#it doesn't matter what color their skin is
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kyunniebuns · 1 day ago
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˗ˏˋ Entry : 054 - Lovesick! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Isekaing to the world of your favourite protagonist, but nothing is ever a coincidence. ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡
ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ
‼️[tw: Manipulation, Murder, Death, Yandere depictions, Implied assault but not executed, a darker Jinwoo overall. Also Kyunnie lowkey rambling ....]‼️
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╰┈➤ ❝ [ He Would Find You No Matter How Long It Takes, And Once He Has You In His Arms— You're Never Leaving] ¡! ❞
You died from an accident in the streets, well, not really an accident. Some drunk bastard was stumbling across the desolate street you normally take to go home— But poor you as that faithful meeting lead to your murder.
The paramedics tried everything they could to save you, but alas, you were dead on arrival.
That's what you suspect atleast. After losing so much blood from the multiple stab wounds of course that would be your death.
Dying was such a cold, cold feeling. It felt terrible. But what were your last thoughts?
You only thought of a single person only: Sung Jinwoo, the protagonist that you were madly in love with.
That man died three times or more if you count regression as a form of death. You thought of what he must have felt in his first death was similar to yours. How his feeble body sprawled on the altar with his leg cut off and his arm mostly torn off— It must have been terrible for Jinwoo.
Back then, you can only speculate. But now? Now you knew what he felt as he dies.
The only regret you have was not finishing the manhwa for the fifth time of the week.
But then you suddenly shot up, and when you did, you were met with a kind smile from a nurse, telling you that you passed out while doing a raid in an E-ranked gate from overexhaustion.
E-rank? Gate? What?
You were livid, feeling absolutely dizzy as you tried to ask the nurse. So you feigned temporary memory loss and asked the nurse what happened and why you're here.
As she had said, you passed out from raiding an E-ranked gate because of fatigue. You yourself, are a hunter, an E-ranked one.
The laughable rank your beloved once had.
You tried to wrap your head around it, tried to make sense of it all that you must be in purgatory, that this was all an illusion after death and the gods just had mercy on you and granted you your truest wish.
You tried to sleep it off, tried to bang your head to get you out of this illusion. But everything was real. You did normal human activities, and every pinch of a needle pricked onto your skin hurt like the way it did when you were alive.
You are alive
You didn't know whether to cry or laugh, you were in a world similar to Jinwoo's.
Jinwoo?
"Hello, are you alright?" A kind voice asks you out of nowhere, pulling you out of your daze. "Ah, I thought you passed out while awake!"
A boyish almost childlike face, pretty and cute with unkept fluffy hair that has grown too much and has a weird sort of mushroom-like appearance. Wide, innocent, puppy-like grey eyes full of wonder and life.
You knew that color of grey, that lovely shade that has placed you in a complete rampage of obsession and love.
"I'm Jinwoo, nice to meet you" He stretches his hand out to you, offering a friendly shake.
You accept his hand, trembling as you do so but he doesn't seem to notice as he shakes your hand so kindly while you shakily state your name to him.
Calloused, his hands were calloused.
He then sits down on the empty spot beside you, chatting you up.
Your heart was pounding like crazy as you two talked, you were for sure about to pass out anytime from the overflowing euphoria filling you up.
You don't know how you survived the conversation. But somehow you did.
And Jinwoo himself even offered that you two should team up as E-ranked hunters.
Ecstatic, of course you were, you were so joyous you jumped in bed and rolled around like a madman.
Jinwoo was here. Your Jinwoo.
Your Jinwoo before his ascension as a monarch, your Jinwoo that is still childish and soft.
You loved teaming up with him.
But something was weird.
Already, he had exceptional knife skills, his expertise with using a dagger was too good. Too uncharacteristic of the Jinwoo you know in his earliest days. Is his puberty coming a bit too early?...
That's just it,
,... Right?
Surely it is.
