5, when Crystal says something like "All three of us lost our lives to boys who went too far, that's a really shitty thing to have in common," she isn't referring to the boys, but to Maren and Shelby! She doesn't actually know the specifics of how the boys died! So my prompt is: what if Charles or Edwin had replied with something like "That makes the five of us, actually," leading into briefly sharing exactly how they died. ✨Trauma Bonding✨

This is definitely more of a gen prompt, but I thought I'd share anyway, in case it peaked your interest 😆 no worries either way, and happy writing!! Hope you feel better soon :D

I’m not sure if I agree with that reading of the scene. In context, I do think that Crystal is referring to her and boys, but the angst! I love this idea for a fic, so here we go!

Read on AO3

“All three of us lost our lives to boys who went too far, that's a really shitty thing to have in common,” Crystal said, glancing back at the police station where Maren had just confessed to her crimes. 

Edwin looked away and swallowed, though by all reasonable metrics he shouldn't need to. 

“I suppose that the same could be said of Maren and Shelby as well,” he said, still looking away, across the street and into the trees. “Though I agree that it is not a club in which I would like to see new members.”

Crystal shook her head.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, looking between the two boys. “I was talking about Maren and Shelby, who are you talking about?”

Charles gave a short little laugh, though it didn’t sound even as joyful as his usual, self-deprecating laughs. 

“Well, I guess that’s all five of us, huh?” Charles said, clapping Edwin on the back. Edwin didn’t react at all, just kept staring into the distance. 

Crystal opened her mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words. When words did finally come out, she was pretty sure that they were still the wrong ones. 

“Wait, how the fuck did you two die?”

Charles looked surprised. 

“Well I died of internal bleeding and hypothermia and Edwin got summoned to hell on a technicality, you know that.”

“Yeah, but neither of those things involve assholes who went too far,” Crystal said, willing it to be true.

Edwin huffed a laugh and turned to start walking toward The Tongue and Tail. Charles and Crystal followed mutely.

“Five boys from my school summoned a demon to “scare me”,” Edwin said, raising his gloved hands to do some frankly unnecessary air quotes, “While they tied me to a table and called me things I’d rather not repeat.”

“Jesus,” Crystal breathed.

“Though I suppose it’s different,” Ediwn continued, undeterred, “since they were also taken to hell, they ruined their own lives as well.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Crystal said when it was clear that Edwin was done speaking for the moment. “But what happened to you, Charles?”

“Some other boys beat me up and chased me into a lake,” Charles said with a shrug.

“In February,” Edwin added, “After saving another boy from a similar fate.”

“Shit,” Crystal said softly. “No wonder you had such little patience for my drama with David.”

That got Edwin to stop walking and do a dramatic turn back to face her. 

“I have dealt with many demons, Crystal,” Edwin said earnestly, “And while David is not particularly powerful, he is remarkably tenacious, even for his kind. I… regret being so dismissive of his actions toward you. I fear that my experiences have made me somewhat numb to the difficulties and I failed to take into consideration what it must be like to be going through it all for the first time.”

Charles moved closer to Edwin so that their shoulders bumped against one another. Crystal wondered vaguely if this was the compromise they’d come to over the years considering Edwin’s general aversion to hugs.

“Well,” she said, stepping up to Edwin’s other side and using her shoulder to bump his arm the same way Charles had. “It’s still a really shitty thing for us all to have in common.”

“Quite,” Edwin agreed. “Well I think that’s quite enough emotion for one day. I am unaccustomed to it. Shall we continue with our work then?”

[bonefall]

So I decided to read through Bramblestar's leader ceremony from the original Ultimate Guide today- and I had a thought: have you chosen what cats give him his lives in Better Bones already? Granted, I'm sure you'll gut some of the canon placements for not knowing him in life (Lionheart) or being alive by the time he becomes leader (Goldenflower, Ferncloud, Mousefur) but Bluestar imparting clear judgement is a fun virtue considering his actions are anything but. Plus, Jayfeather could always gripe about it when he argues with Bramblestar. 'Wow Bramblestar, you sure displayed clear judgement when you asked me to let Sunrise BLEED OUT IN CAMP!'

I hadn't picked yet actually! I also haven't read his leader ceremony in aaaages. I never really liked it, felt full of TPB fanservice and didn't really say a lot about Bramblestar as a leader.

(But tbf that is probably because the writers have no idea what they're doing with him. He's generically noble and they have a double standard against female characters, so they just use his man pain to make the girls in his life feel wretched without examining WHY having defiant women in his life bruises his ego so easily)

But anyway, I don't have a FINALIZED thing yet, but here's a rough draft. It's a total overhaul. A big difference in BB and Canon is that Bramblestar is leader BEFORE the reveal, and long before the Battle of the True Eclipse. So all of these picks have to be from Po3 and before.

(BB context: Firestar was killed offscreen during the Fire Scene in an assassination, Ashfur took advantage of the situation to attack the Three. It was an arson set by Whiskernose and carried out by Thornclaw, Breezepelt, and possibly Harespring. Ashfur is still on the run, suspected of killing Firestar to hurt Squilf because he failed to hurt her kits)

(also if you want FULL full context go look at BB!Hollyleaf's character summary)

Gorseclaw -- Righteousness. His progenitor ancestor who set history into motion by betraying his siblings during Ripplestar's Rot, and whose curse continues down through the generations. He tells him he's proud. He SEES how much he's struggled. He's had to make hard choices that everyone else thought would be easy, and he understands. But he's done the right thing... and he tells him to keep doing it. Bramble briefly feels hot with shame-- did he really have so many ancestors in the Dark Forest that he had to hear from someone so ancient? Tigerstar, Pinestar, Oakstar... this life unsettles him and sets the tone for the rest of the ceremony

