#but then there's the Meaningful Photo from before the show

[silverwhittlingknife]

I noticed something in a lot of your Dick and Tim fics. It's probably so obvious, but you always write that Tim is watching Dick. In your newest one, Tim's watching Dick, in The Return Tim's watching Dick, and you even write that Tim is always watching him. Is Tim trying to read Dick? Trying to understand? Or does he understand him by watching? What is he trying to figure out by watching Dick? What does that say about Tim? I really hope this is intentional lmao because I would be embarrassed. Maybe this is just something so obvious that I'm just getting now.

YES IT’S ON PURPOSE <333 Anon. Anon. I'm so sorry this answer took forever, but listen, this was a really delightful ask <333 I think about this a lot.  I really love origin stories—I like stories that resonate through a character’s history. 

And for me, a whole lot of what interests me about Dick and Tim is that theme of watching and being watched. Seeing and being seen.

"Watch me on the trapeze, Tim. I'm going to do my act...'specially for you." | "Timmy, don't look." | "I turned away... I couldn't watch. Then I heard you crying and I turned back... I'm sorry, Dick. I didn't want to hurt you by telling you all this." Dick's watching me. Gauging my reactions. (Tim watching Dick watching Tim!) | "I'm taking off the blindfold." "No!" | "I can't see him. You can't see him. But I know Robin. And Robin's always there when you need him." | I love that kid. Too much to let him see me like this. (But Tim spots him anyway.)

Spotlights and lighthouses and cameras and photographs. Blindness and vision and masks and detective work and trust.

I'm going to try to be coherent about this but it's gonna be incoherent sdfsf BUT I'M GOING TO TRY so. Below the cut, a really long grab-bag of my rambling on vision and watchers and watching.

Tim + watching / Dick + being watched / different dynamics

Tim's origin story

Being watched goes with vulnerability/exposure

Incomplete list of moments with Dick and Tim and vision

Tim + watching

The first time we see Tim's face in LPoD: a close-up on his eyes looking for Dick, a close-up on his eyes at the moment that he sees Dick, a pullback to his face at the moment of recognition, a pullback to his face + his camera (you could maybe even argue that Tim comes into existence at the moment that he sees Dick, like, conceptually. the act of seeing is his defining characteristic. it is the thing that makes his character happen. he is the kid who's watching.)

Tim's a very vision-centric character: he's first introduced as a camera, then as a pair of binoculars, then as a pair of eyes. His whole backstory is about watching: watching Dick's parents die, watching Dick on TV, watching Batman and Robin. I've grabbed a few panels above with Tim watching Dick but there are so many more. His major deductions are all vision-based: he sees Dick-the-acrobat and later recognizes Dick-as-Robin; he sees Bruce-in-the-past and recognizes him as Bruce-of-our-time; the climactic moment in Red Robin is about going into a dark cave with a torch so he can see what's there.

And he's a detective. He pries into secrets. He analyzes people. He's a worrywart and a fusser who always wants to understand what's going on with other people. In a lot of those panels where Tim's watching Dick, his inner monologue is busy deducing Dick's emotions and trying to psychoanalyze him. Tim's caring and watchful and intuitive... but all those qualities also make him very very intrusive.

Dick + being watched

Dick performing acrobatics for Bruce, Donna, and Tim in Detective Comics 38 (his first appearance), New Teen Titans 16, Batman 441, and Nightwing 88 (where he reflects he's glad to be back in the hot glare of the spotlight)

Dick's a detective too, of course - Tim deliberately mirrors Dick, both in-universe and out-of-universe. But also Dick's a performer who loves being watched and also wants to control how he's seen. He gets a kick out of showing off, making puns, kicking ass, taking names, and he gets a kick out of having an appreciative audience. And he's got a kind of yearning for recognition - it hurts, when Bruce won't look at him, and in fights with Bruce, Babs, Roy, he'll often bring up the past, trying to get them to acknowledge a shared history.

At the same time, he's a very private person who withdraws and hides and pushes people away when he's upset. Right before Tim shows up, Dick's just ghosted the Titans because he's having emotional turmoil and doesn't want to have it in front of them, and they're trying to respect his wishes... but that solitude doesn't last long, because then Tim tracks him down. Tim will do this again when Dick's having an emotional crisis and trying to avoid everybody in Nightwing 110.

Possible dynamics

Tim watches Dick in Robin 11, while silently analyzing Dick's anxieties about Two-Face

"The watcher and the person being watched" is a dynamic that really interests me, partly because it can be so complicated?

You can see in Dick and Tim their very first roles: enthusiastic performer and the enthusiastic audience member. Dick likes to perform and show off and entertain; Tim likes to watch; those are roles they both easily slide into and they have a lot of fun together! But also you can look at the harsher side: the crime victim and the voyeur, the amateur photographer and the guy who hates being photographed. Dick's intensely private about his vulnerabilities; Tim's intrusive and watchful and constantly trying to figure out how other people tick. Sometimes Tim's the caring friend who watches Dick closely, reads him well, understands him; sometimes he's the nosy mini-detective who pries into Dick's secrets. And that's just two different ways of describing the same thing!

One of the things that kinda fascinates me about Dick and Tim's relationship is that in a lot of ways it's built on a bunch of low-key boundary violations. A lot of their early relationship is driven by Tim's desire to know more about Dick vs. Dick's reluctance to get close to anyone from Gotham; Tim's often out-of-line, but without his pushiness, it's hard to see how they would've developed a relationship at all. Later on, their friendlier relationship is marked by Dick teasing and low-key bullying Tim; it's pretty obvious that Tim isn't actually bothered by this, but it does involve Dick ignoring whatever Tim's claiming he doesn't like ("Quit it!" "Shh").

And one of the aspects of those boundary-violations is that Tim has a habit of witnessing things that Dick would prefer that nobody see. Tim's a witness to Dick's first and most miserable tragedy; he sees the aftermath of some of Dick's fights with Bruce; he's there when Donna dies. And he's sharp and observant and analytical, and I like to imagine this as being something Dick's not entirely comfortable with.

When Dick first meets Tim, it's before he's learned to wear a mask. And Tim spends a lot of time trying to see through Dick's masks, and he's pretty good at it, and a lot of that prying comes from love and care, because one of the ways that Tim shows love and respect and admiration is by trying to absorb absolutely everything about you, like a little sponge. But there's also something unsparing and even threatening about the search for the truth of someone else. It can be comforting or threatening, to know someone's watching you.

And I love how all that complexity is wrapped up in Tim's origin story? Both the giddy childish "Watch me on the trapeze" and then the awful grim reality of what Tim actually sees as a result and then the difficult connection when Dick and Alfred finally get Tim to explain how he knows their secret identities.

Tim's origin story

Tim (recounting his origin story in LPoD): My parents held me back as the thing moved to you. I cried out to warn you. (Two panels where we see just Tim's eyes, as he watches a crying Dick. He sees Batman approach and start trying to comfort Dick.)

I think fiction sometimes presents "being understood / seen / known" as an uncomplicatedly good thing, and there's nothing wrong with that! But I like complications, and I like the way Tim's origin story frames that moment of witnessing as difficult and fraught. Tim doesn't want to tell Dick how he knows their secret identities because he thinks it'll hurt Dick to know it: I don't want to hurt you, Dick, and I'm really afraid I might. And he's not wrong. It is painful; it does hurt; it's not something Dick's happy to know.

Dick's a very private person, and there's a painful intimacy to Tim's origin story - it's not Tim's fault he was there, but at the same time, it's not like Dick chose to have the most traumatic moment of his life on stage in front of an audience of strangers, you know? It's kind of a violation. In NTT/NT/Nightwing, Dick's pretty violently hostile to photographers, and he's intensely private about trauma in general, and I like to imagine this as partly a reaction to that foundational trauma of losing the most important people in his life and also doing it publicly.

And Tim's part of that audience. And he sees the worst part, the part that Dick can't talk about. He sees the bodies and the blood. He has nightmares about it for years. He hears Dick crying and sees him holding onto his parents' bodies. Not at all the kind of first impression Dick would want to make. Not at all the kind of person he wants to be seen as. And that understanding can be painful, because it's so close to the bone, and when Tim's just a stranger, it's upsetting, because Tim knows things that Dick would never have chosen for him to know. Their few conversations about it are awkward partly because Tim's thirteen and awkward... but at the same time, it's not Tim's fault so much as the situation! There's no way for Tim to talk about what he saw that wouldn't be uncomfortable for Dick.

... And yet, and yet. Tim's also one of the last people to see the Graysons alive. He sees Dick and his parents together; he even takes a picture with them. He remembers the whole thing so vividly he'll recognize Dick's somersault years later. He sees the grief. And so I think of that connection as kind of a metaphor for witnessing. Tim sees these things and they become real; Dick can't hide from them; in the act of being seen he's caught, he's in a spotlight, all the grief made real. You can't hide, that way. And Tim's got this unforgiving memory; he won't ever forget; he won't ever stop knowing.

But then, too: Dick's seen, he's known. Even at the very beginning, when Tim doesn't know enough to understand what he knows, he knows the important things.

So that shared memory is a barrier and a bond between them. It can be a source of discomfort or a source of comfort. And that's how I think about Tim watching Dick in general - it's complicated, and sometimes Dick's glad of it, and sometimes he resents it, and also it just is, it's a fact of Tim, that Tim watches. It's notable when he's not watching, when he's turned away.

Being watched goes with vulnerability/exposure

So I'm going to talk about the fraught feeling of being watched more in a little bit, but first: I think it's fascinating that Dick likes screwing around with games where Tim can't see!

Here's Nightwing 25 - Dick's come up with the idea of trainsurfing while blindfolded:

Tim: Are you sure this is such a good idea? Dick: Shh! Listen. Tune into the changing sounds and - Tim: I'm not so - Dick: JUMP!

Here's Robin 49 - clambering through a tunnel into No Man's Land:

Dick: Hard not to think about the river. All the water above us. And bugs. This tunnels' probably full of 'em. And rats. Big ones. Big blind rats with teeth as long as -

Here's Gotham Knights 9 - ambushing Tim in a sorta game of hide-and-seek:

Dick: Gotcha! Tim: Augh!

I feel like mmm I don't want to emphasize power dynamics too much because it's easy to overplay it BUT when I think about headcanons it's interesting to me to think about how maybe when Tim can't see, Dick's more in charge / in control, and so he feels more comfortable and less vulnerable, and that's often when he's most relaxed and playing around the most?

Whereas the moments when Tim's looking at him are often a bit more fraught, as here in Lonely Place of Dying:

Tim: I'm sorry, Dick. I really am. I didn't want to hurt you by telling you all this. Dick... Dick: It's all right, Tim. No matter how old you are, there are some things you never forget. Or get over. (Silent panel: Tim's watching Dick as Dick turns away and stares into the window.)

Or here in Nightwing 6, when Tim wakes him up from a nightmare:

Dick (internally, imagining a kid falling): He shouts to me. He always shouts to me. I never hear what he says. Tim: Nightwing! Wake up!

Or here in Gotham Knights 26, when Bruce is accused of murder:

(Silent panel where Tim's watching Dick.) Tim: I'm sorry. This must be hard for you. Dick: Me? Why? Tim: Well, I mean, it'd be one thing if we really knew he was innocent, but as it is - Dick: Wait, what? Stop right there. What are you saying, Tim?

Here's Tim spotting him before he can get away in Nightwing 110:

Dick (watching Tim from a distance, internally): Still, Timmy played it through nice and clean. Disarmed the perps, protected and avoided the cops. Kept any civilians from getting shot. God, I love that kid. Too much to let him see me like this. Tim: Hey! (appearing on the roof above him, fake-cheerful) You weren't gonna leave without saying hi, were you? Dick (looking away, very quietly): Hey, Timmy. Tim: Look at you, man! Back on both feet! Think you're done stopping bullets with your body for a while? Dick: Hope springs eternal. (Silent panel with Tim watching Dick, who's turned away.) Tim: You okay, Dick? Dick: I'm fine. Tim: Well, where're you staying these days? Dick: With some people.

Of course, sometimes Tim's watchfulness is frustrating but also a comfort, as in Detective Comics 874:

Tim (watching Dick, who's looking away): Are you listening to me, Batman? I'm saying the gas the Dealer used on you was powerful stuff. Dick: I'm fine, Red Robin. Besides...you're here now. Tim: You're not fine. And with or without me, you shouldn't be out on patrol ye - Dick: Sshhh. Here they come.

(Later in the comic, Dick mentally concedes that Tim's right that he hasn't really recovered from the gas, and Tim saves him from drowning when he's hallucinating. So Dick feels kind of exposed by the scrutiny, but also... he invited Tim along, so there's trust there, too - Tim's perceptiveness can be a good thing, too, when things are serious.)