It's not weird that Jinwoo is extremely flexible and fast, that he is sharp and seemingly has such an advanced spatial awareness, that he easily cuts through the hard skins of various monsters.
...Really.
It's not weird at all.
꒰ .... ꒱
It's another hunting day where you accompany Jinwoo yet again in a raid. But this time he seemed a bit more guarded against the raid team you both had signed in for just to experience a higher ranked gate.
"Stay close to me, yeah?" Jinwoo leans down, smiling gently at you that made you forget the chilling expression he had just a second ago.
"S-sure?" You smile awkwardly, growing bashful at his distance.
Why is he a bit antsy anyway? The team you both signed up for isn't the Hwang.... Hwang dong.... Who?
The team of Hwang Dongsoo's brother? That bald headed bastard's family? Ah... You can't really recall his name.
Dead men don't matter anyway.
The only thing you really remember was how hot he was when he ultimately lost his mind momentarily and became absolutely ruthless.
To this you mourn the lack of psychotic Jinwoo in the manhwa.
Do they not see the potential?
This man has the temper and charisma to pull off a serial killer vibe.
So why not?
Why the hell not?!
"!!!"
Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted when Jinwoo suddenly placed him in between you and the approaching hunter who had a displeased look on his face after what he did.
"I'm only trying to check on the little miss" The hunter smiles wryly, but Jinwoo was unmoving.
"Really now?" He remarks, his tone sneering even. "Does that involve you luring us into this isolated part of the dungeon with your team surrounding the exits? Sure."
"Ah you're no fun buddy!~" The hunter laughs, patting his shoulder to try and get Jinwoo to relax. "It's just us here, why not have a little fun? She's a pretty one."
Oh right.
Being a hunter is dangerous.
But what had always been dangerous in the first place?
Being a woman.
Ever since society recovered from the shock of the gates arriving— There is a significant uptake in death counts, crime rates, and missing people mia after entering a gate.
And what is the gender of 70% of those missing people?
Women.
If one wanted to do a crime, the best way to do it is in a gate. Rumours spread that disgusting fiends would lure women with a promise of a hefty sum by a small hunting group.
After that? All the women seemingly disappear.
And with the lack of a body and evidence to imply malpractice in the dungeons— What can the law do?
Nothing.
Dead corpses dont talk.
And as the hand reached out over Jinwoo's shoulder towards you—
It suddenly flew off with a swish
The severed limb took it's sweet time floating on the air before plopping on the floor with a wet splotch.
"...."
Everyones gazes were locked on the motionless hand on the floor before a bloody scream rang out from the C-ranked hunter.
"Y-you!" He sobs, gripping his empty wrist as it sheds a copious amount of blood. "I was nice to you by hiring you useless E-rankers and this is how you repay me?!"
He then turns to the rest of the members who were left frozen, "What the fuck are you bastards doing standing there? GET HIS FUCKING HEAD."
"It's always bastards like you who pull this kind of bullshit off" Jinwoo sighs, as if the whole situation right now is troublesome for him as a dagger materializes into his hand.
It was gleaming a mad crimson, as if the blade itself was made of a bloody moon's fragments.
Kamish's Wrath.
Daggers gifted to him by Thomas Andre as an apology for the trouble Hwang Dongsoo and the overall situation they were on. A symbol of peace between them and a sign of friendship between them.
He isn't supposed to be having those until later.
Unless The Jinwoo in front of you isn't the E-ranked Jinwoo who is slteadily climbing the levels at a rapid fast.
Jinwoo's blade seems like it's merely flying with how fast he is moving. Everytime he moves he just tilts his body a little for them to miss him narrowly.
And while everyone else is screaming in frustration, Jinwoo just throws them a sly smile, as if he is reveling in messing with them.
It was obvious he was teasing them, making them overly frustrated where they want to hit him but can't quite reach him at the way he expertly dodges them narrowly.
And when he's already bored of them?
He slices their limbs one by one and letting them bleed to death on the floor.