Snowcarve (Snowkit) -- Opportunity. The last time Brambleclaw saw his little uncle, he was carried off by a hawk after shoving one of them out of the way. He stands as a proud, starry adult before him: the age he would have been. He "speaks" through unfamiliar glyphs that form beside his head, and Brambleclaw knows somehow that this is the writing that he had been working on before his death. Snowcarve commands that he watch for that which he would have missed, to listen to those who are different and have new ideas, for opportunity is silent and tender. If your mind and heart are closed to what could have been, you will miss your chance and never know what you could have had. Brambleclaw tries to bring up that he's sorry he didn't save him-- Snowcarve taps his ear and shakes his head, giving him a stern glare. The words say, "you did not need forgiveness. It was my choice and I have never regretted it." In fact, he can wave his tail and welcome the next life;

Yellowfang -- Judgement. She asks him, "Would you ever blame a kitten for what someone else did?" Bramble is confused, "Of course not?" "Then stop blaming yourself for what others have done for you. I ran back into that fire to save my herbs and leeches. I put myself there, and Firestar knew that. Stop confusing blame for experience, guilt is not wisdom, pain is not good judgement."

Feathertail -- Kindness. A little bit of understanding goes a long way. When you get wrapped up in your anger, or your fear, slow down and consider the feelings and intentions of others. You'll find that most people are good. (He accepts the life but stops himself from arguing with her-- ok, sure, but what about everyone who isn't? He has a bit of a thought spiral wondering if the wise cat he'd travelled with had changed or if she was ever wise at all)

(Idk which elder is dying in Po3 yet, if it's Frostfur or Mousefur, but one of them gives a life) -- Confidence. There was a time where their own judgement lapsed, and they pinned their anger on him. They apologize for it, and tell him that this life is for living in spite of that. The strength to mind that you can't control what other people think of you, and the firmness to commit to what he believes is right.

Brackenfur -- Negotiation. To remember that every action sends a message, to understand that you must remain calm and make the right concessions to accomplish greater things. Don't let emotions like anger, offense, and spite cause you to ruin something you may have worked hard to build. (Brambleclaw is by the halfway point totally missing the point that these cats are trying to teach him nuance and mindfulness, and mostly feels betrayed and confused. He knows most of these things... and did the elder not just tell him to have confidence in himself in spite of people who hate him?)

Speckletail -- Courage. When everyone runs away, you run TOWARDS. People will rely on you now, and StarClan will give you the power to protect them. No storm, no beast, and no tyrant will find its way through you. When he takes the life he feels the rage and FEAR she did when she ran towards the bulldozer, the pride in her power as she attacked the human, and learns that Thornclaw was wrong when he told them she looked satisfied on the way down. After kicking him out she was terrified, but overwhelmed by relief and LOVE that her grandson was safe. It makes him collapse, and as he gets back up he's in tears, asking "i thought this was a life for courage, you were afraid!!" And Speckletail puffs her chest up proudly, "Courage is being terrified and doing it anyway."

Swiftpaw -- Acceptance. He has no warrior name. He has no adult form. When Brambleclaw asks him for his title, he simply says, "I give you this life to know when to accept what you cannot change, and the wisdom to see what you can't control." Brambleclaw can't help himself, this ceremony has been a horrible experience, "what a terrible life!" Swiftpaw dips his head solemnly, "yet without it, what a terrible death." But Swiftpaw also reminds him, this is not a part of his life that he cannot change. He can move on with only eight lives, and he will understand. But Brambleclaw says no, "I have a clan to protect. This is one of the things I can't control." He is surprised by how soothing the life is when he gets it though. He doesn't feel any of Swiftpaw's pain as he died. It's not about that. It's the quiet embrace of the void, the shouting as the patrol finds him and Brightpaw, falling away into silence, accepting that he is dying, and that it's okay to let go.

Firestar -- Trust. It HAS to come at the end.

Firestar opens up by asking Brambleclaw what's wrong, seeing how exhausted he is. He responds, his voice trembling, "I hoped it would be reassuring, but I feel more lost and powerless than ever. How can I be responsible for so many people? How will I protect them all? I will be blamed for everything that goes wrong and never know if I made the right choice!" Firestar goes hm, genuinely and sympthetically, "Those are very heavy and legitimate doubts for a new leader to have. I felt the same things when I was in your paws. He waves his tail, "So, I will give you the value that it took me many years to learn, something you were not given and so feel you cannot give. With this life I give you TRUST. You will face many trials in the near future, Brambleclaw. Your truth will crumble. Secrets will be revealed, friends will turn out to be foes, those you think are enemies may be allies, but you must not lose the ability to find the good in all of them. Remember that trust is a choice and an honor. Apply it wisely, but bestow it generously."

Bitterly, but with what dignity he can have in this situation, Bramblestar murmurs sadly, "So there will be betrayal, but I must still trust? I had hoped that you, of all ancestors, would not speak in riddles"

Though the world is blurring and the spirits of StarClan are fading away, he catches something pained and complex in Firestar's expression. Like he has so much to say, doesn't have the exact words to express it, and he's running out of time to find them.

"There were no riddles," he shouts already sounding far away, "Listen to what we have told you and you will find the way!"

(Basically he's shouting "WE WERE VERY STRAIGHTFORWARD ACTUALLY!!!")

We wouldn't get to see this happen in Cruel Season though, since it would be offscreen and not important to the plot of that book. I'd rather get it into Bramblestar's Thorns, which is about Alderheart, Sparkpelt, and the ways that they've been impacted by him as a toxic father.

The ceremony is written to highlight his major flaws. Especially the way that he's bursting with doubt, pain, and immediately tends to make things about himself without realizing. Bramblestar is a very unhappy person, and he often extends that misery to other people.

he's a tragedy to me, man. All these people turning out to tell him that love and faith exists for him and he can't even see it.