Incomplete summary of moments with Dick and Tim and vision

I think I already mentioned a lot of these but here is my LIST

almost the first thing that Dick says to Tim is "watch me on the trapeze, Tim" and then Tim does and he basically never stops watching;

Tim watches Dick's parents die and watches Dick sobbing on-stage and watches him on TV and recognizes him by seeing a particular trick because he's dreamed about Dick doing the trick in his recurring nightmares about that night;

in New Titans 65 which is their very first team-up comic after Tim's origin, Dick's training pre-Robin Tim and gives him a test about watching for details and later Tim's takeaway is "I saw how [the Titans] listened to you";

there's a moment in Showcase '93 12 which is just Tim watching Dick and analyzing what's going on with him and there's another moment in Prodigal which is the same thing;

in Nightwing 6 Tim sneaks into Dick's apartment and hides in the dark and Dick spots him and tackles him; one of their most important bonding comics is Nightwing 25, where Dick insists on blindfolding him to get him to rely less on vision; when they sneak into No Man's Land they're in the dark and Tim can't see again and Dick's teasing him;

there are multiple moments when Tim can't see Dick for a bit and panics about his safety, in Nightwing 25, in No Man's Land, in Transference, in Bruce Wayne: Murderer;

Tim's there watching when Dick's wedding to Kory falls apart and he's there watching when Bruce and Dick fight and he's there watching when Donna dies and he's watching when Dick and Bruce swing together on the night before Infinite Crisis, and when Dick goes down and almost dies in Infinite Crisis we cut to Tim watching and seeing it happen and screaming;

there are multiple moments which are just silent panels of them staring at each other trying to figure out what's going on with each other or having a stand-off - in Bruce Wayne: Murderer, in Resurrection, in Red Robin;

in the aftermath of Donna's death there's a panel where Dick's watching Tim from a distance and not approaching;

in the aftermath of Blockbuster Dick spends half the comic just staring at Tim from a distance and hiding himself because "I love that kid - too much to let him see me like this," but Tim sees him anyway and chases him down and then they lie to each other and *ranting* LISTEN TO ME the whole comic is about Dick trying to AVOID being SEEN both literally but also METAPHORICALLY AND --!!!

(the only thing i'm even as halfway obsessive about for them is the heights thing because also there are a bunch of moments involving falling or Tim being anxious about heights and worried that he'll fall or Dick will fall)

In conclusion

Consider the progression in all these moments where Tim's watching an upset Dick and worrying about him!! From reaching out instinctively-but-pointlessly when he's too far away in the LPoD flashback, to almost reaching out in LPoD but hesitating, to putting a hand on Dick's back to walk him back to the Cave in Gotham Knights 10, to physically dragging him clear of the water in Batman: Black Mirror!

In conclusion I don't have a conclusion but basically YES, "watching Dick" is a core Tim characteristic as far as I'm concerned, and Tim watches Dick a lot and that can mean all kinds of things from admiration to nosy intrusiveness to worry to care to gratitude to trying-to-figure-out-what's-going-on-with-him, and sometimes Dick's resentful and sometimes he's relieved and sometimes he's playful and sometimes it's a mix of all those feelings.

And at first it's always Tim watching Dick, but later you've got Dick watching Tim too, and there's that moment where Dick's secretly watching him fight but Tim spots him in Nightwing 110 and there's a silent panel where Dick's watching him in Resurrection and at the very end of Robin there's a scene where Dick's secretly watching him fight but Tim spots him and in the very last issue of Red Robin Dick's watching the end of the confrontation with Boomerang and in Prodigal Dick's the one who notices his face is bruised and aaaaaaah

Anyway I think they're neat <3

[blessthishouse]

.

[mingtinys]

what dating seventeen feels like

pairing : seventeen x gn!reader

headcanons , fluff , misc

warnings : none

word count : 1.1 k

requested ? no

a/n: just a small collection of the things i love in life that i associate with seventeen

choi seungcheol

falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed. chocolate-covered strawberries. the kind of love found in romcoms. expensive dinner dates and champagne.

cologne that lingers on your clothes and bed sheets. tight, bone-crushing, hugs. his hand almost always under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin (it grounds him). him letting you win when you play wrestle. cute aggression victim.

having a rock to hold on to amidst a raging current.

yoon jeonghan

diving under a crashing wave to find calm, gentle, water. rollercoasters with big drops. feathers. lavender fields. leaving the theater and realizing night has fallen.

always saying the same thing at the same time (it scares seokmin). naps on the couch. sending each other pictures of weird-looking animals with the caption "you" or "us." partners in crime. braiding his hair.

having not only a boyfriend but a best friend in jeonghan.

joshua hong

warm blankets, fresh from the dryer. pancakes and orange juice in the morning. raw honey. the scent of freshly baked bread. scented candles and wax melts.

lives up to the gentleman title. opens doors, bides by the sidewalk rule, lends you his jacket, etc. acts! of! service!! fighting over who pays the bill (he's actually ambushed your waiter to pay before you can even see the check). domestic, mundane, slice-of-life type of love.

a honeymoon phase that never ends.

wen junhui

walking down empty streets without a care in the world. morning cartoons. clingy cats. ice cream for dinner. frozen pizza with red wine. airport liminal space hours.

taking pictures of sunsets to send to each other. doodling on his hand. staying up until 3am accidentally. back hugs galore. resting his chin atop your head. him getting as close as possible when showing him something on your phone (i'm talking cheek smooshed up against yours). sleepy jun asking for kisses every morning.

living life in the moment because you know the future can wait for you two.

kwon soonyoung

energetic snow days. sledding, snowball fights, building snowmen. energy drinks and all-nighters. watermelon sugar. summer bonfires. the ambiance of muffled music through club bathrooms.

zoo dates. always wins you the biggest prizes at carnivals. his favorite place to nap is your lap. sweaty post-dance practice hugs. he gets pouty if you start a tv show without him. baking brownies at 3am. talks about you non-stop to anyone who will (or won't) listen.

excitement that isn't momentary or overwhelming. excitement that makes life meaningful.

jeon wonwoo

tulips blooming in the spring. waxing gibbous moons. amethyst. resting after a long, busy day. the scent of old, yellowed books. rhythmic clicking of a keyboard. warm, smooth, riverbank stones.

re-adjusting his glasses for him after every kiss. let's you design his character's outfits in video games. tells you about the book he's reading like it's gossip. he's always taking candid photos of you. quiet mornings. elderly couples who see you two are reminded of how they fell in love.

defining love not by how much it's said, but by how it's felt.

lee jihoon

thunderstorms that lull you to sleep. shiny, red guitars coming to life with smooth melodies. the crackle of a fire. rosemary. empty highways at night. lightning that strikes twice.

morning coffee dates at home. napping on his studio sofa while he works. quality! time! absolutely spoils you every chance he gets. pretends to act all cool when you catch him staring. writing songs for you. his hand routinely finds your knee when he's anxious. he prefers intimate and private acts of affection to the alternative.

cherishing all the little things that make your relationship important.

lee seokmin

wishing on dandelions. blue skies. morning dew on grass. golden hour. that burning sensation you get in your lungs when laughing too hard. iced lattes.

always asking permission to kiss you. so, so attentive. falling asleep on facetime. pillow forts. lots, and lots, and lots of nose kisses. him never wanting to leave you in the morning. "five more minutes" type of guy. his favorite feeling in the world is making you laugh.

finally knowing what it means to love someone so much you'd give the world for them.

kim mingyu

sleeping by a window with the sun warming your skin. hearing your favorite song on the radio. silky white sheets. first date jitters. first love. receiving a bouquet of roses.

admires you so, so, much. talks about you 24/7, much to his members' annoyance. (jk, they love you, they just like to tease him about it). literally a sponge the way he starts picking up your habits and slang. he's physically incapable of rejecting your puppy-dog eyes. likes to lay sprawled out on top of you. he'll often seek you out if he needs a little extra support.

the feeling that comes with knowing you've found "the one."

xu minghao

the autumn leaves changing. winter constellations. a solar eclipse. the quiet of a house before everyone wakes. those cozy granny-square blankets. white wine. laughing at scary movies.

wine and painting nights. him always making two cups of tea. art museum dates. swaying together to music in the kitchen. him secretly being a sucker for your doting. has your mannerisms memorized and prides himself on it. somehow always knows what to say when you're feeling down.

growing, learning, and experiencing life alongside each other.

boo seungkwan

warm, summer air. mystery flavored lollipops that somehow taste like every flavor all at once. rosy red cheeks.

teasing each other and inside jokes. nicknames like loser, stupid-head, idiot etc. (affectionate). hours long gossip sessions. kisses that taste of coffee and tangerine chapstick. stars in his eyes whenever you're doing literally anything. having his undivided attention.

resident happy pill and mood-maker seungkwan knowing he can let his mask fall around you without judgement.

hansol vernon chwe

watching city lights blur past in the passenger seat of a car at night. cereal at 1am. falling asleep while watching tv. poorly handmade, yet meaningful gifts. assorted candies. buying road trip snacks.

communicating with a single look. ice cream dates in the middle of winter. speaking purely in movie and tiktok references. late-night conversations that take a weird turn. (you've once debated if aliens would like pineapple on pizza). pretending not to notice how shy he gets when initiating physical affection.

loving the strange, bad, and hidden parts of each other as much as the good.

lee chan

the comforting buzz and motion of a subway at night. toothy smiles. watching reruns of your favorite childhood show. surprise parties. the first snow of the new year. concert lights.

driving at 2am, singing at the top of your lungs. random dance parties in the living room. getting noise complaints and giggling about it. pillow fights and board games, competitive, yet both trying to let the other win cause it'll make them happy. asking him to open jars. him getting exceptionally giddy to open said jars. (you're completely capable, but know he likes to feel needed).

making each other's inner child feel safe.

[ceratedfish24]

I would like to start this post by saying that I am not villainizing Jimmy. In my headcanon, he took Scott for granted, and that is a mistake that people make. It is forgivable with time and effort. People learn and grow and prosper, and it makes our relationships all the more meaningful to us.

Every time I think of Flower Ranchers, I think of Jimmy breaking up with Scott seemingly out of nowhere (that is how I translate Jimmy suddenly acting like he and Scott were never together after Third Life and refusing to say “I love you too” in Limited Life because cmon bro) and Scott moving out of their apartment.

Some time later, Jimmy and Tango are together, and they ask Scott to join them. He agrees, because why wouldn’t he? He still loves Jimmy, and Tango is wonderful, and Scott’s heart could be broken all over again without so much as a warning, but he will take that risk as many times as it takes, and that’s not healthy of him, but he can’t bear it any longer. Maybe seeing Jimmy and Tango together more intimately will tell Scott what it was that he did wrong.

They invite him back to their house for dinner and a movie. Of course he says yes. He has an anxiety attack the night before. Why did he say yes? He’ll have to see it all, now. He’ll have to see all of the ways Jimmy eradicated any and all evidence of him. He’ll be a stranger in this place he used to call home. He’ll be a guest to the man who his ex left him for, but Tango is trying so hard to accommodate for Scott because he’s Scott. He’s wonderful, wonderful Scott, and Tango loves him and Jimmy loves him too, and none of them know how to go about the healing process to this but they’re trying, so Scott has to try too.

He shows up that night, but only after hours and hours of overthinking every little thing.

Jimmy had replaced the oven that they picked out together. Scott used to love that oven. He baked their 1 year anniversary cake in that oven. When Jimmy was sick, he would make soup on its stove.

Jimmy changed the wallpaper in the master bedroom. Scott had picked out that wallpaper. Had Jimmy hated it the whole time?

Jimmy had removed the desk Scott hadn’t been bothered to take with him when he moved out. Scott’s initials were carved under that desk.

Jimmy had new mugs. They were Tango’s mugs. Tango’s mugs were sitting where Scott’s used to be.

Jimmy had candles in the bathroom cabinet. Scott didn’t recognize them. They were Tango’s candles.

Tango likes Scott’s old spot on the couch. Loathing the thought of bothering Tango in his own home, let alone so early in their relationship, Scott doesn’t say anything about it. He finds a new favorite spot on the couch. He never tells Tango about this, nor does Jimmy ever bring it up.

The bedsheets are different. That wasn’t a surprise. Scott probably would’ve been a little more disturbed if they weren’t different. Will they change again now that he’s here, or will Scott force himself to sleep under sheets that Jimmy and Tango had bought without Scott in mind? Would he be called overdramatic if he got emotional about bedsheets? He was so grateful to have been invited back into this home and into this relationship, but he was a visitor. He felt like he was one misstep away from becoming an intruder, something unwanted again.

The fridge’s contents are very different. Tango has a different diet. Scott becomes set on learning new recipes. The grip of the cooking utensils aren’t the same as the ones he used to have here.

All of the photos of Scott had been taken down. Again, not a shocker, but it made Scott teary-eyed. When he noticed, Jimmy and Tango were making dinner for him. He had gone to use the bathroom. He noticed the wall of pictures that used to be of himself and Jimmy was now covered in pictures of Tango and Jimmy. He was immediately distraught, but, more so, he felt so ashamed that he was distraught, that he hadn’t mentally prepared himself to find every picture of himself having been replaced. He doesn’t know how long he must have stood there, just staring at every picture. It was long enough that Jimmy came to check on him, but Jimmy ended up just staring at Scott in that hallway, neither of them knowing what to say. Scott would have cried - out of embarrassment or grief, he still doesn’t know - if he wasn’t already so ashamed of himself just for being there, even though it had been Tango and Jimmy who had invited him over. Even though he still didn’t know what made Jimmy pick Tango over him. Even though he doesn’t know where else in the world he would’ve been remotely okay with being at that night. Even though he, in all honesty, would’ve been more upset to have seen the pictures of him and Jimmy. He only knew that he was intruding. He didn’t belong there anymore.

The kitchen floor had been renovated. Did Jimmy hate the way it was before, or did he hate it after he had broken up with Scott? Did he not hate it at all and just found something better? They used to dance in that kitchen. Since then, he’s danced with someone who Scott assumed must be better.

Scott can recognize that there’s a smell to the apartment. Not at all a bad smell. It’s just one he hadn’t smelled here before. He doesn’t know if it’s a new smell or if it’s always been there, and he’s just no longer accustomed to it.