By the end of it Jinwoo is standing atop a pool of blood with crimson splatters sliding enticingly down his handsome features.
Whoever said Jinwoo isn't charming even in his baby-faced era must be blind.
Because even in the lack of his significant height, even when his cheeks are a bit chubbier, even if his eyes are a bit rounder and that his build is nothing more than bone and flesh— He has this haunting beauty to him that makes him look like a mischievous fae about to drag you into the abyss he calls his home.
"Do you understand now?" Jinwoo asks, his blank and empty grey eyes looking down on you as he lefts you cheek with his calloused hand. "Why I told you to quit being a hunter before?"
"I-I..." You sputter, unable to find the words from the shock of seeing your beloved murder people live in front of you.
"I'll get a rank evaluation after a month as soon as I fix this blasted body" He said, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're scared, aren't you? If I wasn't here, what could've happen to you?"
"....."
He's right.
What would've happen if Jinwoo isn't here? What would've happen if Jinwoo lets that man's hand go over to you?
The vision of it makes you falter, tears prickling your face as it slowly sunk in— That the only thing awaited you was unspeakable horrors had he not step in.
"Sssh..." He comforts you sweetly, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. "You must have been scared, hm? I know, I know. I took care of it, didn't I? Don't be scared anymore."
You don't have to know the fact that he orchestrated all of this.
That Jinwoo himself is the reason why you died and was brought to this cursed world.
That he was well aware of what the hunters have been pulling off whenever they sign contracts with women.
He just wanted to scare you a little, really.
What better method can he do to make you reliant on him?
To make you extremely dependent on him and paranoid of him not being there?
The world of hunters is a cruel and unforgiving world.
He knows that himself.
Jinwoo isn't blind to any of the darker side of this path you both choose to thread on.
Except that right now his intention is to make you too scared of ever stepping into a gate.
That the thought of ever stepping into one makes you shiver into cold sweats and becoming sick at the mere thought of it.
And if this plan doesn't shake you enough?
Then he'll just do it again.
Shake you to the core, make you have a glimpse of hell and then swoop in the second he sees you frightened enough.
You'll be in his arms, weeping and completely afraid.
And he would drill it himself in your head:
You only need Jinwoo.
Just like right now, where you're too shaken to even process the fact the timeline is all wrong. That somehow the Jinwoo in front of you right now already has two hearts with the beat of two organs in his chest. One heart belongs to him, the other belongs to the late Ashborn who chose him as his heir.
Nothing is making sense right now, but you're stuck sobbing in his arms and seeking for solace and safety.
"We'll have to pretend to be hurt when we go out, hm?" Jinwoo lifts your face up with the palms of his warm hands, his expression hauntingly saintly despite the muddled color of grey in his lovely eyes. "Can you do that for me?"
You nod, sniffling, earning yourself a kiss on the forehead as a reward for your obedience.
"Good girl."
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꒰ 🪼 A/N: What better way to start off my 2025 with a Lovesick Sung Jinwoo fic? Hahah, my beloved<3. No matter who I put into my extensive list of sweethearts Jinwoo will always be on top of everybody else! I love him it's unhealthy. I might make a lads post after this or a wholesome sylus fic that has been brewing in my mind for a bit? I wanna branch out more when it comes to my fics wwww!!! So aside from Hsr there will be the lads boys. ꒱
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ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .。✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.
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poseiben · 7 months ago
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my two cents on the latest discourse: as someone who has taken race/resistance courses and queer theory classes y'all realize that oppression doesn't exist in a vacuum. you cannot isolate one specific variable to focus on, that's not how life and oppression works. all you are contributing to is dividing the community and isolating yourself, which, in turn, makes you More vulnerable to hate because you have no one to fall back on. what community will support you? you drove them all away.