Anyway, bonus, some other thoughts for possible lives; (still possible some of these guys get swapped out)

Lionheart, his uncle, who died before he was born. He'd give a good life for wisdom but I think these others are a lot stronger.

Birchface, one of his Tigerkin ancestors in StarClan. Decided against him in favor of Gorseclaw; I think Gorse's both more interesting AND his distance is a good point of doubt for Bramble. They had to go back 4 generations to find a direct ancestor who isn't damned to hell. Birch would have just waffled about admitting mistakes anyway, still too fearful to admit that he is responsible for getting Frecklewish and Oakstar damned.

Bluestar, a leader who contributed to the death of his brother and mistrusted him when he was young... but honestly I feel she is kinda irrelevant. He didn't know her well.

Elderberry, one of his apprenticehood friends and the twin of Ferncloud/older sister of Ashfur. It could be cool for her to give a life of mercy and ask him to be rational about Ashfur's crimes (starclan won't say outright that Ashfur didn't do it because they're not entirely sure he was uninvolved until after his death in a few chapters, Dark Forest influence hiding the assassins), but it's actually a lot more important that StarClan is trying to warn him about the LEADER he will be and fatal flaws he will display for arcs and arcs, not waste a life on teasing the plot of a single book.

Cinderpelt, his cousin who died tragically. There's no reincarnation thing so she could be here to give a life, but I think the current list is a lot stronger.

Lynxkit, his oldest sister. Strongly considered her for acceptance but I think Swiftpaw's WAAAY stronger and I don't need both of them.

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 1 - Convenience ▸Shigaraki x femReader

Summary: “Say, I’ll make you a killer deal,” he begins, the tone of his voice deceptively even, failing to mask the coldness. “If you fucking apologize to me right now, and manage to clear things up with the professor before—” He slides his sleeve just above his expensive-looking smartwatch and casually checks the time, “—the class ends, in about… mmh, give or take three minutes? I promise you won't regret this as much as you will if you do go through with this stupid shit you started with me.”

His face breaks into a slow and creepy smile as he threatens you, body emanating nothing other than incredible malice.

You wish you could turn back time and never cross his path, that stupid night at the store.

You wish you were a different, nicer person, one that knows when to bow their head or to apologize if they messed up.

But you weren’t and you won’t. Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three

Chapter 1 - Convenience Pitter-patter.

With a pop of your joints, you reach for the moon or the ceiling or maybe the gods above. You reach and you reach and finally you feel that satisfying stretch burn through your muscles.

What time is it anyway?

Uh-oh.

You cringe, because the birds are chirping, the first light of the day is starting to show, and because… you’ve been gaming your entire fucking Saturday night.

It’s 4:30 AM when you check your phone.

—And you could’ve been studying, could’ve been in touch with your project buddies, to at least send them your part of the project in time. But you didn’t and you won’t.

Not at least until tomorrow anyway.

Tomorrow, probably around ten minutes before your group’s deadline.

Yeah, you’re that special kind of asshole.

Looking around yourself, you realize that—all of the sudden, the room feels so fucking stuffy you could suffocate. It’s messy and god fucking knows when you opened your goddamn windows last.

So that’s exactly what you decide to spend your next action point on, as your mind briefly wandered back to your past few Valorant matches. 

You actually stayed up late, trying your best to climb to Diamond and dealing with the hyper-misogyny of random pathetic incel teammates who immediately shit themselves the moment a woman opens her mouth on mic.

Whatever.

At least you weren’t living in your mommy’s basement, swimming in a sea of trash, right?

You glance around your room and wince.

Okay, maybe you’re swimming in like—a puddle of trash. 

But that’s okay, because you’re definitely way above those goblins on a societal level… right?

You don’t dwell very much on that particular thought.

With a yawn, you reach for the windows and open them wide. The cool air of soft autumn rain invades your stale room the second you open them, replacing the warm stuffiness of your man-cave and filling your lungs with fresh oxygen.

You wonder how long it’s been raining for already, when you feel your stomach—the one vital organ you’ve purposefully been ignoring all night—growling. What did you eat today?

When the fuck did you eat last, actually?

“Uuugh—” you whine, finally feeling the shakiness of your hands and the overall weakness of your body. 

On your way towards your joke of a kitchen, you decide what flavor cup noodles to scarf down quickly before you hit the hay. Your internal debate is torn between two particular flavors, before you open the cupboard and realize—there aren’t any instant noodles left.

God fucking damn it.

You briefly glance down over your sorry excuse of an outfit—one that would put homeless people to shame—made up of plain black sweats and an oversized black hoodie, noting how you should also maybe perhaps take a fucking shower after literally sweat-gaming all day.

Fuck it, you think, taking a total of two seconds to decide that this was good enough for the world, before you set off to the nearest twenty-four hour convenience store.

So you grab your phone, your keys, and that’s what you do.

────────

Despite the hints of a rising sun, it’s still pretty dark outside. The air smells like fresh morning rain and wet concrete.

You don’t mind, because to your own delight, it couldn’t be quieter around here.

The neighborhood you live in is incredibly sketchy, but you couldn’t complain given it’s barely a fifteen minute walk to your university and the rent to your rundown one-bedroom apartment is dirt fucking cheap.

It suits the broke ass bitch that you are and you like it this way—one, because you have a thing for sketchy run-down places and two… because it’s yours and yours alone.

The totally-legal-and-definitely-wont-blind-you pepper spray you bought from the shadiest internet store sits snugly in the pocket of your hoodie, one hand occasionally fidgeting and feeling the rim of the object. 

Knowing you have something to use in your defense makes you feel safer when you’re outside. You never know when something unpleasant could go down.

You’re so used to being on-guard after all the years of shitty experiences. 

Of being on your own.

Of stupid shit that kept happening to you.