Jimmy got a new laundry basket. Surprisingly, it looks like something Scott might’ve picked out. It’s blue and everything. Scott wonders if Jimmy thought of him at all when looking at it.

Scott had designed a bookcase himself, and he and Jimmy had put it together. It had been too big to be moved into Scott’s new apartment, so he had to leave it in Jimmy’s. It’s gone now. Scott’s terrified to ask what happened to it. (He asks about it a year and a half into their relationship, when he’s more confident in their relationship. Jimmy startles at the mention of it, recalling how having it in his home stirred up too many memories of Scott. He had had it moved into his parents’ house. He gives them a call to ask for it back and surprises Scott with it a couple days later.)

There were some small things that, when Jimmy and Tango had invited Scott to try being a part of their relationship, Scott had thought about moving back into Jimmy’s apartment. He finds that many of them had been replaced. That makes sense, but it doesn’t make the ache in his chest feel any better.

Tango’s towels are where Scott’s used to be.

Scott’s succulents don’t sit on the windowsills.

The curtains are different. They had been yellow, before. They’re red, now.

Scott has never felt so embarrassed. He has no reason to be. He had been told to pick a movie, but he’s been staring off into space for who knows how long. Something warm is on his arm. It’s Tango’s hand, and, suddenly, they’re making eye contact. Tango doesn’t know how things are different. He doesn’t remember how things looked when he moved in. However, his pretty new boyfriend is distraught, and that is unacceptable. He holds Scott close. Scott doesn’t cry. He can’t. Tango had worked so hard for this to be a nice night for the three of them, and Scott wasn’t about to ruin it. He already feels like he has, but Scott would never forgive himself if he let Tango get tangled in the grief of Scott and Jimmy’s past.

Jimmy just watches them. He doesn’t know why he ended things with Scott. Scott had been wonderful. Scott had been everything, and then he wasn’t. Jimmy had gotten distant. He thought that maybe being with Scott had been too wonderful. Maybe the brightest stars really did burn out the fastest. But then he left Scott, and the look on Scott’s face had torn his heart in two. He left Scott, and nothing filled the void in his home, not even Tango.

Tango doesn’t prefer the same side of the bed as Scott.

Tango likes to shower in much hotter water than Scott did.

Tango doesn’t watch movies or shows in his spare time. The background noise of Scott’s shows while Scott cooked or cleaned or worked was gone.

Scott was a neat freak. Tango is an organized mess.

Playfully, Tango and Jimmy always argue over whether cats or dogs are better pets. Scott had always agreed with Jimmy that cats were better and that had been that.

Like Jimmy, Tango rolls his eyes at romantic cliches. Jimmy finds himself missing looking over and seeing Scott all starry eyed during cheesy romance movies. He wonders if he should’ve set up more cliches for them.

Tango is just as awkward as Jimmy is. He giggles and shrugs when Jimmy trips over his words in front of people. He’s as oblivious to pop culture as Jimmy is. Scott was never that way. Scott could smooth social interactions over for Jimmy like butter on toast. Scott could list ten facts about every celebrity Jimmy couldn’t so much as name. Scott’s charm and charisma was unmatched.

Tango can’t keep a cactus alive for five minutes. Scott practically had a garden in their home.

Tango and Jimmy tend to be pretty equally matched at games. Scott was always good at games, which meant he would sometimes let Jimmy win. Jimmy aches for it. He enjoys competing against Tango, but he yearns to look up from winning and cheering and teasing to see Scott staring at him silently with so much fondness that Jimmy would stop immediately. You just can’t tease a pretty man when he’s looking at you like he just watched you rip the stars from the sky, even if you both know it was him who allowed you to do it.

Tango flirts with Jimmy. He calls him teasing nicknames and will take on any excuse to call him “handsome”, but he never touches Jimmy during it. Scott was handsy. He would call Jimmy “handsome” while he adjusts Jimmy’s already perfectly fine tie. He would joke that Jimmy’s “attention seeking” while his hands were all over Jimmy’s shoulders. He would ask if Jimmy finds him pretty while he runs his hand down Jimmy’s arm. He would call Jimmy “Petal” with his nose pressed up against Jimmy’s jaw.

Jimmy takes down all of the pictures of Scott and puts them in a box. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to bring himself to open it again. (He does, when Scott finally, and Jimmy means finally, moves back in. He opens it when Scott finds it during spring cleaning. Scott, voice breaking and eyes watery, admits that he never thought he’d get to see these pictures again, and Jimmy can’t say or do anything except press his lips to Scott’s temple and apologize for the millionth time. Some of the pictures get to fill frames again.)

Tango is fantastic. Tango is bright and fiery and loud and incredible, but Tango is his own person. He’s not Scott, and he’ll never fill the space that Jimmy had made in his own life. Tango just made more room for himself around the empty space in Jimmy’s heart. Tango is fire and Scott is ice and one can never do the job of the other and that’s how it always will be. Tango was energy and passion and warmth, and Scott was calm and soothing and refreshing. There was no comparing the two. There was no comparing anyone to Scott, because no one was Scott except for Scott. Why had Jimmy gotten so distracted?

He missed Scott. He missed his angel. He missed his snowflake so much.

Winter comes around, and it’s Scott’s favorite season. Tango comes home complaining about the cold, and Jimmy realizes that Scott was celebrating the season with no one that year for the first time in forever. He wants to throw up over the balcony.

Then, Tango mentioned that he might like Scott too, and it was an internal battle all over again, wondering when might be a good time to ask Scott out if there was any. Except, it was worse this time, because Jimmy had broken his heart. He couldn’t muster the courage to beg Scott to let him try again. Jimmy didn’t think he deserved a second chance.

But Scott did.

[elysiansparadise]

Venus in the composite chart

🤎Venus in Aries🤎

It’ll be very easy for them to express themselves with the other, both their identity and the feelings they have for the other. It’s very likely that they became interested in each other quite quickly, a feeling of curiosity and attraction that was increasing more and more. They are very expressive with each other and always try to be clear with their feelings and their intentions. You’re dynamic with each other, you love to provoke and get each other's attention, there is a playful and very passionate quality in the relationship. Soon they will stop seeing each other as a single individual and the two will become one, an unstoppable team that is madly desired. Teasing, intense and playful flirting and adrenaline-pumping sensations when they are close. Adventure, fun memories, fiery love and ego boost.

🤎Venus in Taurus🤎

There’s a lot of sensuality, compatibility and comfort between you. They love the idea of ​​sharing many moments together, of giving gifts for each other and of feeling close to each other's bodies. A stable, loyal love and in which the two will always try to be there for each other no matter what. Romanticism, wonderful dinners on common days, quiet dates but full of love and desire. They’ll seek to satisfy any desire that the other can have, they’ll feel a lot of pleasure with the other and they'll feel loved and valued. Your self-esteem will constantly rise, because for the other you are incredibly attractive. Love for them is an investment of time, money, understanding and above all, love. They’re very focused and committed to the relationship and to each other. Gentle touches that make your heart beat faster.

🤎Venus in Gemini🤎

They love being able to communicate about anything, there is a fun quality in their relationship, they both learn many things that become meaningful, they learn to love/make the other feel comfortable. Long conversations in which they know each other, interesting conversations in which they get lost. You lose track of time when you are with each other. They love how the other thinks, how they express themselves and the duality of their person. Compliments, long talks, little adventures, adorable photos and messages before going to sleep. They both feel comfortable sharing with the other about their day and talking openly about anything. They will joke a lot together and always worry about each other having a good time. Spontaneous outings and new experiences that constantly stimulate them.

🤎Venus in Cancer🤎

They’ll evoke in the other a sensation of comfort, of being able to be yourself in the arms of the other, they will love the sensation of home that they will feel. An intense but tender love, constancy, and a feeling that the other person understands your emotions perfectly. They will protect each other and will always seek to make each other comfortable through love, physical contact and stable support. Hugs, heart to heart talks, delicacy in the treatment they give each other, spending a lot of time at each other's house and talking about memories of the past, from the precious ones to the ones they hide under lock and key. They feel familiar with the other, they can be vulnerable with the other without being judged. They constantly seek to see each other even if it is only for a few minutes and to feel close.

🤎Venus in Leo🤎

This couple will scream with looks and smiles how much they love each other's company. They may get the feeling that life was never as fun as it was when they got together. They will constantly show their love, in a direct way but without losing the splendid and romantic touch, they will make the love they feel something evident to the other and never question the love they have for them. A fun romance, dates that still feel as exciting as the first time, dual kisses as they are both passionate and sweet, a feeling of fireworks when they see each other. They will watch the backs of the other, protect each other from whatever and whoever. When they are with each other, they will feel like children again. Hugs and spontaneous displays of affection but given at the right time. 

🤎Venus in Virgo🤎

Looking into each other's eyes will cause that nervousness that brings with it the emotion of having the person you love the most in front of you. It is probable that at the beginning they have been somewhat reserved with what they felt for the other, but that their nerves gave them away. This couple supports each other like no other, makes sure of the other's well-being and always tries to talk things through, from when a problem arises to ways to make each other feel more comfortable and loved. They will keep many things about their relationship private, as it is very precious to both of them, but even if this is the case, always pamper and baby their partner. Forehead kisses, gentle touches, unbreakable relationship, practical conversations and a relationship full of love and growth. 

🤎Venus in Libra🤎

The dynamics of this couple is something truly beautiful, because both give and receive equally, they always treat the other with kindness, special attention and a sweet and romantic attitude. Soft caresses, beautiful phrases that remain engraved in their minds, cute nicknames and eyes intoxicated with love. Even if they are independent people they can become slightly clingy, soon they will stop thinking of themselves as individuals and will see each other more as a couple. Both will become more adaptable to the other, their tastes and needs, and can change when they are together, becoming more attentive, more cheesy and even more charming. This couple is very similar and compatible, likewise, both can be a very aesthetically pleasing couple. They will express their love in a constant but balanced way.

🤎Venus in Scorpio🤎

They will feel inexplicably attracted to each other, they will feel that they cannot take their eyes off the other and that the more they know each other, the more they desire each other. They will open up with each other as they have never done with anyone, and reaching that degree of emotional intimacy will be the main sign that they have already fallen in love. They will feel that the relationship is fated, that it was destiny to meet, and soon they will begin to spend more time together. They will always make the other feel comfortable enough to trust, open up and feel any emotion, they will love each other at all times, through thick and thin. They feel that they can only think of the other, because the love they feel is consuming them from the beginning. Looks that merge, passion and romance well mixed, and emotional intensity.

🤎Venus in Sagittarius🤎

There is an interesting duality in this couple's way of loving, as they alternate between spontaneous, warm and playful displays to slightly more serious displays. Both teach the other many things through love, companionship and warmth, they will be teachers of the other, introducing themselves to aspects and facets of love that were unknown to them. Travel together, long laughs, interesting conversations and a feeling of having found the ideal partner. They will make each other laugh when the other is sad or does not feel well, a hug, a kiss or interlacing their fingers will trigger an honest, sweet and somewhat nervous smile. Spending time together will be your first choice on a day off. Their love makes them more optimistic and gives them faith that there are good things in life.

🤎Venus in Capricorn🤎

This couple shows their love through more practical gestures, they are the type to buy each other's favorite food, give each other things they need, but most importantly, being there for each other no matter what. They love to see the other grow, see how they achieve what they want so much and they will always celebrate their partner's achievements as their own. This couple feels a mutual admiration and they are more than proud to say that the other is their partner. They keep many things about their relationship private, as the relationship is something precious to them. They are warm physically, they love to cuddle when they are alone lying down, watching a movie or sharing an intimate moment. They love to show that they are there for each other, both physically and emotionally, they love that the other feels them close.

🤎Venus in Aquarius🤎

This couple is truly amazed by each other, they are delighted to have met without filters a person who from the beginning caused them a lot of curiosity. They show interest by observing and asking what allows them to decipher the beautiful mystery that they have before them. Loving feels easy when they are with the other, they feel that they can be uninhibited with the amount of love they give, because they feel understood and accepted for who they really are. Being a fixed sign, this Venus composite indicates a long-lasting and fascinating relationship on many levels. Communication, understanding, acceptance, comfort and freedom are things that this romance brings with it. A friendship with romantic tension, this relationship begins with friendship that deep down always felt like something that could escalate to more.

🤎Venus in Pisces🤎

A love worthy of a fantasy, they understand each other with their glances and it seems that intuitively they have the perfect formula to make the other feel like the most loved and luckiest person in the world. Letters, mutual support, romance novels and details that make you feel like a spoiled child. They love to make each other feel like they have nothing to worry about, and make sure they have a good and memorable time together. They both fantasize about weddings, buying a house together, and generally a long-term life with each other. Venus is excellently positioned here, as she is exalted, which makes this couple very often have very romantic, cheesy interactions and they can be much more expressive and affectionate with each other than they ever were with anyone.

🖤Venus in 1st house🖤

The love in this relationship is something that is visible to everyone, this is a classic placement of instant attraction, and even better, of congeniality and a lot of romantic compatibility. Both are very expressive with the other, compliments will be commonplace and they will enjoy spending time together. They will enjoy a relationship full of love that can help them feel better about themselves, see life with better eyes and bring out their most charismatic side. There will be a lot of flirting and they will never hide their true feelings and intentions from each other, they will be passionate, intense and very dynamic. They will love every part of their partner's body and every side of their personality. They will be equally chasers in the relationship and love to make the other person nervous. They will love to know more and more about their partner, they will feel comfortable being open with their feelings. They will love their partner's body, character and personality equally. They may have a similar dressing style or they may enjoy wearing matching clothes.