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lightseoul · 2 months ago
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a/n. feeling soft and yearning for 30-something boyfriend!bkg, so i just had to write something down on him real quick. enjoy! (0.5k)
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thinking about quiet saturday evenings with bakugou, spent in the comfortable silence you've both worked towards in the brief time you've spent officially together.
you're in your early 30s now, and people your age are rushing to get rich or get buff or get hitched, but with bakugou it's surprisingly peaceful. you're in no rush, just seven months into this budding relationship, but that doesn't mean the people around you aren't.
"denki's getting married next year," bakugou shares out of the blue, breaking the quiet and sprawled so nonchalantly on his leather couch. you whip to look at him from where you're seated to his right, stunned.
"seriously?"
at that, he snorts. "crazy, right?"
you try to frown at his tone, but the corners of your lips refuse and fight to turn upward instead. "be nice, kats. i was referring to how fast they're going, not to the fact that he's getting married."
bakugou merely hums in neither affirmation nor disagreement. leaning forward, he places the mug of tea he's been nursing on top of the coffee table. "it's gonna be a pain in the ass either way. he asked me to be a groomsman."
you don't even try to tamp down the excitement that shoots through you. "he did? that's great, babe! that's so sweet of him."
he shrugs. "yeah, well. i told him i'll only agree if he included blue as one of the colors for the guests."
you feel your eyebrows furrow. "...blue? what's with that, specifically?"
bakugou frowns at you like you just told him the sky was green. "because that's your color?"
he says it so as a matter-of-factly that you buffer for a second, not knowing how to respond.
"…but the wedding won't be until late next year, right?" you finally ask when you get your words back, voice small.
"yeah?" he retorts without missing a beat. "what're you getting at?"
he asks the question in such a way that's bordering on challenging you, shutting you right up. the thing is, you've never thought much about the future, let alone one shared with bakugou, mainly because you didn't want to get way ahead of yourself and potentially get disappointed, yet...
here he is, talking so casually about it.
you look back up to see that he's still staring at you, goading you for an answer, and for a moment, you debate whether or not to have the conversation now.
the conversation where you talk about what the future looks like ahead of you.
but as you gaze back at bakugou's waiting, crimson eyes, and drink in the softness of his skin that perfectly juxtaposes the sharpness of his features, you decide to save it for another day.
shaking your head, you toss him the gentlest smile you can muster. "it'll be my honor to be your date to the wedding, katsuki."
at that, bakugou scoffs, but there's no missing the tinge of pink now decorating the high planes of his cheeks.
"who else would it be, dumbass?"
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˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!
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hydrobunny · 3 months ago
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never took me quite where you do
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tags: established relationship, fluff, silliness
a/n: based on king of my heart. (which was also my eras surprise song!!)
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"you haven't had a girlfriend?" you ask, surprise coloring your voice.
rin itoshi stares at you like you've suddenly got infinitely stupider. "not before you."
"that's," you start, then stop. actually, now that you're really thinking about it, it does make sense. "you know what, yeah. seems about right."
offense glares in his eyes as he leans away from you. "the hell does that mean?"
you raise your brows. "what do you think, rin?"
he fully untangles his limbs from yours at that, shoving himself off of the couch. you protest at his motion - a little halfheartedly, but the effort is there .
standing up to his full height, rin itoshi glares down at you.
you blink up at him, smiling with all the innocence you can muster. "yes?"
"do you know how much fan mail i get?" he grits out. "how many chocolates i've gotten on valentine's?"
it takes quite a lot of effort for you to not start laughing. "i do know how popular you are, yes. you should see the edits on tiktok."
"so why-" rin falters. "edits?"
"go on."
it takes him a second. "i could've had a girlfriend if i wanted to," he says at last. "i just didn't."
you nod, still biting back a smile. "mhm. i'm sure all the girls would've loved you after seeing that personality of yours." you scoot over, offering up the space on the couch again.
rin continues to stare, but you can see his will weakening. "not like anyone wanted to date your lukewarm ass either," he says with a finality.
you snort. "i thought you grew out of that word."
he rolls his eyes.