So you walk, if only with a smear of anxiety, because you still need to stay vigilant and not put the universe to a fucking test.

The first thing you notice when you waltz into the corner store, is how goddamn bright the fluorescent lights are. They’re far too bright for your tired eyes that are used to endless hours of staring into dimmed screens with the lights off.

The second thing you notice is how eerily quiet it is inside—save for the whirring, clicking and occasional gurgling of the refrigerators in the back. Or at least that’s where you think the sounds come from.

It’s odd that the current shift didn’t think of turning on the radio to fill the silence—to make this place feel less like a ‘bad end’ location from a horror game—but a quick glance towards the staff at the counter and their wireless earpieces tells you that they couldn’t give less of a fuck about the store’s ambiance.

Not that it matters, when you’re too busy surveying the shelves in search of some food, of something edible, the ‘food’ in question consisting mostly of snacks and other nutritionless garbage that would give nine point five out of ten doctors a cardiac arrest.

Speaking of heart failure, you find yourself in front of the refrigerated drink aisle, using all of your brain wrinkles to make your hardest decision yet.

Which one of the canned heart attack flavors are you gonna buy today?

You hum, spending a good three minutes (give or take) thinking, and when you finally go ahead, reaching with your fingertips to grab the energy drink—

“Hey,” a low and grating voice speaks right behind you.

The sound makes you fucking jump.

You turn around with a scowl and then—straight out of a comedy skit, you feel like you’re staring at your male doppelgänger.

An extremely sketch-looking guy, wearing black sweats that match your own, the hood of his equally dark colored hoodie up and covering a messy mop of white hair.

And then you notice his… his intense crimson colored eyes, drilling a hole through the middle of your fucking skull.

If only looks could kill.

“Did you need something?” You fail to mask the venom in your voice, aimed at him for no good reason.

A skin care routine, you think.

Not like you bothered with one either, but at least your face isn’t disintegrating into disgusting flakes yet, unlike his punk ass.

Motherfucker couldn’t have waited two fucking minutes for you to pick something? 

Where the fuck do you have to be at like 4:50 in the morning?!— you scoff, but the words remain yet unspoken.

The hooded figure raises his hand to scratch at his pale neck, seemingly annoyed at your shitty attitude towards him. 

He just has to meet the worst type of bitch at this ungodly hour, on a Saturday no less—and he isn’t having it. 

Red eyes stare you down for a moment, watching your face scrunch up at his sight.

“You’ve been standing in front of the drinks for like ten fucking minutes, ugly ass bitch.” He finally claps back, and with that, your eyes narrow. “Pick something or get the hell outta my way.”

“I was just about to, asshole,” you reply, voice betraying you and ultimately cracking while you seethe. “Grab your stupid ass drink so you can finally go home to the boys and cry about not getting any.” 

You finish your sentence and stand aside for him, motioning to the drinks all the while his eyes widen in what you presumed to be shock—but before he has the chance to respond, you hurry the fuck up and leave.

The poor employee at the counter who saw the scene playing out (store ain’t that big, now), seems to want nothing to do with any of this. Graveyard shifts must be really fucking fun when you’re graced with not one, but two annoying idiots.

You drop all of your items on the counter and while the cashier is scanning them, you pat all four of your pockets, looking for your wallet to pay.

Until it dawns on you.

No fucking way—

Ain’t no fucking way your stupid, braindead ass forgot to bring money.

This isn’t fucking happening to you right now.

Especially since the embodiment of patience is standing just a few inches behind you, shifting uncomfortably from one leg to the other and waiting with bated breath for you to finally pay and get lost.

“Uhh. Do—Do you guys keep tabs open?” you ask, recoiling at the sound of your own voice, scratching at the back of your head sheepishly and almost whispering the second half so the guy behind you wouldn’t be able to hear it. “I kind of… forgot my wallet at home.”

The cringe that is already coursing through your veins, deepens infinitely when you see the employee stare at your face, as if you grew a second head.

“No.”

Your humiliating predicament makes the guy behind you break into the creepiest snicker. You shoot him a glare and dare him to say something, but he’s too busy laughing at you.

God, if only the ground would swallow you whole, right fucking now.

With the worst shades of shame coloring your face, you turn around to leave, swearing to never set foot in this fucking establishment ever again. Nevermind that it’s the only store close to your house.

Before you have the chance to make good on your promise, the white haired guy reaches out—if a bit hesitant—and grabs your arm.

What’s the chance a nuke would crash into this fucking store and wipe out your entire existence, together with whoever is here to fucking witness this? Or maybe aliens could finally make contact with planet Earth and take you the fuck away. Getting your ass probed sounds infinitely more appealing than this incredible embarrassment you feel in front of the two assholes.

“Hold.”

Your pathetic gaze lifts from the ground and when you meet his eyes he looks—amused?

“What. Let go of me, man.” You panic, trying to free yourself from his grip, but his fingers are firm. Is that blood under his fingernails?

“I’ll pay,” he offers, a disturbing smirk playing on his dry lips.

This fucking guy.

“N-No, I’m good. Thanks.” Your voice is shaking more than you want it to and you feel tears finally prick at your eyes.

Why do you live your life this way? Why are you so fucking pathetic—especially in front of assholes like him?

Why are you still so weak? 

After everything you’ve been through?

You try once more to shake him off of you, but he’s deceptively strong for his build, and doesn’t relent now that he’s got you where he wants you to be.

“It’s okay, really. This just made my night so I’m gonna pay for ya,” he says, the almost-even tone in his voice not matching the way his creepy smile seems to be getting wider.

He swiftly pulls out some scrunched-up bills from the pocket of his sweats, slipping them to the employee who could not give less of a fuck about whoever pays first, grabbing your already-bagged purchase and basically shoving it to you as he gives his best ‘Come again soon!’ bullshit line that actually translates to ‘Please fucking leave the store already’.