🖤Venus in 2nd house🖤

A lasting love that is constantly growing. The couple relates in harmony in all areas, both as friends, as a couple, as lovers and can even work very well together in a business. They love to hug and feel close to each other, they are thoughtful with each other and gift giving is a better way of showing love. This couple is motivated to work for what they want, but also to relax and take a break when necessary. Both feel that they can explore different pleasures with their partner and have similar definitions of satisfaction. They want to have more and more of their partner emotionally, they are very concerned about feeling that closeness and trust. They’ll spend a lot of time together, and it is likely that they will decide to explore each other's hobbies and tastes in order to understand them better and spend more time together. Significant gifts will be given and will always boost the self-esteem of their couple, as they will make each part of their bodies feel as something sublime, desirable and perfect. Their love will be constant, loyal and lasting. May have similar and compatible values. 

🖤Venus in 3rd house🖤

They will love to communicate with each other on many different topics, and they feel that it will be very easy for them to talk about their feelings, be more expressive and verbalize the love they feel for the other. Flirting, compliments, and sensual, adorable and flattering comments that will make the other person blush. They can write letters to each other, make handmade gifts for each other or never forget good morning messages. They will send random love messages to the other, photos and videos sending kisses to the other and romantic gestures in general. They would like to know the other's way of loving to love them that way, they will enjoy hearing how the other talks about what they like. They will talk both with their partner and with others about everything they like about them, how attractive they are and how good they feel with them. Words of affirmation are a huge love language for this couple. You may love to take photos together and have your partner or a photo with your partner as your wallpaper. You'll love the feeling of being able to talk about things that both feel are important.

🖤Venus in 4th house🖤

They may feel somewhat nervous when it comes to expressing their feelings for the other, but when they know that it is mutual, it will become a war of beautiful words, details, hugs, kisses and many gestures. They would love to be together and do many activities that they individually considered special with each other. They will love to know that it is special to the other, their favorite things and to give them these things, they will do their best to know what makes the other feel comfortable and they will try to make the other feel safe and loved by them. Physical contact will be crucial, both in private and in public. They will cook for each other and they will love to have each other in their houses. They will feel very comfortable from the beginning of the relationship, they will feel safe with each other and they will support each other unconditionally. Protective and very open and expressive with their emotions, even with the deepest from the beginning of the relationship. They can have a good relationship with each other's family or loved ones.

🖤Venus in 5th house🖤

Romanticism at its best, this couple from the beginning felt strongly attracted to the other, from a wonder for the other's body and beauty, to the charm they felt when they knew the other's way of loving and their personality. Both will bring out the most loving and warm side of the other, they will show off their partner with pride and they will love that others know all the love they feel for the other. Their love is evident and it is likely that even when they first met, people suspected that they would end up together or that they were at least compatible. Words of affirmation is one of the love languages ​​of this couple. They will love to do fun, spontaneous and romantic activities with each other, dating will be unique and fun. They will feel comfortable showing their true self to each other and each time they get to know each other more they will feel more fascinated. Teasing, flirting, passionate, pleasurable and playful sex, this relationship will make you feel great in every way. They will bring out the funniest side in each other, and love the fact that they can spend all day laughing and having a good time with each other.

🖤Venus in 6th house🖤

This couple will feel a deep desire to support their partner unconditionally, acts of service is the main love language of this couple, in second position would be quality time. This couple will always seek to continue improving the quality of the relationship, they will take the time to know what makes the other feel comfortable, what makes them feel good and they will have these kinds of details more constantly, they will be subtle details like remembering their favorite drink, or leaving supportive notes for the other. They will seek to include the other in their routines, and in their life in general, they will do activities together that they used to do on their own and they will love spending time with each other, however short it may be. They will encourage each other to take better care of their bodies and they can do these kinds of activities together [go to the gym, play sports, do skincare routines together]. There will be something in the other's way of loving that will make you feel accepted and in a better mood even if the day was stressful or overwhelming in some way. They will love to take care of each other when they are sick or when the other is not feeling well, taking care of each other will give comfort to both of them.

🖤Venus in 7th house🖤

Even if you are not the romantic type, the other will win your heart and make each other do loving gestures that you may not have had before. Being in this relationship makes them see things with better eyes, they feel that they finally found a very similar partner and someone who puts as much love as you do in the relationship. You genuinely love the other and their presence is the only thing you need to feel good, the other brings a warm feeling to you, and the passage of time only convinces you that you have made a great decision loving the other with all your heart. Quality time is their way of showing love, because they intensely value the presence of the other in their lives and all the sweet and tender love they give each other. They take each other into account when it comes to making important decisions and they always ask for each other's advice, because their opinion is crucial for them. They will always support each other when the other decides to embark on a new path or project and they are the true definition of being together through thick and thin. This will be the most pleasant, moving, romantic and memorable relationship that the two of you will have. 

🖤Venus in 8th house🖤

Both will feel that the love they have for the other is overflowing, intense and something they have never experienced with another person before. They will evoke intense and lasting feelings in each other and they will love every part of their partner, their mind, their body, but above all their soul. The sex of this couple will be constant and both will focus on making the other feel a lot of pleasure, because the pleasure of the other will be their own pleasure. The sex will be intense, but sweet at the same time, they will seek to cause different types of pleasure to the other and love every corner of their beloved's body. Sweetness and passion, they will make love in unique ways and each one will be so memorable that they just want to have the other close again. They will want to know each other in depth, put aside superficialities and fall in love with the true essence of the other. The difficulties that the other may have will not be an impediment for love to arise between the two. They will feel that this union is strong, something unique and incomparable to anything they have had in the past.

🖤Venus in 9th house🖤

They will love to motivate each other and openly appreciate each other's points of view, they are fascinated by each other's minds and they will spread the passion for hobbies, things and even for life. They can see life more positively and more optimistically when they are together. Both will teach the other things that they did not know, they will generate a joyful, philosophical and deep vision of love when they are together. They will feel delighted to find someone who shares their same vision of love, they will have similar values ​​and interests. You can take many trips together and experience new things with each other. They will express love in a fun, passionate and very direct way, they will like to do things to make the other smile and maintaining the happiness of both as a couple can be the main goal for both. They will look for the other to see the good side of life, relax them if there is a lot of work and take things more calmly. It is a very pleasant position for Venus, both will do many things to make the other feel happy, satisfied and comfortable with the relationship. Through love important and positive lessons will be given.

🖤Venus in 10th house🖤

The love of this couple is something that other people easily notice. These people will speak highly of their partner with other people, even without realizing they can sweeten each other's image. Their love will not have that magical and fantasy touch, it will be more of a serious, stable and supportive love in which the two of them will most likely see themselves together in the long term. They will seek to make things easier for each other, work together in many areas and have a healthy romance, based on commitment and honesty. They will love to show off to each other and will always be open with how proud and fascinated they are with their partner's achievements, goals and attitude. They won’t be bothered by PDA and in fact will be very open with others from the start about their feelings for each other. They will love planning dates, outings and activities to do together. Time together will be sacred and no matter how busy they are, they will make time to see each other and catch up. One way to show love that they’ll have will be keeping promises that they made.

🖤Venus in 11th house🖤

Love that rejuvenates, that makes you feel relieved and makes you have a cleaner and more beautiful vision of love. They will love each other in a unique, fun and healthy way, they will love each other's personality, their oddities and gestures that although common for themselves, will be charming for you. People may see their way of showing love as something remarkable and unique, but really what others think will not matter much to them. Ego boosts, long and pleasant talks, deep understanding and the feeling that your partner loves every part of your personality, no matter how eccentric you consider it. They’ll include each other in their plans, and will see the other by their side in the future. They will love when the other tells them about their dreams, aspirations and plans for the future, in fact they may be similar to yours. This relationship will make them feel renewed, it can enhance the creativity of the other and they will motivate their partner to be themselves. They’ll love to share many things with each other, from the most special to the most trivial. Sharing will be the main love language.

🖤Venus in 12th house🖤

A classic slowburn placement, both parties have likely felt shy in the other's presence early in their connection, and may sense that their feelings run deep and sincere. They could feel that the other was out of their league or that things were not going to happen. Once this relationship progresses, they become very emotional with each other, expressing their feelings for each other in great detail. They will enjoy doing quiet activities that allow them to cuddle, talk about the most personal issues and be affectionate in private. They will feel an attraction that at first they will not be able to express, something that pushes them to each other with force and speeds up their hearts every time they look at each other. They will seek to know the other and love every part of it, even if one party is ashamed of these sides of their personality, the other will simply adore each of them. They will not judge each other and they will love each other devoutly. They'll explore sides of love they thought they'd never know, and may feel as if they were dreaming. 

-> Go back to the Composite Chart Masterlist

[moonlight-joy]

Tethered by Shadows

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: You reconnect with Alexei and Sergei, two brothers central to your life—Alexei, your charming best friend, and Sergei, the intense man you’ve secretly loved for years. As feelings with Sergei deepen into a passionate relationship, tensions arise with Alexei’s protective concern. Despite challenges, you embrace Sergei’s intensity and vulnerability, choosing love and an uncertain but meaningful future together.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

You’d been close to Sergei and Alexei for years—two brothers so wildly different that it made their bond almost inexplicable. Sergei, all quiet intensity and sharp edges, contrasted sharply with Alexei’s easy charm and golden smile. Together, they were magnetic, their energy drawing you in during your high school years in New York. You were their unofficial third, the sibling neither had but both seemed to need.

But your feelings for Sergei had always been different, deeper. It wasn’t just his mystery that captivated you; it was the way he noticed things no one else did. He never spoke more than necessary, but when he did, his words carried weight. He saw through masks and pretenses, including your own, and that terrified you as much as it thrilled you.

You told yourself it was a crush, a fleeting infatuation with the untouchable older brother of your best friend. But years passed, and the feelings only grew stronger. You buried them deep, convinced Sergei could never see you the same way. After all, Sergei wasn’t like Alexei, who openly shared his emotions. Sergei guarded himself, wrapping his heart in layers of impenetrable steel. You were certain he would never let you in.

Life pulled you in different directions after school, as life so often does. Alexei went on to pursue his grand ambitions, always sending you messages from across the world—photos, postcards, updates brimming with enthusiasm. Sergei disappeared in the opposite direction, keeping his distance even as he occasionally surfaced for family gatherings or quiet check-ins. You didn’t see either of them for a long time, but the space only made your feelings for Sergei more complicated.

Then, after years apart, they invited you to dinner. It was Alexei’s idea, of course—an impromptu reunion in the city where you’d grown up together. You hesitated before agreeing, knowing it would bring Sergei back into your orbit. When you finally saw them again, sitting together at a small table in a dimly lit restaurant, the sight of Sergei hit you harder than you expected. His features were sharper now, his presence even more commanding. The years had only deepened what had always drawn you to him.

You sat across from him, hyper-aware of every movement, every glance. He didn’t say much, letting Alexei fill the space with stories and laughter, but his eyes lingered on you in a way they never had before. It unnerved you, the way he seemed to see more than you wanted to show.

The tension grew over the weeks that followed. Reconnecting with Alexei was easy; it always had been. He was the same vibrant, carefree spirit you’d known since you were kids. But Sergei was different. He stayed close to the edges, observing, waiting. His touches, though infrequent, lingered. A brush of his hand as he passed you something across the table. The brief press of his palm against your lower back when you walked ahead of him. It was maddening, the way he kept you on edge without ever crossing the line.

And then, one night, he did.

It happened after a late dinner, when Alexei had left early to meet some friends. Sergei offered to walk you home. The air between you was charged as you stepped out into the cool night, his presence beside you steady and grounding. The city around you felt distant, its usual chaos muted by the sound of your footsteps and the racing of your heart.

As you reached your apartment building, you turned to thank him, only to find him closer than you expected. His eyes were darker than usual, their intensity pinning you in place.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low and rough, like he was holding something back.

“So are you,” you replied, your own voice unsteady.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence stretched taut between you, and then he stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm. His gaze dropped to your lips, and your breath hitched.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And when his lips finally met yours, it was like the world around you disappeared. The kiss was everything you’d imagined—intense, consuming, and electric with years of unspoken longing. Sergei kissed like he did everything else, with precision and purpose, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

The days that followed were a blur of stolen moments and quiet confessions. Sergei wasn’t a man of grand gestures, but he didn’t need to be. He showed his feelings in the way he looked at you, the way he listened, the way he let his walls down when it was just the two of you. For the first time, you saw the vulnerability behind his carefully constructed armor, and it only made you fall harder.

But it wasn’t all easy. Alexei noticed the shift between you almost immediately. He wasn’t blind to the way Sergei’s gaze softened when it landed on you or the way you seemed to light up in his presence. At first, he didn’t say anything, but his silence was heavy, filled with unspoken questions.

One night, he cornered you, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“What’s going on with you and Sergei?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You hesitated, knowing there was no point in lying. “It’s… complicated.”

Alexei’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less firm. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. Sergei’s not like me. He’s… intense. He doesn’t do things halfway.”

“I know,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I wouldn’t want him any other way.”

Alexei studied you for a long moment before nodding, though the worry in his eyes didn’t fade.