"also- factually untrue. i've had boyfriends before."
and rin's entire demeanor switches. "what?"
you wave your hand, dismissive. "not like a lot, but. an average amount to have for a high schooler, i think. none of it was ever serious. not like you," you grin.
rin doesn't return it. genuine shock bleeds through his face; he turns on his heel. "i'm going to bed."
"wha- rin?"
forty five minutes later, you breeze into your shared bedroom. your teeth are freshly brushed, your skin lotioned, and you're almost ready for a good night's sleep.
"are you actually still mad about- what the hell are you doing?"
rin freezes, one hand still on the computer mouse. from your vantage point, you can see every pixel on that screen.
"is that my high school boyfriend?"
he turns in the swivel chair, very clearly not in bed. the classic 'itoshi indifference,' as you've coined it, masks itself over his face.
you step closer. "rin. is that, or is that not, the instagram profile of my ex."
he nods, slowly.
"can i ask why you're looking at his profile?"
he begins to shake his head, and then changes his mind (a good choice). but rin itoshi has never been too good at keeping himself calm-
"he's unemployed."
there's a beat of silence.
"sorry?"
"jobless. a leech on society. useless as a human being," rin continues. "a complete ass of himself, basically."
you stare at him. he stares at you. and then-
you burst out laughing. "are you serious?"
rin seems surprised by your reaction. it makes you laugh even harder.
"oh my god- you've been stalking his socials? for the last, like, hour?' you broke your stupid athlete sleep schedule for this?" there are genuine tears welling in the corner of your eyes. "for a guy i dated years ago?"
a little self-conscious now, rin stands up. "i was trying to sleep for the first twenty minutes. after that.." he trails off.
and you slam into him with a hug, still laughing. "i love you so much."
he stiffens at the initial contact, but gives into your touch the moment after. "i love you too?"
you hum into his ear. "they don't matter anymore. you know that, right? they never did- not seriously enough. you're the only one."
rin doesn't reply.
"and i know you could have any girl you wanted. but that doesn't matter to me. because you want me. and i will never get enough of you, rin itoshi."
his voice is a low murmur. "me neither. no one's ever compared to you."
and he presses a kiss onto your lips, and it's better than anything you've ever had.
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astraystayyh · 1 year ago
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tags ended so im continuing here
"allow the pain to fade in the background" i loved this sentence because this is exactly how it feels for me when i swim, everything just faded and all i feel is the water, and HYUNJIN IS THIS WATER FOR HERRRR
THE POEM!!!!!! "your lungs are burning" because she's holding her breath in the water BUT SHE HAS TO LET GO AND BREATHE "the weight of the ocean isn't trying to harm you" YESSS!!!! i love your writing you're BRILLANT
THE ENTIRE PARAGRAPH ABOUT THE LEAP OF FAITH JUST HAD ME CLUTCHING MY HEART,,,,, i love how it came full circle, from her watching the waves lapping at her feet, to embracing the ocean that is hyunjin I'm so soft rn
and her wondering before if she puts her head on his chest would she hear the waves AND THEN HIS HEARTBEAT SPEAKS TO YOU IN CALL WAVES AJSJDBBDBDBFBFB just perfect
YOU OUTDID YOURSELF WITH THIS ONE I TRULY LOVED IT thank you for writing it <3333 (and the i love you paragraph broke me it really did, u put stars and oceans metaphors into this THIS WAS A PERSONAL ATTACK)
Cleaning supplies... Under the moonlight | Hwang Hyunjin
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Pairing: Hyunjin x reader (no pronouns used but they are wearing a swim suit)
Characters: best friend!Hyunjin, reader, David (reader’s boyfriend), Jihyo and Luna (reader’s friends) and Sharon (identity is a spoiler). None of the original characters resemble real people.