“How about that, huh? Now you owe me one, little bitch,” he whispers into your ear, voice low and full of grit sending chills down your spine and rendering you absolutely speechless.

Without sparing you so much as a second glance, he finally pays for his own shit and leaves the store in a smug stride.

You could basically read the “EZ” he wrote in slash all chat while destroying your fucking nexus.

What a horrible fucking night, you think to yourself, hurrying to go home as well.

Your only comforting thought being that you wouldn’t have to see his stupid fucking pasty face ever again.

[autumn0689]

A Rant on Trollstopia and Trolls The Beat Goes On

Listen, I get that the Trolls franchise is considered for children and that they obviously won’t delve into heavy angst (I don’t expect them to) BUT I feel like they could do more to address Branch’s issues, especially in the TV shows.

For example, in Trolls The Beat Goes On, the show ends with Branch basically admits that he tries to change himself so that others would like him, and while they do comfort him, I wished that would have been acknowledged in the sequel show (I consider it the sequel show and it’s basically confirmed I think) Trolls Trollstopia.

Now onto Trollstopia… Branch… what did they do to you, my boy?

He is… certainly out of character in some moments. In TBGO, he did have his moments of being not entirely in character (in my opinion) but they at least addressed his issues and how he is working to become a more positive troll.

Now, I know that his issues were mostly resolved in TBGO, and he should have more happier moments, but I feel like they kind of undermined his rigidness with the rules he creates for himself and I would’ve liked to see him put more of his other skills to use, not just his repair skills.

Not to mention I BARELY saw Gary being used! Considering how Branch LOVES protecting others, I would imagine that he would set up even MORE traps, especially with more trolls moving to Trollstopia. Branch doesn’t seem to like change much (he loves rules, and in the holiday special, Holiday In Harmony, he was upset with Poppy briefly changing what they were doing. He’s so autistic coded I can relate to that so much!) and I feel with more trolls arriving, I can imagine there would be moments in which Branch would have to have his schedule changed, and I would’ve liked an episode like that! An episode where he has to confront that sometimes his love for schedules can be detrimental to him! I’m not sure if I’m making any sense, but as someone who loves schedules but also acknowledges that it could be detrimental to me, I would’ve loved an episode where Branch deals with that.

Now, onto him and Poppy. There aren’t many episodes with Branch and Poppy being together! Their relationship with each other (whether you interpret their relationship in the show as platonic or romantic) is one that I love so much! In TBGO, there were at least episodes where Branch or Poppy did something for the other! I remember in one episode that Poppy tried to convince Branch to dance with her and the episode ends with him telling her that she worries so much so he basically had her ask him to dance and it ends with Poppy leading Branch towards the dance floor! I wish there were more moments like that, because their dynamic with each other is one that I adore!

With Trollstopia, I feel like Poppy spends more time with new characters, and while I enjoy that, I wish she got more time to spent with Branch or any of the other characters from the previous show!

Now, onto Creek. I kinda like him (he’s a very comedic character in my opinion) but I would’ve liked an episode in which he… oh, I don’t know, APOLOGIZES FOR THE SHIT THAT HES DONE!!!! (We all know that his ‘apology’ was pure bullshit!) and for him to maybe, just maybe, GOT THE CONSEQUENCES TO HIS ACTIONS INSTEAD OF EVERYONE FORGIVING HIM!!!! He could still be a prick, but at least have the other trolls at least hold some resentment besides Branch and Poppy in some instances. If they really wanted Creek in the show, then acknowledge what he did! Have him show genuine regret for his actions and have some trolls not forgive him for that! Branch is completely justified in disliking Creek, and while I do admit that his ‘I’m Sorry’ song is catchy as fuck, him singing it to Creek was pure BULLSHIT!!!! have him face consequences!

Now sure, I understand that the tone is for children, but maybe they could acknowledge Branch’s issues, at the very least! That’s why I loved how in the episode ‘The Search For Piece’ Branch not only has his problem with relying mostly on himself addressed, but he also asks for the others to help him. It’s an amazing episode, in my opinion, especially with how he spirals and how his friends help him through that, and while they are upset at him, they understand where he is coming from. It has the right amount of angst and comfort and ACTUALLY HAS BRANCH DEALING WITH HIS ISSUES!!!!

Branch has dealt with so much for so many years, he was an outcast, shunned by the pop trolls and was in a negative state of mind for TWO DECADES!!!! As much as I love him being happy, his trauma isn’t going to go away if they keep ignoring them! Yes, they did acknowledge them in TBGO, but the show ends with Branch feeling like he has to change himself to fit in. He was going to blow up his Bunker, his safe space, just to fit in! He still has issues and they need to be addressed so that he could be more happier, to be in a more positive state of mind! While TBGO has its own issues, at least they acknowledge Branch’s struggles and not purely reduce him to being just a troll who is sarcastic and who fixes things!

TL;DR EXPAND OF BRANCHS STRUGGLES AND HAVE HIM TRY TO RESOLVE THEM!!!!

[thedo0zyslider]

Cleo looks out her window. She doesn't know why she does so, it's just another action she does without thinking. And the zombie wishes they hadn't done so, really. Out there, sitting on his ugly little bastion, is her soulmate. Martyn himself, in all his annoying glory. And he looks.....sad about something. For some reason.

And for some other reason, Cleo finds herself feeling the smallest bit of sympathy for him. Maybe it's because, if they focus really hard, Cleo can feel the smallest amount of pain that is not hers. His pain, the emtional kind. Not that the zombie will ever admit to that.

Cleo sighs, and stops what she's doing. Which had been making bread. She'd been making bread with some wheat that they'd stolen from the Ranch. Cleo sighs and opens her door, with hands that still have the slightest bit of dough on them, and walks out towards the bastion. They hope they don't regret this, and that Martyn is too sad to try and bite her head off today.