Loving Sergei was a whirlwind of contradictions—intense and grounding, thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t an easy man to love, but you didn’t want easy. You wanted him. And as the city’s lights flickered in the distance, you realized that you were no longer afraid of the shadows. You had always been tethered to Sergei, whether you knew it or not. And now, you were ready to embrace everything that came with it.

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[writingforstraykids]

Letters Of Love - Chan🖤

Pairing: Chan x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 978

Summary: Your anniversary with your beloved boys makes you think of how to show them how much you love them best. Soon, you settle on sending them a message and picture in relation to one of your favorite days spent with them - starting with a sunset beach walk with Channie.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, poly!skz

A/N: Happy one year, guys🤭🥳🖤🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

You sit comfortably on the oversized sofa in the living room, your legs tucked beneath you as a soft throw blanket drapes over your shoulders. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the evening outside. The warm, ambient light from a lamp nearby casts a golden glow on your laptop screen as you scroll through your photo library, smiling at the memories that flash before your eyes.

The idea had come to you a few days ago, sparked by a simple desire to celebrate the bond you share with each of the boys. With your anniversary around the corner, you wanted to do something meaningful—not grand or flashy, but something that speaks to the heart of what they all mean to you. So, you decided to put together a collection of messages, each paired with a favorite photo of yours. One for each of them.

It’s not just about celebrating the years spent together, but a way to show them how much every single moment counts—how deeply woven into your life they’ve become. It’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of life, schedules, and everything in between, but when you sit down and look back at these snapshots, the memories are filled with so much warmth that it almost makes you tear up.

Each picture carries its own story, a unique reminder of shared smiles, whispered conversations, and unexpected adventures. It feels like the perfect way to say, “I remember. I see you. And I treasure these moments more than words can say.”

Choosing where to start wasn’t easy, but in the end, you settled on Chan. Leader. Rock. One of your favorite people. The one who somehow always knows exactly how to make you feel heard and seen. Your eyes linger on one particular image that makes your heart flutter—a photograph of a breathtaking sunset on a secluded beach.

The sky is painted with vivid hues of orange, pink, and deep purple, casting a magical light across the gentle waves lapping at the shore. In the foreground, Chan is beside you, his broad smile lighting up the scene as much as the setting sun. He’s looking at the camera, but his body is slightly angled toward you, as if caught in a moment of joy, mid-laughter. His tousled hair frames his face, the salty breeze lifting it slightly, and his eyes crinkle warmly, filled with a playful energy and contentment. The two of you are barefoot, shoes forgotten somewhere in the sand, and you’re holding hands, your arm swinging lightly as if you’d just been spinning around together, giddy from the beauty of the evening and each other's presence.

You can almost hear the sound of his voice from that day—the way he kept pointing out how the colors of the sky matched your favorite shade of coral or how he’d sneakily race you to the water’s edge just to let the waves catch you by surprise. It was one of those spontaneous days, a perfect pocket of time when everything aligned, and all that mattered was the way the world seemed to slow down around the two of you.

The day had started unassumingly, with a casual suggestion from Chan to go for a drive after a long day of work. There had been no real destination in mind until you noticed the telltale sparkle of sunlight reflecting off the distant waves. Without a second thought, he turned the car toward the coast. When you arrived, the beach was nearly empty—just you, him, and the endless expanse of sand and sea. As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with the most brilliant shades, you both kicked off your shoes and wandered along the shoreline. You talked about everything and nothing—dreams, music, life, and silly inside jokes that had the two of you bursting into laughter.

As the colors deepened and the first stars peeked through, he pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just you, him, and the rhythm of the waves. It was then that he set up the camera timer, capturing that perfect image, your smiles forever frozen against the backdrop of the sun-kissed sky.

The smile on your lips softens as you relive the memory, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You take a deep breath and begin to type out a message for Chan, the words flowing easily from your heart. He’s someone who would understand the significance of this little project of yours—your way of saying, “I’m grateful. For you, for us, for all the tiny pieces that have come together to build this beautiful mosaic of memories.”

Message to Channie Baby🖤:

Hey Channie,

I came across this picture today, and it made me think of one of my favorite memories with you. Remember that sunset beach stroll? The way you just decided to take us there on a whim? I think that’s one of the things I love most about you—the way you turn ordinary moments into something unforgettable.

That evening, I remember feeling like everything was just… right. The world seemed quieter, softer, and it was like we had all the time in the world just to be ourselves. I know we’ve had so many amazing experiences together, but something about that day stands out to me. Maybe it’s because it felt so simple, just us, the ocean, and the sky. But it’s one of those moments that I’ll always cherish.

Thank you for always making life brighter, for your laughter and for the way you see beauty in everything. I’m so grateful to have you by my side—not just during sunsets, but every single day.

Happy anniversary, Channie. Here’s to many more sunsets together.

Love you, always.

Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

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[rroseselavyyy]

love me more - knj

pairing: namjoon x female reader

warnings: smut, face sitting, shitty ending

Namjoon knew he shouldn't be around you. Like any high school boy who seemed to grow into a man over the years, he knew he should have pushed you to the back of his mind. He should only have thought of you when he was flicking through his photo album, longing for the good old days.

But you were just so hard to forget.

All his thoughts were filled with you. Even dreaming of you wasn't enough to satisfy his desire when it came to you, for you were even more beautiful than a mere mental image.

Like every high school beauty queen, you have one fatal flaw, which is, you have terrible taste in men. Namjoon was there to change that forever, picking up the pieces of your heart by making you try on his glasses to wipe that sad expression out off your face, or cuddling with you while you casually watched dramas all day.

He was your most loyal servant, waiting for his cue to make you his, following every sign to reach your heart, to make you his own queen.

As Namjoon brushed the tangles out of your wet hair, you were sitting on his bed, mostly between his legs. All his attention was focused on your hair as you were looking at him through the mirror.

His toned arms and legs encaged you, making your comparatively small figure seem like nothing in his embrace. You watched in awe as his sharp features made him look beautiful with the seriousness of taking care of you.

You couldn't help but lean into his embrace as his knuckles brushed your scalp, looking at how beautiful he was as if you were witnessing the northern lights for the first time.

"Namjoon, do you think I am beautiful?" You saw him frown and it made you want to take back what you had said, but the damage had already been done. He let out a sigh and put the brush down on the bed before wrapping his tanned arms around your waist. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he rested his chin on your shoulder and met your eyes. "Why are you asking me this?"

The tone of his voice was far from irritated, but you felt the blood rush to your cheeks.

"Is it because the so-called man of your dreams is too dumb to make you feel less beautiful than you are?" He planted a kiss on your cheek, the calluses on his fingertips brushing your skin under his t-shirt. "Or is it that you're too oblivious to see that I'm desperately in love with you?"

Your mouth fell open at how casually he confessed his feelings as if he was telling you how his day was going. You blinked a few times to make sure it wasn't a dream, and he flashed a dimpled smile just inches from your face "Why? Am I not good enough for you?"

"No, I just never thought that you would have feelings for me." You grabbed his jaw in a gesture of affection. It was as if you were in the daze of the moment as he trailed his tongue over his lower lip in an eager way, making you fight with the urge to pull him in for a passionate kiss. "I would never deny you if I knew this."

"Yeah?" He whispered above your lips as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly. "Do you want me to show you how much you mean to me?"

You turned around his embrace to face him and smashed your lips into his. He brought his hands to your waist to dig his fingers into the flesh, bringing you closer to his firm chest.

It was even more meaningful than your first kiss. Even though you were kissing your friend, it felt like the kiss that you shared belonged to lovers. Something akin to a blessing. Who would have known a beauty this immense?

"You are so cruel, princess. For making me wait all this time." He brushed a strand of sweaty hair that fell into your eyes as his eyes bore intently into yours. "So cruel, so beautiful." His lips moved over yours ever so subtly that you could feel he wanted you to feel how he felt about you.

He wasn't drunk at all, he was sure of that. But he felt as if the room was spinning as your scent filled his nostrils. It must have been something about the way you tasted on his tongue, the faint hint of strawberry from your gloss that lingered on his lips.

"Hold your arms up." He murmured under his breath as his heavy eyes drank in your expression and you did as he said like the good girl you are. He watched your tits bounce at the sudden movement of pulling his t-shirt off your head and never missed a moment to kiss the temple of your breasts. "You were made just for me to worship you, weren't you?"

The thrill of having him so close to you crawled up all over your skin like climbing ivy, and with every touch of his burning hands on your spine, flowers came to life.

You felt like your trembling body lay on his soft mattress as he towered over you.

"Isn't it ironic that you've finally been caught in my net, my little goldfish?" He slid your shorts and panties down your legs as you spread out on his bed, his knees digging into the bed on either side of you. "I think deep down we both knew you needed a man like me." He nuzzled your inner thighs and your back arched off the mattress to meet his wet kisses as they moved slowly down your leg, tracing a sinister path to your ankle. "A man who can bring heaven to your feet."

“I am the only one who can do that," He tangled your hair in his fist to kiss you, making you dive for another one as he pulled away. "Everyone else is just a waste of time.”

"Sit on my face-" You never knew a human being could be this beautiful when begging you like this. "Please, I've been dying to taste you."

He was almost sure that you were the perfect woman for him when you never questioned him and climbed over his face after you had seductively pushed him onto his mattress by his chest.

He was a man of sense, but when you slowly ground your hips against his hungry mouth, suffocating him with your thighs, he was about to lose it.

He sucked gently on your clit as if he wanted to make you cry in agony, and it turned out to be the sweetest melody to his ears when you threw your head back with your mouth hanging open.

He landed a harsh slap on your ass before digging his fingers into the flesh to spur you on, the erotic moans coming from your mouth were enough to make him feel tipsy.

He was so lost in the moment that he wasn't able to think straight at all. His cock was aching for release.

As tears of pleasure adorned your cheeks, alarming him that you were trying to reach your end, he inserted his thick fingers into your dripping pussy, opening the gates of his heaven to more of his tongue's access.

You came so hard that you made a mess on his beautiful face, your release was everywhere, decorating his cheeks in the most sensual way. He pressed his tongue flat against your pussy to get drunk on everything you gave him. The sight of you coming down from your orgasm was so irresistible to him that it made him erupt in his baggy shorts.

Even though it was not a sight he would be proud of, changing into new clothes could wait a bit longer.

He laid you on your back before taking his place beside you. He watched the exhaustion creep into your features as you yawned. You were so beautiful like this, in his bed like it was the only place you were meant to be.

He couldn't help but smile as you buried your face in his neck. "Don't you think we should take our relationship to the next level?" You giggled madly at the thought of Namjoon's flushed cheeks from saying something he hadn't expected. "I think you've seen my space level when I was on your face."

"You think this is funny, hmm?" He tickled your sides as you tried to wriggle out of his embrace. Unfortunately, he was way too strong for you. "You won't have the energy to laugh when I'm done with you."

[channiesgirlie]

Jongseob as your boyfriend! ★꩜

[small scenarios of what i think dating jongseob would be like solely based on my deluluness and the way he acts/his vibes in general]

[only fluff so go ahead everyone!]

whenever you guys go out, either on dates or just small outings, both of you agreed to always have matching outfits or jewellery on. its just small things like wearing the same coloured tops ,the same necklaces or similar sneakers but it brings joy to both of you. bonus points when this happens without you guys checking in with each other, you both just walk out the door in a hurry and notice you have matching hoodies on.

jongseob is the type of boyfriend that is constantly looking to be near you. to satisfy his cute clingy behaviour he always makes sure you guys are holding hands. walking around on the street? holding hands. sitting down taking a break at a p1h photo shoot? hands interlocked. he just can't stay away from you for too long. always fidgeting with your hands in his, almost idly, while having a conversation with his members.

seobie has this thing he started doing ever since your relationship began, whenever you hair is in your face he will take the strands and tuck them behind your ear, its a habit at this point, he does it without thinking sometimes and you just look up at him without resisting cause why would you? he looks so cute doing it with a small smile on his face.

whenever you're on your phone not really paying attention to what he's saying, jongseob will make you look at him by grabbing your chin in a gentle manner, you get all flustered and always make fun of him by comparing him to a kdrama oppa.

ever since you started dating jongseob you haven't lifted a finger, this man is obsessed with carrying things for you. oh you just got a delivery in the mail? he'll carry it up to your apartment. oh your purse is too heavy tonight? he'll carry it on his shoulder, no shame. oh you opted to take your leftovers home? he'll take the bag from you in no time. he's just such a gentleman when it comes to things like these.

one of the main reasons you even started dating him was because you noticed something in jongseob you don't usually see in most people his age. he's just so emotionally mature. setting and respecting boundaries, emotional control in any situation, always so empathetic towards everyone around him, never afraid to embrace his emotions and feelings, he's so responsible and hardworking always striving to be the best version of himself. you still are so grateful and proud of him for all of it.

seobie is just such a sweetheart his favourite thing to do when you don't expect it is to hug you from behind, he leans his head on your shoulder and just stays there, enjoying your warm body against his. you absolutely love when he does this, you can feel his love for you radiating through his chest. its always a small surprise but such a meaningful one.

jongseob might just be your biggest fan. always supporting you in everything you do, always ready to help in any way possible. sometimes it's emotional support you need most and he's the absolute best at it, accidentally pouring his heart out about his feelings and thoughts about you whenever he feels like you need to hear it.

he is so focused on you when you're together, he must make sure you're always comfy. from giving you his hoodie so you're not cold anymore to sharing the last sandwich he brought on set with you just because you mentioned you were a bit hungry. always making sure to take care of you, this is his favourite way of showing affection.

late night walks! his favourite activity to do with you especially when he brings his camera and snaps pictures of you and everything around. you both enjoy the quiet streets, crisp air and dim lighting, makes both of you feel so at peace. its a perfect way to wind down before going to sleep.

talking about rest, seob loves cuddling you before falling asleep, usually he starts off as the big spoon but eventually turns you around, facing you so he can scratch little circles on your back and you can play with his hair (which he loves soo much), he hugs you so tight but as he slowly drifts away and his breathing slows down his grip on you loosens.

usually in more casual situations jongseob will make you sit on his lap. he just loves putting his arms around you and holding onto you. it makes him feel like he is offering you the most comfortable spot to sit, which you really enjoy, it really make you feel secure and you've almost gotten used to just sitting on him whenever you have the chance (and it's appropriate ofc).

whenever you accompany p1h to schedules that consist of a lot of waiting around, you typically find jongseob braiding and playing with your hair. its really entertaining to him and you always appreciate how gentle he is to not pull on it.