Genre: Romance, best friends to lovers, ANGST, hurt/comfort, being saved from a messy break-up, slow burn, star-crossed lovers
Word Count: 8k
Warnings: CHEATING (reader gets cheated on by her boyfriend), toxic relationship, messy break-up, crying, reader becomes very insecure, Hyunjin is there to save the day, and he’s pining hard, reader is wearing a swim suit, I have no idea how heated pools work so don’t quote me on anything, Hyunjin is a poet so; I present to you confessing feelings through love poems, Hyunjin is shirtless, swearwords, reader gets called ‘angel’, kissing, cuddles, a bit of revenge, humor, the tense change is intentional (kinda), hopelessly romantic stuff, poetic prose, metaphors galore and lots of word plays (if you catch them all I’ll give you a gold star.)
A/n: I know the first part of the story focused on the reader’s relationship with her toxic boyfriend, but Hyunjin will become the main focus after the break-up so please don’t let the beginning intimidate you. Also I worked on this an entire week lord send help
Synopsis: Your vacation was supposed to go like this: scented candles, a warm pool and the light of the moon, in hopes of fixing your relationship with your boyfriend. But the universe had other plans. After you found out he has been cheating, you bathed under the moonlight, surrounded by broken roses, being confessed in poems by your best friend Hyunjin, and you’ve never felt so whole.
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You've put everything into this vacation.
And that didn't only mean money, albeit it was quite costly. You, your boyfriend and some close friends decided to rent out a vacation house with a gigantic heated pool, to at least create a fun, leisure memory before summertime slipped between your fingers and the sun would grow sad and dim once again. With the price shared by so many people, it was still quite a lot - but you didn't care, because there was more emotion put behind this vacation than mere money.
Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest of solutions, just how when a couple decided to get married to fix their relationship (which to you always seemed like such a horrid idea), you were trying something similar. You wanted this vacation with your boyfriend, David. Things between you haven't been good, that would be the simplest way to put it. His behavior changed, he became more distant, less passionate about your relationship, and one thing led to another and you were fighting because of your growing suspicions. Truth be told, you were terrified. Afraid he didn't love you anymore, afraid he found someone else to spend his nights with.
He had been everything to you, the fiber woven from your cells, the beginning and end of every breath you took - because when you loved, you didn't hold back. And it came to you so naturally, too; to love him. You've never had something so simple, so stable until you met him. But they do say every good thing must come to an end, and there's this little cricket in the back of your mind, at low volume but at an unbearable high pitch, following you every moment, whether awake or asleep. It's telling you your gut is right. Vivi (so you've nicknamed him, many months ago, when his friends were making fun of how basic the name David is) has told you a million times you had nothing to worry about. That he's just busy, or stressed, or that your love is just settling into something more calm, rather than an intense teenage-like love, like it used to be in the beginning. He's made you feel insane so many times over. Like you're just imagining things, like your insecurities are getting out of hand and you're just projecting on him, lashing out at him. You thought you deserved the pain that came with the accusations of being untrusting, immature, unconfident, inconsiderate or selfish. But you didn't, of course you didn't. You didn't deserve any of that.
You were afraid Vivi wouldn't agree to the vacation, or even if he did, he wouldn't pull through on the money part and you'd have to pay his share. You were ready to annihilate your savings account just for this one chance at a happy memory. This one chance at making things right. But surprisingly, he agreed in a heartbeat and even suggested a specific vacation house he's heard of from his friends. Not even two days later, he had all the details down, made the math of the expenses and put together the whole group chat. You thought this was it, he was actually trying again. Showing you he still does have the passion to make you happy.
You couldn't have picked out a better date for the vacation, either. The first night, it would be a full moon, with a clear sky. You were imagining it already, how magical it was going to be, soaking in a heated pool under the moonlight with David, reciting your love vows once more, like you used to do in the start of your relationship. You couldn't help how hopelessly romantic you were, you needed to let it out, confess disgustingly sappy and cheesy words of admiration. But more than that, you needed him to tell you he loves you. You needed it.
When you arrived, you were met with a stranger who had been waiting for you and your friends at the vacation house. She introduced herself as Sharon, the daughter of the owner. Since her father was busy, she was left in charge of giving you the orientation.