"Hey." Cleo says, once she has walked across the bridge between her and Scott’s houses. Because that's the side Martyn was on, and the cliff was closer to his house on that side. Startled, Martyn looks up, and Cleo thinks that small prick of pain in their shared heart gets worse.

"Hi." Martyn says, looking at them rather suspiciously. "Did you come to make fun of my house again?" His voice is thick with distaste, his mind no doubt full of their friends prior jabs at his house. Cleo just rolls their eyes.

"No. I came to sit." She says, and looks at the gap between the cliff and the bastions edge. Martyn stands, seeming to hold back a sigh.

"I guess you can sit with me." He says, walking closer to her. "Over here. You can get up here from this part of the cliff." Martyn motions to where he is now standing, and offers out a hand. Cleo takes it with a nod, and tries not to think of the feeling of his hand in hers. Once she is on the bastion, Martyn let's go of her, and sits back on his previous spot with a huff.

"Why're you here?" He asks, eyeing the zombie when she sits down next to him. Two pairs of legs hang dangerously off the bastions edge, like the fools they were. If one of them slips, that's two lives lost. So Marytn better not slip again.

Cleo just shrugs. "You looked sad. Felt sad too, if I focused enough." They state it simply, not being good with all the emotional stiff. It's not their forte, but Cleo will try. Just this once. For the two of them.

Martyn sighs, and places his hand on his cheek. "You're not gonna leave until I talk about it, are you?" He grumbles, gaze fixed on the water below. The water still with a warden in it. Right. Cleo had forgotten about that thing. She apologizes to Reggie in her head for forgetting about him, depsite the spectacle it had casued a few days prior. And the constant clicking sounds it made, which were horribly annoying once you tuned into them.

"Nope. And you know I'm willing to sit here for a while." The zombie responds, briefly hoping the warden can't hear the from all the way up here. Getting sonic blasted wouldn't be very fun.

Martyn says nothing for a few minutes, his eyes still fixed on the water. They look troubled too. Cleo says nothing, and idly kicks her legs off the edge of the bastion, waiting for him to speak first.

"I....want another soulmate." Martyn admits after a moment, doing so hesitantly. He sounds like he feels bad about it. "Not a chosen one, a.....real one ya know? Not that chosen soulmates aren't-"

Cleo cuts him off with a small laugh at his rambling. "I know what you mean. I get it." He turns to look at her, and there is lingering curiosity in those yellow eyes. Both their eyes are yellow, because of him. The zombie frowns, and tries not to think about that.

"I wish I bad someone else too. Bdubs, maybe." She admits, wistfully thinking of a time they cannot have back. Of a castle with a stupid bubble elevator and a mote around it.

Martyn hums in agreement, and they know he's thinking of the same time as she is. They also know what he's going to say before he even says it. "I wish I was bound to Ren." Martyn murmurs, looking back at the water for a second. There's a blush already spreading across his face, because he is still so gone for that man. Even after all this time.

Cleo has to hold back a laugh. "I knew you were gonna say that." She teases, going to nudge his side playfully. Marytn makes another huff, and blushes more.

"You're not that bad of a soulmate, though. But I still want Ren." He continues, looking back at her. Cleo finds she agrees with him, on the first part that is. Martyn isn't that bad of a soulmate, they just had some rough patches. Maybe....if those hadn't happened....they could've....

Nevermind all that. This was about Ren and Martyn, not her and whatever feeling they had for the blonde next to her.

"Yeah." Cleo agrees, holding back a smile. "Maybe if those cheating rumors are true, Ren will come to his senses."

"And what?" Martyn snorts, the pain in their shared heart feeling a little lighter. Like it was starting to mend. "Choose me over BigB?"

"Maybe~" Cleo hums, and the both of them burst into a small fit of giggles. This isn't like either of them, to be so open and emotional with each other. But it's nice, the zombie decides. And she wouldn't mind doing it again, as long as Marytn remains civil about it.

He leans on her after a minute, head resting on the zombies shoulder. Cleo says nothing, just lets him, and remembers their height difference. And the fact that she's stupidly tall. Cleo says nothing about the contact (because secretly, the touch feels really nice,) and listens as Martyn starts to complain about the warden below, and how it akways keeps him up at night. It might be Jimmy and Tango's baby, but the man next to her wants Ranchers Revenge dead. For the whole server and not his own convenience, of course.

Cleo listens, and stops fighting a smile. The rest of the day can be theirs. Even if it's not going to be her and Martyn in the end. It's going to be Martyn and Ren, when all this is said and done. It always is. But just for today, it can be Cleo and Marytn. Just for a little bit.

She'll give him back, because she couldn't keep him if she tried. If Cleo tried to keep Martyn, he'd just fight until they freed him. Maybe that was why she seemed to care so much, because he fought and fought like a warrior if he truly loved someone. A rather endearing trait.

Its why Ren loved him, that was for certain. Maybe not why Cleo cared for him, but it's why Ren did. And that was enough. That was enough for her to be comfortable letting him go back home.

[scythesms]

Edmund regretted his impulsive shout before voicing the last syllable. He held onto a fervent hope that the woman would refrain from turning around, preferring the embarrassment of having mistaken an identity from his past than what confirmation would entail.

When her hurried steps came to a pause and her frame hesitated, he caught up with his impulses in time to understand the magnitude of his actions and the person he had called out to. Amidst his growing regret, her slow turn amplified his discomfort, and he wondered if time had slowed down solely for him.

He was unsure what to expect. It’d been years since he’d last seen her - Imogene. Now, she stood before him, mirroring his astonishment with parted lips and widened eyes. He froze beneath her gaze, once so familiar to him, and wondered if the hairs on her arms rose as his did.