[that's it for now! i hope you enjoyed all these delulu scenarios. if you want more, or perhaps this but about another member just let me know!! anyway here's your delulu pills 💊💊💊 byee]

[memorabxlia]

Mistletoe ━ 범규

genre: fluff, angst summary: At a festive engagement party, Beomgyu’s avoidance of mistletoe piques his fiancée’s curiosity. Discovering it stems from a past heartbreak, she plans a thoughtful gesture to help him heal, creating a new and meaningful tradition together. warnings: mentions food, mentions past trauma, mentions anxiety, mentions holiday traditions (defintely forgot something) pairing: fiance!beomgyu x fem!reader wc: 4.3k a/n: DAY 5!! (I might have gotten a bit carried away on this one) nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The lights are warm and golden, strung from the ceiling in loops that twinkle like stars against the soft glow of the room. Snow falls lazily outside the large bay windows, each flake sticking briefly to the frosted glass before melting into rivulets. Inside, the air hums with the unmistakable buzz of a festive gathering. Laughter mingles with the soft strains of holiday jazz, and the faint aroma of mulled cider wafts through the air.

You stand near the fireplace, fingers laced with Beomgyu’s as you talk to a small group of friends. His hand is warm in yours, his thumb idly brushing against the side of your palm in a gesture so natural and unthinking it makes your heart ache with affection.

Everyone is here to celebrate you—the newly engaged couple—and the atmosphere is electric with excitement. Friends you haven’t seen in years greet you with wide smiles and hugs, while relatives gush over the sparkling ring on your finger. Beomgyu is at ease, as he always is, his laughter bubbling up easily at every joke, his charm weaving effortlessly through the room.

“Seriously,” one of your friends says, holding out her phone to show a photo she snapped of you and Beomgyu earlier by the Christmas tree. “You two are ridiculous. Look at this—you look like you stepped out of a Hallmark movie.”

Beomgyu leans over to look, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “That’s all her,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I’m just the guy holding the ornament.”

“Oh, please,” you say, nudging him lightly. “You’re the one who insisted on posing with the giant candy cane.”

Everyone laughs, and the conversation shifts to holiday plans, but your attention lingers on Beomgyu. He’s the picture of ease tonight—his dark hair perfectly tousled, his sharp suit paired with a festive green tie that you’d teased him about earlier. His laughter rings out again, warm and carefree, and you can’t help but feel a swell of pride. He’s yours.

As the night wears on, the crowd grows livelier. Someone starts a game of charades near the Christmas tree, while others cluster around the buffet table, exclaiming over the elaborate desserts. You and Beomgyu move through the room like a team, exchanging smiles and quiet jokes as you greet guests and thank them for coming.

Then, from across the room, someone’s voice cuts through the din.

“So,” a familiar voice calls out, teasing and bright, “have you kissed under the mistletoe yet?”

The chatter quiets slightly as heads turn in your direction. You follow their gaze and spot the mistletoe dangling from the archway leading to the dining room, its green leaves tied with a simple red ribbon. It hadn’t caught your eye earlier, but now it seems to command the entire room’s attention.

A chorus of laughter and cheers rises as someone else shouts, “Yeah! Come on, lovebirds, give us a show!”

Your cheeks flush as you glance at Beomgyu. He’s still holding your hand, but you notice the way his grip tightens ever so slightly. He’s smiling, but it’s different now—less carefree, more measured.

“Not tonight,” he says with an easy laugh, raising his free hand in a gesture of mock surrender. “But I’ll kiss her anywhere else she wants.”

The crowd groans in good-natured disappointment, though a few chuckles ripple through the room. Beomgyu’s smile widens, and he turns to you, his expression softening.

“See?” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “Anywhere else.”

His voice is light, his affection genuine, but you can’t help noticing the way he avoids looking at the mistletoe.

The moment passes quickly, swept away by the flow of the evening. The attention shifts back to the charades game, and Beomgyu tugs you gently toward the dessert table, where he playfully insists on feeding you a bite of cheesecake. His charm is as disarming as ever, and the warmth of the party pulls you back into the moment.

But as the night winds down, and the guests begin to trickle out into the snowy evening, you find yourself lingering on the memory of his reaction. Beomgyu isn’t usually one to shy away from something so small, so playful.

You glance at the mistletoe still hanging in the archway, swaying slightly in the draft from the front door. Beomgyu is chatting with one of your friends near the coat rack, his laughter echoing softly across the room.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more to his avoidance, something unspoken lurking just beneath the surface.

The engagement party is a blur of joy, laughter, and fleeting moments, but the memory of Beomgyu’s reaction under the mistletoe stays with you like a faint echo. It’s not the kind of thing you’d normally dwell on—after all, Beomgyu has always been playful and quick to brush off things he finds silly. But now, the way he skillfully deflected the situation feels… deliberate.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just a quirk, one of the many things that make Beomgyu who he is. And yet, as the days pass and Christmas approaches, you start to notice things you hadn’t paid attention to before.

It’s the small moments that catch your attention.

One evening, you’re decorating the apartment together. Beomgyu is standing on a chair, pinning up a strand of twinkling lights, while you untangle the rest of the string from the floor. Holiday music plays softly in the background, and the scent of cinnamon wafts from the candles you lit earlier.

You pull out the small sprig of mistletoe you’d picked up at the store, holding it up with a playful grin. “Where should we hang this?”

Beomgyu glances down, the lights still draped over his shoulder. For the briefest moment, his smile falters. Then he laughs, hopping down from the chair and gently plucking the mistletoe from your hand.

“Hmm,” he says, examining it as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “How about… nowhere?”

“Nowhere?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin, tossing it onto the counter. “I mean, do we really need mistletoe? We don’t need an excuse to kiss, do we?”

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before returning to the lights. His response is charming, as always, but it feels… evasive. You glance at the mistletoe sitting forgotten on the counter, its red ribbon dangling limply.

The next time it happens, you’re walking hand-in-hand through a bustling holiday market. Strings of lights crisscross the wooden stalls, and the air is filled with the scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider. Beomgyu pulls you toward a vendor selling ornaments, his enthusiasm infectious as he picks up a tiny glass snowman and holds it up to the light.

“What do you think?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.

“It’s adorable,” you reply, smiling at his excitement.

As you move to pay, you notice a stall nearby selling fresh mistletoe bundles, each tied with a bright red ribbon. You gesture toward it with a nudge. “Want to grab one for the apartment? It’d be cute by the fireplace.”

Beomgyu glances at the stall, then back at you, his smile shifting into something more restrained. “Eh, I don’t think we need it,” he says casually, slipping his hand into yours and steering you toward the next stall. “We’ve got plenty of decorations already.”

You don’t press the issue, but the moment lingers in the back of your mind. It’s not just the market. There was last year, too, at his parents’ house—

how he sidestepped the mistletoe in the hallway with an exaggerated flourish, saying, “Wouldn’t want to give my mom any ideas about grandkids!”

At the time, you’d laughed, brushing it off as another one of his playful quirks. But now, the pattern is undeniable.

That evening, you sit curled up on the couch with a mug of hot cocoa, the lights from the tree casting soft shadows across the room. Beomgyu is in the kitchen, humming to himself as he loads the dishwasher. Your thoughts drift to the party, the market, the way he always seems to deflect or avoid anything to do with mistletoe.

It’s not like Beomgyu to shy away from things like this. He’s confident, affectionate, and unafraid to make grand gestures. He’s the type to kiss you in the middle of a crowded room just to make you laugh or to serenade you off-key while dancing in the kitchen. So why is mistletoe his one exception?

The thought gnaws at you, growing louder with every memory that surfaces. You think back to the way his hand tightened around yours at the party, the way he’d laughed it off but hadn’t quite met your eyes. It wasn’t just playful—it was something else.

The next day, you decide to test your theory.

You take the mistletoe from the counter and hang it above the kitchen doorway, the little sprig swaying gently as you step back to admire your work. It’s subtle enough not to draw immediate attention, but you’re curious to see what Beomgyu will do when he notices it.

Sure enough, later that evening, as you’re finishing dinner, Beomgyu pauses in the doorway. He glances up, his eyes catching on the mistletoe.

“Oh,” he says, his tone light but noticeably deliberate. “Nice touch.”

“Thanks,” you say, watching him carefully.

Beomgyu steps forward, then veers to the side, his movements casual but purposeful as he sidesteps the mistletoe entirely. He reaches out to ruffle your hair as he passes, grinning. “Too bad you’re not standing under it.”

You laugh, but it’s a little forced. “Too bad,” you echo.

He hums a tune as he disappears into the living room, leaving you standing in the kitchen, staring up at the mistletoe.

It’s official now. Beomgyu’s avoidance isn’t random or coincidental. It’s intentional.

And now, more than ever, you’re determined to find out why.

The snow is falling steadily when you arrive at the café, flakes dusting your hair and coat as you push through the door. Inside, the warm aroma of coffee and baked goods greets you, and the cheerful hum of holiday music plays softly in the background.

Taehyun is already there, sitting at a small table near the window with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. He glances up as you approach, his expression shifting from neutral to amused.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “What did I do to deserve the honor of a personal coffee date?”

You laugh, shaking off your coat and draping it over the back of the chair before sitting down. “Don’t get too excited. I need your help with something.”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Ah, so I’m being used. Good to know.”

“Don’t act like you’re not flattered,” you tease, waving over a server to order your own drink.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “Alright, what’s this about? Is Beomgyu giving you trouble? Because if he is, I can knock some sense into him. Or at least try.”

You roll your eyes, though the mention of Beomgyu brings you back to the real reason you’re here. “It’s not trouble, exactly,” you say, your tone softening. “It’s more of a… mystery.”

Taehyun tilts his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Mystery?”

“It’s about mistletoe,” you explain, watching his reaction carefully.

He blinks, then sets his mug down with a soft clink. “Mistletoe?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning forward slightly. “Have you ever noticed how Beomgyu avoids it? Like, every single time?”

Taehyun’s expression shifts slightly, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. He glances out the window, watching the snow for a moment before turning back to you. “I mean, yeah. It’s kind of his thing.”

“So I’m not imagining it,” you say, your curiosity intensifying. “Why does he avoid it? Did something happen?”

Taehyun hesitates, his fingers tapping lightly against the side of his mug. “You know,” he says slowly, “this feels like something you should probably ask him about.”

“I tried,” you admit, exhaling in frustration. “But he brushes it off every time. Says it’s no big deal or that mistletoe is ‘cheesy.’”

Taehyun snorts. “That does sound like him.”

“Exactly,” you say, leaning in. “But I know there’s more to it. He wouldn’t go out of his way to avoid it unless it really meant something to him.”

Taehyun looks at you for a long moment, as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“Okay, I’ll tell you this much,” he says. “It’s tied to something that happened a long time ago. Back in high school.”

Your ears perk up, and you nod, encouraging him to continue.

“There was this girl he liked,” Taehyun explains, his tone cautious. “She kissed him under the mistletoe at a Christmas party. It was, like, his first real kiss, and he was over the moon about it. Thought it meant something special.”

Your stomach tightens, sensing where this is going.

“The next day,” Taehyun continues, “she told him it didn’t mean anything. Said it was just a holiday tradition, and he shouldn’t read too much into it.”

You wince, imagining how that must have felt. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Taehyun says, his voice softening. “It really messed him up. I mean, he was young, and it was his first experience with that kind of rejection. I think it stuck with him more than he realized.”

“That’s why he avoids mistletoe?” you ask, piecing it together.

Taehyun nods. “It’s like a trigger for him. Every time he sees it, he remembers how he felt back then—like he was the butt of some cosmic joke. It’s not about the mistletoe, really. It’s about what it represents to him.”

You sit back in your chair, absorbing his words. It makes sense now—the way Beomgyu tenses up whenever mistletoe is mentioned, the playful deflections that don’t quite hide the hurt behind them.

“I didn’t realize it went that deep,” you say quietly.

“It’s not something he likes to talk about,” Taehyun replies. “He’s moved on in a lot of ways, but I think part of him still holds onto that memory. It’s like he’s afraid to let himself get caught up in it again.”

You nod slowly, your mind racing. “Do you think I should bring it up with him?”

Taehyun hesitates, then shrugs. “That’s up to you. Just… be careful, okay? Beomgyu’s a lot stronger than he gives himself credit for, but this is one of those things that still gets to him. Don’t push too hard.”

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice firm. “But I want to help him move past it. He deserves better than to carry that around forever.”