"I'm not going to bother you much." She assured you, her voice was low in volume and yet high in pitch. "I'm just going to give you a quick tour of the rooms and then explain to you how the pool works, and what cleaning supplies you can use just in case you need them." She was a beautiful girl, so beautiful in fact, that the cricket in the back of your mind was telling you to be envious. You couldn't quite understand it, but you brushed it off.
There were three rooms in the house, each of them with their own bathroom. It was so much more luxurious than you imagined, and suddenly it seemed odd that you paid so little for something so grand. You remembered Vivi saying something about a discount, but the memory was vague. Nevertheless, the room count was perfect. One room would belong to you and Vivi, one to Jihyo and Luna, and one to Hyunjin.
You met Jihyo through Vivi, they were coworkers at some point. But the two of you instantly clicked and became girl friends, and the more, the merrier - Luna was her adopted sister, picked up from an orphanage in Spain. She was one of the most incredible and strongest women you've ever met, and you simply adored her. It was so magical to see how the two sisters came in a package, how they looked after each other with unconditional love. You thought something like that only existed in TV shows.
And lastly, there was Hyunjin. A man, a poet, a romantic with beauty deemed worthy of a Greek tragedy. But most importantly, your best friend; your lifeline. He understood you, in ways no one ever could. Your souls were made from the same material, the same thirst of emotions of celestial scales, he saw beauty in the small things just like you did. And he has been there, day in, day out, through your ugliest moments. When you were single at prom, he turned down at least 15 girls to take you instead. When you were too broke to afford Taylor Swift tickets, he pretended to 'roam the city' with you so that you'd listen to the concert from outside the stadium. When a boy broke your heart, he'd turn your pain into the most beautiful poems, and gift them to you in journals filled with drawings of your favorite flowers. He was more than anyone could ever ask for, and you were forever grateful to have such a human in your life. The perfect best friend.
With the tour out of the way, you volunteered to go with Sharon and receive the tutorial about the pool and supplies you must use for it. She explained to you the heating mechanism (although all you needed to do was turn it on, she reassured you.) and that water might need to be replenished if you use the pool a long time since the heat makes it evaporate faster. You jutted down all you could in your notes app, and then followed her to the supply closet. She explained to you about chlorine (although half of what she said went over your head) and showed you the cleaning supplies you can use in the instance that the water becomes extremely dirty (which she knew wouldn't be the case, but she was required to let you know). By the end of it, you were starting to think your senses maybe are going insane. Sharon seemed like a very nice and gentle person, and her attitude was very bright and easygoing. You told her you were gonna take some pictures of the bottles and note down in your phone what they are, so she gave you a warm smile and left you alone in the supply closet.
After writing your own one-thousand-words heated pool manual (pictures included), you were ready to have the vacation of a lifetime. You picked out a swimsuit in Vivi's favorite color, prepared his favorite scented candles to place around the pool, and alerted your friends beforehand that you wanted the pool just for you and Vivi on the first night. It was all coming together perfectly, so you grabbed the door handle with confidence.
"I'm sure my friends wouldn't mind if I leave a little bit later. We could grab some food and then hit up that bar you like? Don't I owe you a mojito?" That was Vivi's voice. Even with the door cracked just a little, you could hear it. It was so clear. It was his voice.
"I would love to." The cricket. Low in volume, high in pitch. It was speaking - it was agreeing to go out with your boyfriend.
"And maybe, afterwards I could take you home? Would you like that?" Your eyes are closed shut. But you couldn't close your ears, unfortunately. The conversation continued, and you could imagine him whispering in her ear, looking into her eyes and tipping her chin just how he used to do with you. Tears were about to escape, so you closed them even tighter. Your lungs were burning, because you were denying them air. Holding your breath, you bit your lip, hands shaking as they gripped the wall.
"Speaking of taking something home, I have something for you-"
You finally took a breath. And you stormed towards the voices.