Beneath racing thoughts, unspoken words, and inner turmoil, he managed to steal a moment to study her features for the first time in years, revising what had been left of her fleeting image in his aging mind and distant memories. From what he could recall of her appearance, time had been kind to her - a kindness that had evaded him for various reasons. The passage of time had etched lines on both of their faces from the separate paths they had embarked upon. The last time they’d seen one another was at the mere edge of childhood, touches away from adulthood. Now, those years seemed to dissolve as he struggled beneath the gaze of a woman he had once known so deeply, yet had become a stranger to.

In the distant past, he dreamt of their reunion. The first of these dreams occurred on his wedding night, as he lay beside his bride. He’d close his eyes and wince at Imogene’s dismissive gestures. The last had come the night his first son was born. 

It’d been a little over a decade, yet an awareness lingered in the recesses of his mind that if they ever were to cross paths again, she’d ignore him and he’d do the same - two souls pretending they had never met, never held hands, and never made promises of eternal waiting.

He wished he’d simply allowed her to pass by. If only he convinced himself that countless necklaces identical to the one he had once bought her had been scattered across Windenburg and beyond. Surely, any woman could adorn that very piece of jewelry. If he’d believed it, he wouldn’t have found himself confronting a face he had once hoped to relegate to his past. 

The seconds stretched on as he waited for her words of resentment and anger. They never came. Instead, she stood before him with an expression akin to that of someone reuniting with a long-lost friend. It was as if he were a companion she hadn't been in touch with for years, rather than a figure from her romantic past who had engaged himself to another without even a whisper in her direction.

Despite the passing years, her voice was still soft, a soothing presence in his ears as she welcomed him with a smile. “Edmund? It’s- Oh my, it’s been so long. How have you been?”

He was startled by the kindness in her voice. His tongue weighed his jaw down, a torrent of emotions threatening to spill over during his struggle to find words. Only her name seemed to rise to the surface of his thoughts.

Imogene offered her own unspoken insights into his demeanor. At that moment, he became acutely aware of his own appearance, considering how much he had changed since their last encounter.

“I'm sorry," he finally spoke. His mouth acted in haste, leaving the rest of him scrambling to catch up. “I shouldn't have..."

“Shouldn’t have…?” she echoed, seeking clarity.

He hadn’t anticipated the depth of emotion the unexpected reunion would stir within him. He cast his eyes downward briefly before shifting his gaze to the side, where Paul once stood alone, now encircled by his curious children. The sudden shift in their father's demeanor didn't go unnoticed. It was as if he’d seen a ghost, though the ghost in question was the woman standing before him. The children’s attention moved from their father to the unfamiliar woman who had already turned to greet them.

“Hello there,” she extended a warm greeting, casting a fleeting smile in Paul's direction before returning her sincere focus to the children. 

Cecily, who Imogene believed to be the oldest child due to her height and striking resemblance to Edmund, greeted her with a grin. Her younger brother and sister exchanged wary glances before responding with their own shy smiles and soft-spoken greetings.

Imogene turned back to Edmund, who remained still. “The theater is putting on a show for children in the upcoming days. It would be great to see you all there. I'm pressed for time at the moment, but we could talk afterward, maybe over a cup of tea?”

Edmund could only capture a few of her words, holding onto them in an effort to engage in conversation. “You still work at the theater?” 

Still, he said. The word hung in the air, accompanied by a pang of realization. The first and only time he’d learned of her work at the theater was the last time they’d spoken. 

“The Celia-Mae Theatre, yes.” Her words lingered, a pause laden with anticipation during her wait for his response to her initial offer.

The theater, a place he hadn't visited since he was young, held memories too sensitive to confront. It was too soon. This was all too soon.

“We appreciate the invitation, but we won’t be able to attend," he responded, his tone gentle yet firm. Whether he intentionally disregarded the way his children's eyes lit up with interest at the mention of the theater or he simply didn’t notice remained unclear. They knew it’d take a lot for him to allow ventures beyond their walks into town. The journey to reach their recent standing had been a slow and deliberate one. 

"Oh."

Edmund knew she expected him to suggest another time or setting that’d allow them to talk, but he wasn’t too sure that was what he wanted. Their current encounter had already left his mind reeling, a sensation that promised to linger for the next several days, if not longer.

His reluctance to reschedule gradually occurred to Imogene. A small nod accompanied by a gentle smile conveyed her understanding. “Was nice seeing you, regardless.” She turned to Paul and the children. “Wonderful to meet you all.”

Edmund stood still, as he’d done throughout the entirety of their interaction. His gaze fixed itself on Imogene’s retreating form, leaving him with a whirlwind of thoughts and a cascade of contemplations to sift through. 

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[gloomstalkertav]

Summary: In which competition to compose the best version of recent events in Baldur’s Gate is fierce, but Alfira is fiercer (i.e. ready and willing to exploit ex-Hellrider Commander Zevlor’s well-known weakness for bards).

Part 1 of 10

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~1K

View story masterpost | Read on Ao3

“I’m still not sure I can be much help to you,” says Zevlor, the reserve in his voice audible even over the Elfsong’s end-of-the-tenday crowd, though he accepts the proffered mug of ale, regardless. “I played only a very minor role in most of the adventure, after all. Surely, one of the others,” — here, he glances past the booth’s privacy curtains, as if hoping to catch sight of one of the city’s saviours lurking in a corner, or, more likely, courting a crowd of admirers at the bar — “could supply you more details? The sort worthy of a bard’s song, at any rate.”

“It’s not just a song,” Alfira corrects indignantly, plunking her own mug on the table then dropping with similar decorum onto the bench opposite. “It’s an epic! A proper lay lyrique. Or it will be when I finish it, anyway. And I’ve already spoken to everyone else I could. I mean… everyone left to speak to.”