Taehyun smiles faintly, lifting his mug in a mock toast. “Well, if anyone can get through to him, it’s you. Good luck.”

You smile back, your determination solidifying. “Thanks, Taehyun. Really.”

“Anytime,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee. “Just make sure you tell me how it goes. You know I love a good love story.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you settle into lighter conversation. But in the back of your mind, you’re already planning how to approach Beomgyu—and how to help him finally let go of the pain he’s been carrying for so long.

That evening, you sit by the fire with Beomgyu, the living room aglow with the soft shimmer of holiday lights. The room is quiet except for the occasional crackle of the fire and the faint sound of wind brushing against the windowpanes. Beomgyu is leaning against you, his head resting on your shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on the blanket draped over your legs.

You’ve been thinking about Taehyun’s words all day. The weight of curiosity lingers in your chest, mingling with an ache to understand Beomgyu more deeply.

“Beomgyu?” you say softly, tilting your head slightly toward him.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something? And will you promise to answer honestly?”

He lifts his head, his expression shifting from relaxed to cautious. “That sounds serious. What’s up?”

“It’s about the mistletoe,” you say, keeping your voice gentle.

Beomgyu blinks, his brows furrowing slightly. “The mistletoe?”

You nod. “I’ve noticed you avoid it. Like, every single time. And it’s not just this year—it’s every year. I’ve been wondering why.”

His body tenses just enough for you to feel it, his hand stilling against the blanket. He looks away, his gaze settling on the flickering fire.

“It’s stupid,” he mutters after a moment, his voice low.

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you,” you say, reaching for his hand. “But you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away. He shifts slightly, his hand tightening around yours as his jaw works as if he’s wrestling with the words he wants to say. Finally, he exhales, the sound heavy with something you can’t quite place.

“Okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you.”

You sit quietly, giving him the space to find his footing. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a small, grounding gesture.

“When I was in high school, there was this girl,” he begins, his tone measured and careful. “Her name was Jiyeon. She was... well, she was the kind of person everyone wanted to be around. She had this energy, you know? Like she could walk into a room and light it up without even trying.”

You nod, sensing that this isn’t just about Jiyeon’s charm—it’s about how Beomgyu saw her, how deeply he must have felt for her.

“I liked her for a long time,” he continues. “We were friends, but I wanted more. And I thought... I thought maybe she felt the same way. There were little things—like the way she laughed at my jokes or the way she’d grab my arm when we were walking somewhere. It felt like... like we had something.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the fire. “So, at this Christmas party, we ended up under the mistletoe. It was one of those moments where everything just lined up, you know? She smiled at me, and someone started cheering, and before I knew it, she leaned in and kissed me.”

A faint, bitter laugh escapes him. “I remember thinking it was the best moment of my life. Like everything I’d ever wanted was finally happening.”

Your chest tightens as you listen, feeling the weight of what he’s saying, the unspoken “but” lingering at the edge of his words.

“The next day,” he says quietly, “she told me it didn’t mean anything. That it was just a tradition, and she didn’t want me to ‘get the wrong idea.’”

His voice cracks slightly, and he lets out a shaky breath. “It wasn’t just that she didn’t feel the same way—it was the way she said it like I was stupid for thinking it meant something. Like the whole thing was a joke, and I was the only one who didn’t get the punchline.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart aching for the younger version of him who’d been hurt so deeply.

“I couldn’t even look at mistletoe after that,” Beomgyu admits, his voice tinged with frustration. “Every time I saw it, I felt like that dumb kid again, standing there with my heart in my hands while everyone else laughed.”

He looks at you then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know it’s ridiculous to still let it get to me. It was so long ago, and I’ve moved on from her, but... I don’t know. That feeling never really went away.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” you say softly, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Beomgyu, what happened to you wasn’t about mistletoe. It was about how she treated you—how she made you feel. That kind of hurt doesn’t just disappear overnight.”

He leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours. “What if it happens again? What if... what if it ruins this? Us?”

“It won’t,” you say firmly, your voice steady with conviction. “Because this isn’t about her or the past. This is about us. And I promise, no sprig of mistletoe could ever ruin what we have.”

For a long moment, Beomgyu just looks at you, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude. Then he nods, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You smile, your thumb brushing gently against his cheek. “You don’t have to thank me. Just trust me, okay? Let’s make this ours.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but the way his arms tighten around you says enough.

The next day, while Beomgyu is out running errands, you set your plan in motion. You sift through the box of holiday decorations, finding the sprig of mistletoe you’d tucked away weeks ago. You hang it carefully in the living room, positioning it above the coffee table where the warm glow of the fairy lights makes the space feel cozy and intimate.

You don’t stop there. On the table, you arrange a few meaningful touches—a framed photo of the two of you laughing on a summer beach trip, a handwritten card listing the little things you love about him, and his favorite scented candle flickering softly. You step back to admire your work, hoping the effort will show him just how much this moment means to you.

When Beomgyu comes home, the sound of the door unlocking sends a spark of anticipation through you. You hear the rustle of shopping bags being set down, followed by his footsteps stopping abruptly in the doorway.

“What’s all this?” he asks, his voice a mixture of curiosity and hesitation.

You turn to face him, smiling softly. “It’s a fresh start.”

His gaze shifts from the mistletoe to the table, lingering on the photos and the card. Slowly, he walks into the room, his hands slipping into his coat pockets. You can see the way his shoulders tense as his eyes flicker back to the mistletoe as if it’s still a weight pressing on him.

“A fresh start, huh?” he says, his voice quiet.

You nod, stepping closer to him. “I know mistletoe has bad memories for you, but I want to change that. I want us to make a new one together—one that feels like us, not the past.”

Beomgyu hesitates, his jaw tightening for a moment as he looks away. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “What if this just… brings it all back?”

“It won’t,” you say, taking his hand gently in yours. “Because this isn’t about what happened before. This is about now. About us. And I promise nothing bad is going to happen. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

His dark eyes meet yours, and you can see the emotions swirling there—fear, doubt, and something deeper: trust. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around yours.

“Okay,” he says softly, his voice barely audible.

You smile, your heart swelling as you guide him to stand beneath the mistletoe. Beomgyu tilts his head back to glance at it, his lips quirking into a nervous half-smile. Then he looks back at you, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks, his voice tinged with both humor and vulnerability.

“Completely sure,” you reply, sliding your arms around his neck. “Besides, if there’s one thing you should know by now, it’s that I’m always right.”

That earns a laugh, the tension in his shoulders softening as he leans down. His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, as if testing the moment. But then the kiss deepens, and it’s like the room disappears around you.

Beomgyu’s arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and the warmth of his embrace makes you feel like you’re standing in the heart of a snowstorm, untouched by the cold. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that leaves no doubt about how much he loves you—how much he trusts you to hold his heart.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his breath is warm against your cheek. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and a small, soft smile tugs at his lips.

“That felt… different,” he says, his voice quiet but full of wonder.

You nod, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Because it was. It’s not about the mistletoe—it’s about us. It always has been.”

Beomgyu lets out a breathy laugh, his grip on you tightening slightly. “I can’t believe I was scared of this for so long.”

“Well,” you say with a teasing smile, “better late than never.”

He laughs again, the sound lighter this time, and it fills the room with a warmth that rivals the glow of the fireplace. His gaze drifts up to the mistletoe, then back to you.

“You know,” he says, his grin widening, “I think I might actually like this tradition now.”

“Good,” you reply, leaning up to press a quick, playful kiss to his lips. “Because I plan to kiss you under it every chance I get.”

Beomgyu shakes his head, his smile full of affection as he pulls you into his arms. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, wrapped in each other’s warmth, as the mistletoe sways gently above you. It’s no longer a symbol of bad luck or heartbreak—it’s a promise, a memory, a tradition that belongs to you and Beomgyu alone.

And as you rest your head against his chest, you know this is only the beginning of a lifetime of kisses under the mistletoe, each one more meaningful than the last.

❥﹒ txt taglist: @lice @instabull @minkilicious @amarecerasus

[s4lv4tions]

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

1.

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands. 

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope. 

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

2.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business! 

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with. 

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone? 

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking. 

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest. 

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying. 

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard. 

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

3.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it. 

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning. 

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.) 

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke. 

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt. 

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

4.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly. 

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

5. 

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off. 

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need? 

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun. 

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

6.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate. 

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead. 

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up. 

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them. 

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

7.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you. 

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick. 

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living. 

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice. 

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

8.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all. 

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later. 

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it. 

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased. 

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness. 

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths? 

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns. 

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

9.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay. 

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will. 

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body. 

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised. 

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him. 

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw. 

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of. 

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish. 

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die. 

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact? 

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves. 

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin. 

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata. 

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight. 

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry. 

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities. 

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless. 

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce. 

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release. 

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes. 

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever. 

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness. 

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more. 

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful. 

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far. 

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again. 

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you. 

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others. 

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips— 

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk. 

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

[agirlnamedelia]

The Perfect Gift || Katsuki x Reader

Genre: fluff Pairing: Katsuki x FEM!Reader Synopsis: Your rich billionaire sugar daddy always bought you what you want and what you need. However its his birthday, how could you ever compete with the gifts he had given you.

You paced back and forth in the living room, biting your lip in frustration. Bakugou’s birthday was just around the corner, and you still had no idea what to get him. It wasn’t like he needed anything; he was rich, powerful, and could buy whatever he wanted at the snap of his fingers. What could you possibly give to someone who had everything?

As you stared blankly at your laptop screen, which was currently open to a gift ideas website, you sighed. You had gone through dozens of pages, looking for something—anything—that might be worthy of Bakugou. You knew he wasn’t big on material gifts, and he’d probably scoff at anything too fancy or overly sentimental.

“Ugh, this is impossible,” you groaned, leaning back on the couch and rubbing your temples. The pressure was on, and you were feeling it hard. Every year, Bakugou went all out on your birthday, surprising you with the most thoughtful gifts and extravagant experiences. And every time, you were left in awe of how well he knew you, how much he cared. Now, it was your turn to show him how much he meant to you, and you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You glanced over at the clock—only a few days left. “Think, Y/n, think,” you muttered to yourself. What did Bakugou like? What did he need?

Suddenly, an idea struck you. He might not need anything material, but maybe he could use something from the heart. Something personal and meaningful. With renewed determination, you grabbed your phone and started making a list of ideas, brainstorming anything that might bring a genuine smile to his face.

The next few days flew by in a whirlwind of preparation. You spent hours working on your gift, making sure every detail was perfect. It was a labor of love, and though you were nervous, you were also excited to see his reaction.

Finally, the day of Bakugou’s birthday arrived. He had planned a small gathering with a few close friends at his favorite restaurant, and you spent most of the evening by his side, enjoying the laughter and good company. But as the night wore on, you could feel your nerves starting to creep back in.

After the cake was cut and everyone had sung a boisterous rendition of “Happy Birthday,” the group started to disperse. Bakugou wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Ready to head out, or you wanna stick around a bit longer?”

You smiled up at him, trying to mask your anxiety. “I’m ready whenever you are. But, um, before we go… I have something for you.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, his expression softening. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “It’s just… well, it’s not much, but I wanted to give you something special. Can we, um, go somewhere private?”

His curiosity piqued, Bakugou nodded, leading you out of the restaurant and into a quieter part of the nearby park. The cool night air was refreshing, and the soft glow of the streetlights created a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

You took a deep breath, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small, wrapped box. “I know it’s not fancy or anything, but I wanted to give you something that… that shows how much you mean to me.”

Bakugou took the box, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know. I’m not big on gifts.”

“I know,” you said quickly, wringing your hands nervously. “But this isn’t just a gift. It’s… well, just open it.”

With a grunt, Bakugou carefully unwrapped the box, lifting the lid to reveal a small, handmade photo album. His brow furrowed as he opened it, flipping through the pages. Each page was filled with pictures of the two of you together, from your first date to the countless adventures you had shared over the past year.

But it wasn’t just photos. Alongside each picture, you had written little notes, recounting your favorite memories, the silly jokes you shared, the moments that had made you fall in love with him all over again.

Bakugou’s eyes softened as he read through your words, his lips quirking into a small smile. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just taking in each page, each memory.

Finally, he looked up at you, his expression unreadable. “You made this?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. I wanted to give you something that… that showed you how much I care. I know you don’t need anything, but I thought maybe you’d like to have something to look back on, you know? Something to remind you of all the good times we’ve had.”

Bakugou stared at you for a moment, his gaze intense. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair. “Dumbass,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden affection. “I-I wanted to,” you stammered, hugging him back. “You do so much for me, and I wanted to do something for you, too. I know it’s not much, but—”

Bakugou cut you off with a soft kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a long, sweet moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were softer than you had ever seen them. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “Thank you.”

A relieved smile spread across your face, your heart swelling with happiness. “Really? You like it?”

He nodded, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Yeah, I do. More than you know.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the quiet comfort of the night. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, the anxiety and worry melting away in the warmth of Bakugou’s embrace.

As you leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you realized that you didn’t need to stress so much about finding the perfect gift. What mattered most was the love and thought behind it, and Bakugou had shown you that in his own way.

With a content sigh, you snuggled closer to him, closing your eyes. “Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Best damn birthday I’ve ever had, thanks to you.”

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[arctic-hands]

[Image Description: the above and following photos are of a very small printed out zine in black and white. The cover has the word "Missing" in big letters with a black background, and the words "current as of Dec 2, twenty twenty-four". At the bottom it says "a WhatsApp story". In the center are three photos in black and white, the top one showing a man and a woman, a second showing the same man and many children gathered around a table, and the bottom photo showing the family posing in the middle of a city street.]

[The first page of the zine, saying in handwritten lettering "She messaged me goodbye last Sunday." In the middle of the page is a screenshot from WhatsApp, showing the sender saying "I'm sorry, my friend, but if we don't communicate anymore, be sure that I will be killed, burned, hit by a missile that tore me apart, or die of hunger and cold." The next message, by the receiver, starts out "I'm so sorry this is" but cuts off. The second page shows a simplistically drawn "Breaking News" sign in white on black. The text says "Two days before, we were cheering the I.C.C. arrest warrants."

[Third page says the words "We, a world apart from each other, began to see an end to her nightmare." The picture is of a simple circle representing a globe, with a point labeled Me on the very left edge, and a point labeled Her very close to the right edge. The fourth page has a repeat of the Breaking News sign, this time black on white. The text says "Three days after, a ceasefire between Lebanon and Israel went into effect."]

[Fifth page shows drawings of crowded tents in various states of sheltering as it rains, forming water in front of the tents. The text says "But she's not in Lebanon." Sixth page has inverted white-on-black, with the text starting in a rain cloud and stopping in the middle of the rain. It says "I don't know where she is now. Laid out in the rain, maybe."]

[Seventh page has no picture, just the words "My therapist told me to have hope..." The eighth page shows a pen-scratched dark tunnel with a small circle of light towards the end. The text says "...but Hayam ran out of it. She told me if she survived the night, she would have a nervous breakdown."]

[Ninth image says "What could I do a world away?" The circle globe is filled in completely dark. Tenth page says "I couldn't even say anything meaningful back to her." The image is of another WhatsApp screenshot. The sender texts three messages: "Kids not stoped craying [sic]", "I am fineshed [sic]", and "I hope if I just die". The receiver says in response "I don't know what to say. But you've got to keep going a little bit longer".]

[Eleventh page is without image, saying "Did I have the right to say that?" Twelfth page shows two flags, one the year twenty twenty-four merging into twenty twenty-five, and the other a crudely drawn American flag. The text says "As of now, I don't know what her life is like for myself. As bad as it is, and as bad as it may get, I don't have her frame of reference."]

[Thirteenth page shows a notebook with a grid in it, made up squiggle words, and at the very end it says "Fuck everything". The text says "I haven't written in my diary since the election. So I'll write it down here. But even as I am a victim of what's to come, I'm still complicit in the now." The next page is blank, saying "What could I do but apologize?"]

[The back of the zine, showing a simple drawing of a boarded up door on a brick rowhouse with one boarded up window and one shattered window. On the door board it is written "If I must die, you must live to tell my story". Besides this is an arrow saying "Refaat Alareer, killed in Gaza twenty twenty-three", and another arrow that says "Actual graff in Baltimore". At the top it is written "Donate to help Hayam's family." And at the bottom is a typed-out link to a GoFundMe. End I.D]

Fundraiser verified by @nabulsi here, Hayam's story detailed here and here

@leieryx is doing art comissions in exchange for donations to the GFM here

I'll let you all know whenever I hear back from someone. In the mean time, please continue to help Hayam and her family.

(zine formatted and printed using the Electric Zine Maker program)

[yjcorefourenjoyer]

Photo evidence part 6

Tim’s life is officially over!

So apparently, the new Robin is not, in fact, fine! He’s dead! Gone! Went BOOM, if you will! And now, without Tim being able to grieve AT ALL for the Robin he had bonded with and probably spent more time with than his actual parents,

Tim had to pick up the pieces of the mess Jason left behind. (He’ll have a breakdown later)

Batman has been going off the rails, beating criminals to near death (they would’ve been dead if he hadn’t called the ambulance), hurting civilians, breaking more laws than ever, pushing everyone away, and letting injuries get worse and worse and worse…

To put it simply, he was killing himself! 

It was like he wasn’t even the same person, especially after Jason’s funeral, and Tim had a front row seat to the destruction.

Some villains thought that Batman being in this state would make it harder to enact their plans and went into hiding. While the others (the more powerful or the idiotic) decided it would be easier! 

Almost all The Cameras either stopped taking photos or would only send pictures about Batman. All of them had horrible content. Just bloody alleyways, or people running away in fear. They were sent in with the hope of Photo evidence doing something about it.

That is what he does, right? Take corrupt people and either blackmail them or report them to the police…

There was no way that he could get the police to arrest Batman, that would do more harm than good. And the only meaningful thing he has against Batman is his identity. Either way, he can’t go after The Batman! Photo evidence doesn’t fight the good guys!

But... Batman isn’t really a good guy now, is he? It’s like Robin took all the good with him when he died. 

And even if he did blackmail Batman, B might just let it happen! He’s already shown that he doesn’t care what happens to himself now that Jason’s gone.

Which is really surprising, considering he has a perfectly good, alive son and friends!! Like, shouldn’t Superman or Nightwing be showing up to try and stop this?

Oh wait that’s right, Nightwing is mad at B for not telling him that Jason died and that he missed the funeral…

Like okay… Tim understands that not being alerted to your brother’s death while you’re in space can make you mad enough that you don’t want to talk with the person who was supposed to tell you that info to the point where you don’t want to be in the same city as them.

And in Superman’s case he stopped B from killing Joker, which probably started this whole “I’m gonna go punch out my anger cuz I can’t kill the guy who murdered my son,” thing.

Superman also probably thinks that he’ll get killed in Gotham for preventing Joker’s death in the first place, whether by Batman or a Metropolis-hating Gothamite who somehow sensed that Superman stopped Joker from dying, and that probably makes him not want to be in Gotham. 

However, that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be helping!!

Seriously, Tim doesn’t understand why out of every. single. person. who actually KNOWS Batman, HE has to be the only one to actually do something.

Aren’t heroes supposed to help? Why does he, a child, have to be the only one who cares? The only one to step up? The only one willing to try and help?

Doesn’t anyone realize if Batman dies on patrol, Gotham is going to go up in flames!?

Oh come on! This was supposed to be his debut! To show the world that he could protect Gotham! But not in a vigilante way… He was supposed to go after the people outside of Gotham. The bats do the actual fighting, not him!

Ok ok, that’s it. He has to plan! Maybe contact a few people before he (or Batman) does something rash… after all he’s The Photo evidence! Timothy Jackson Drake! He doesn’t put himself in danger, that isn’t how a Drake works! So If he’s gonna have to save Batman on his own he’s gonna make sure that it’s the last option before he does.

But like what could he even do?? He can’t just bring back Batman’s hope and light, he can’t just bring Robin back! (Photo evidence blackmails people not resurrect them!), The only way to do that is to have someone become Robin, But the only options for that role are Jason, Dick, or well..… Tim.

And since Jason is dead and Tim really doesn’t want to be stuck in a life that’s gonna kill him (cuz it would kill him eventually), he’s just gonna have to find a way to get Dick back into the Robin role…

Maybe visit him in Blüdhaven? Maybe he could tell him what’s going on with Batman in Gotham? How is he even gonna get there? He honestly has no idea. But if this is the only way to help Bruce, he’ll do it.

He just really hopes that Dick will agree so he doesn’t have to save Batman alone…

[breezeoow]

Seventeen as an act of love-

(VOCAL UNIT)

Jeonghan as leaving sweet notes

jeonghan is a honeyed dulcet man fully charged with sweet, random, motherly comforts in his total self. showing love and giving comfort to someone through small and precious and meaningful words is such a regular thing for him to do. you just woke up in the morning? you'll find small notes stuck on your phone, your bathroom mirror, your fridge, and beside your breakfast that he made or ordered for you before leaving. you're gonna have an in important presentation today and so nervous about that? he'll leave beautiful words for you inside your notes and purse. it's a special day today? the whole house will be filled with love words and appreciations doodled by him only for you. you guys went somewhere together? he'll always leave something written there that represents his for you. writing notes for you is his favourite things to do cause he can feel the light you get from them.

Joshua as writing love letters

jisoo, the guy filled with all the gentleness of the world can radiate warmth through his words so effortlessly. writing love letters is one of a medium of it for him. you're just passing a random lazy day? suddenly you'll receive a handwritten letter with flowers and his own made jewelleries for you. it's your birthday? you always wait for his letters and he never disappoints. you're going for an important trip somewhere? virtual letters are ready for you everyday and you'll find there physical versions after coming back. you guys are in a long distance relationship? he'll have a monthly love letter streak by giving a sweet little title to it. it doesn't matter how often you're getting his letters, it just always feels so new. everything he writes never fails to leave you overwhelmed with joy and love and tender feelings. and all he wants is to make you feel he is always by your side through those letters.

Woozi as going for walks

jihoon being a stay at home person never stopped him from thinking of going for a walk with his loved ones. going for a walk with words of soft universe and curing galaxy is what he thinks for you the most. you're exhausted today? he'll take to a midnight drive to take a walk somewhere near beach and sit there. you can't stop crying and don't want to let him see? he'll understand somehow and take you to a park for a walk, holding hands, singing songs for you, so you can calm down and hide in him instead of hiding from him. it was such a busy yet joyful day? he'll take you to rooftop to have a small walk and needed refreshments talks. because he knows even a great day can be heavy sometimes. it never matters if he is busy at home or studio or somewhere else, he knows a walk with you will always heal even in the crucial times. and that's what he wants to do; heal you, staying by side of you, give you assurance in calmness that love is near, you're near love.

DK as capturing random photos

seokmin is sweetest memory keeper boy who exists here. capturing every tiny things and going through them afterwards, makes him want to do a lot more. you're doing your work at home? he's capturing those moments of yours so carefully. you're cooking his favourite dish? every step of it will have their own click. you guys went for a walk together? the camera roll is filled with every tiny movements of yours that you never noticed. you're eyes, your checks, your hands, your hairstyles and every other things will be saved to him. he just loves loves loves doing this knowing you don't mind at all. and also he loves to gift them to you in a bunch together occasionally showering with love words.

Seungkwan as peppy surprises

seungkwan is a personified surprise himself. he never fails to show his warmth through his considerations. it's weekend today? he'll show up with so much dishes from your favourite restaurant to eat together. you're working late today? all the house chores will be done by him including his own cooked meals for you. you guys are going on a vacation somewhere? each day will be filled with tiny tiny surprises that he picked for you without letting you know. it's a special day for you? boom! a song will get released which just talks about you. he never tries too hard to show or admits these activities as surprises, but you know how much he loves to do this small to bigger gestures just to see that lightened smile of yours.

[hgfictionwriter]

Snapshots

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Reader and Jessie's relationship blooms over their love of photography.

Warning: None. Short and fluffy!

A/N: I'm combining two requests here - both were related to Jessie/Reader and photography. Trying out the blurb approach.

How you meet:

You met Jessie as the new team photographer for the Thorns

You knew Jessie was into photography, so you try to distract her from how little she enjoys media days with conversation about film photography

Your conversation lingers beyond your shoot time and you're interrupted by your manager telling you you have to move on

You want to ask Jessie for her number before she leaves so you can talk more, but you lose your nerve

You're taking photos during training one day shortly after and Jessie comes up to you to talk about some pictures she took recently. You ask her to bring them in.

You didn't expect Jessie to follow through, but sure enough, she shows up one day photos in hand. You look through together and talk about ideas for a new shoot

You're red in the face when you ask her if she'd want to go take some photos around town together.

She accepts your invitation with a smile and gives you her number

She texts you and asks if you want to go for a hike and take some nature photos instead. You agree and pray it's not a difficult hike

You needn't worry, because the hike is leisurely as you take your time taking photos along the trail

She has a bit of a trouble trying to capture a couple of shots, but you walk her through how to adjust her settings to better match the environment.

You ignore how your heart races as you're both leaned in together adjusting her aperture

She stops you at one point on the walk and asks if she can take a photo of you. You tell her, "Sure, but only if I get a photo of you."

By the time the hike is over, you have a roll full of coastal woodlands and pictures of Jessie, and she has the same with you.

Relationship:

You go for another couple of hikes together, full of photos of beautiful trails, playful pictures of each other, with the odd meaningful one in between

You go for coffee together, but neither of you admit it's a date. Jessie brings her camera and takes a few pictures of the coffee - and you.

You're used to being the one behind the camera and you can't hide right now. You're shy though you try not to be. She reassures you in a gentle way.

After a few more outings and daily, ongoing texts to one another, Jessie comes back to her locker during a training break and spies Janine watching her with a poorly concealed grin. Jessie frowns but opens her locker and sees a photo inside.

The photo is of you holding a sign: "Will you be my girlfriend?"

She says "Yes", of course

On your one year anniversary, Jessie gives you a photobook with a handwritten page at the beginning

The page says while you celebrate others' moments through photos year-round, she wants to celebrate you and this wonderful relationship you're building together.

There's the selfie you took together in the freezing cold on your first official date, the gifts you curated for her for Valentine's Day, a close-up of you asleep on her lap on the couch, a photo together at the Thorns post-season party, you and her family when she brought you home that summer, the list goes on.

She makes you one every year, capturing moments that even you sometimes forgot about as life got busy and carried on

Until one year, you are flipping through your latest photobook, taking in each memory with a warm smile and reach the final page. It's a photo of her holding a sign: "Will you marry me?"

Your jaw drops and you turn to her. She smiles at you, eyes glistening as she stands and kneels before you and presents you with a ring

You say "Yes", of course