A sober cloud seems to sweep through their booth, briefly dampening the cheerful tavern sounds and dulling the flames of bardic passion dancing in Alfira's ochre eyes. It makes her look older, Zevlor thinks, and for a moment he, too, feels the weight of everything — everyone — he has lost settle back across his shoulders. He rolls them surreptitiously and reaches for his drink. The sudden movement breaks the spell. Alfira clears her throat and ducks down below the table, returning with a sheaf of what Zevlor recognises as composition parchment — the evenly spaced lines crammed with music notes, the margins with equally indecipherable words — and a battered ink-and-quill set.

“Anyway, I’ve already interviewed everyone else I can,” she repeats briskly, flipping over a few pages to reveal more lines of tiny, hectic writing. “I know all about the mindflayer tadpoles, and the netherbrain, and the chosen of the Dead Three. It’s quite the story, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have believed it could all be real if I hadn’t lived through some of it myself. It has everything! Action, adventure, mystery, tragedy…”

The young bard rattles off the genres with all the fond reverence of a parent reciting their children’s names. The old soldier’s eyes glaze as he reaches for his tankard.

“But — I am missing one very important angle. Romance.”

Zevlor chokes on his drink. Alfira slides her precious parchments back along the table — a safer distance away from where the other tiefling clumsily deposits his tankard — and waits for him to recover.

“And you think,” he asks as soon as his throat can push out the words, “I am the person to help you with that?”

Alfira’s supercilious expression is an answer in itself.

“You can’t possibly think it was a secret. The whole camp knew. It was our favorite bit of gossip before the Shadow-Cursed lands.”

This information settles uncomfortably in Zevlor’s stomach beside the sour ale.

“Look, I don’t need any graphic details,” she adds with a blush, not quite meeting the older man’s eyes, “but the romance is an important part of the story. Without it, the rest just falls flat. A true epic needs pathos, passion.”

Zevlor laughs: a short, hoarse bark only a few notes shy of bitter.

“You’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. If there was anything resembling romance, it was certainly not the kind bards spin into tales. We were far too busy with the business of surviving to think of such things at the time. Or,” he adds at Alfira’s raised eyebrow, “to act on those thoughts, at least.”

Again, shades of regret and half-healed hurts seem to creep out from the shadows cast by the tapers bracketed to the tavern’s panelled walls. Zevlor’s fingers twitch convulsively. With deliberate care, he lifts his tankard to his lips again — a shield against the past and Alfira’s probing gaze, alike — and deflects.

“I suppose in hindsight, and compared to all that came after, the journey from Elturel no longer seems like such a trial. But I would have expected you to remember better. You were there. It was hell.” His fingers spasm again and he tightens his grip on the smooth, cool pewter. “The whole road to Baldur’s Gate was just one hell after another. Like we hadn’t escaped Avernus after all, but fallen through it, to some more deadly layer of the Hells. Like we were falling a little more each day.”

He flashes the young ex-Elturian a dark look over the tankard’s rim: the sort that would have cowed any lower-ranking officer. But, apparently, not a bard.

“Oh, that is brilliant! Can I write that down?” Alfira uncorks the inkwell and swills her quillpen through it before Zevlor, disarmed by her enthusiasm, can decide how to reply. Sorting through the composition parchments for a blank page, she adds, “Tav did say you had a way with words.”

It’s an obvious, calculated flattery. Zevlor knows it. But he cannot stop the effect it has on him anymore than he can rewrite time.

“Tav said that?” He says her name the way clerics pronounce the names of their gods, and it works a similar magic: unknotting his shoulders and smoothing the creases at the corners of his eyes and the centre of his brow. His hands relax around the tankard. “When?”

“At Last Light,” Alfira replies in distraction, quillpen scratching across parchment in a frantic line. “She said a lot of nice things about you then. And later. Trying to repair your reputation, I think. You might look at this as your chance to return the favour.” She glances up and, at Zevlor’s look of wary confusion, sheaths her quill in the ink and explains: “I mean, there are plenty of rumours about her making the rounds, now. More than one bawdy tavern song, too. Help me with my epic, and, together, we can set the record straight!”

But this argument finds no purchase in the long-time Commander.

“Rumours are an occupational hazard of notoriety,” he says grimly, and returns to his drink.

“Maybe, but is that how you want history to remember Tav?”

That stops the tankard halfway to Zevlor’s lips. Alfira hurries on.

“Songs and stories - they’re how we remember heroes, yes. But they’re more than that. They're also how we honour the people we love!” There’s an urgent, lilting cadence in the bard's voice now, and the little bells along her collar jingle in accompaniment as she leans across the table, as if to press her plea into Zevlor’s suddenly slack hands. “Tav wasn’t just another hero. She was our friend! She didn’t just save the world, she saved us. And I think after all she did, she deserves better than a shanty at the Low Lantern or some fantasy of Volo’s. She deserves for history to remember her as the person she really was. That’s the picture I want to paint of her. But I need you to help me get it right.”

The tavern’s other chatting, laughing patrons fill the sudden silence as Alfira stops to gulp down air: her impassioned speech has left her breathless. Zevlor, too, is surprised to find his heart-rate increased. And his resolution shaken. This is a more poignant plea, and a more persuasive argument, than the ex-Hellrider has come prepared to fight.

“You’re … you’re right,” he concedes at last. “That is what Tav deserves. And,” he adds more to himself, “I think… what she would want.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it, then? You’ll help me?”

Alfira’s tail twitches behind her in anticipation of the story she can smell now, like an oncoming rain. Zevlor stares into his tankard, considering contents and courses of action with similar solemnity, then lifts it and pulls from it deeply, as if the weak alcohol will lend him the necessary strength. Perhaps it does. Or perhaps it’s his memories of Tav — too bold and bright to ever be wholly extinguished by time or tragedy — that warm his limbs and loosen his tongue.

“What exactly would you like to know?”