Your vision was blurry, but after blinking away your tears, an image formed before your eyes: David, holding out a gigantic rose bouquet towards Sharon.
The ugliest flowers you've ever seen in your life, held by the ugliest man you've ever met. He was never beautiful to begin with, right? He couldn't have. A man with such an ugly soul, how could you have been attracted to him? How could you have loved him?
He calls out your name.
"This isn't what it looks like, okay? My dad is friends with Sharon's dad, okay? We became friends by association, okay?"
Okay?  Is he asking you that, or is he asking himself if the lie is plausible?
"And these are for you, yeah?" He's walking towards you, putting the bouquet in your limp hand. "There's nothing going on between me and Sharon." The cricket, it suddenly stopped. Instead, you heard Sharon gasp and look at David in horror. She must have not known. She was also just a victim.
"Just stop it already! Enough with the lies!" You found yourself yelling, a never seen before anger bubbling underneath your skin. Your fingertips urged you towards violence, and so you slammed the roses into the floor. The petals scattered and the stems broke. Your yell must have startled the others, because soon you heard a lot of footsteps behind you - and then Sharon turned around and walked away, a hurt look in her eyes, head hanging low in shame. She was avoiding the eyes of all your friends, who were now staring at you and David.
"Okay, fine. You've gotten boring and I was no longer happy. I was going to leave you anyway." He was so nonchalant, there was no waver in his voice. That made you feel as if every time he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, and his voice wavered, he wasn't honest. Only now, has he finally been honest.
And the most honest, he was when he took off in a run to chase after Sharon. To make sure she's okay. To comfort her and tell her she's the one he loves.
You fell to the floor.
And to your side, rushed no other than Hyunjin. Like always, to make sure you're okay. To comfort you and tell you you are loved.
The sobs broke out of your body and shook you violently. You were a mess of tears in just a few seconds, and you weren't going to hold back. You wailed, grabbed the roses and slammed them into the floor repeatedly.
But it was useless. They couldn't feel pain. They couldn't feel your pain. They couldn't realize what they have done to you.
Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your frame and gently lifted you to your feet.
"C'mon, let's get you in bed, yeah?" Your knees were buckling and you had no strength to stand. You were shaking your head no, like a toddler who didn't want to go back home. "We can continue crying in bed, mmm? Don't worry, I'll let you cry. I'll cry with you, angel." Your arms circled his torso, clutching his shirt between your fingers. You called out his name, and he reassured you he knows, he knows it hurts.
He carefully took your hand and dragged you away. He exchanged glances and nodded at your friends, but you didn't notice. You whispered to him, groggy in voice, that you can't go to your own room, because David's things are there. So Hyunjin took you to his room, which was the best choice for many reasons, not only so you can avoid seeing his things, but also so that he could avoid the urge of throwing David's suitcase out the window.
Hyunjin was true to his words. He sat you down in bed, and let you cry. And before he knew it, he was crying with you. He was holding you so tight, and it was so warm, and yet the shards of ice in your heart weren't melting. At first, you were angry - how could a human do something like this? Something so despicable, so vile? How could you not have realized you were in love with a monster? But then, his voice began to ring in your head. You're boring. He was going to leave you anyways. Perhaps it's you who's the problem. Perhaps you really are boring, and old-fashioned, and demanding, and idealistic, and untrusting, and immature, and too much to handle, and perhaps you should just give up because you're just un-
"Hyune, am I unlovable?" Your voice was barely there, but he heard you. He always heard you.
"Nonsense." He looked so hurt to hear you say that. "That's such nonsense." He repeated with a laugh, wiping his tears on his sleeve. "That's the most stupid thing you've ever said in your life. And you've said many stupid things, I would know." You slapped his arm in protest, but he was happy to see you chuckle.
"I mean, even if I'm not completely unlovable, Sharon is still prettier than me..." The flick of Hyunjin's fingers resonated on your forehead. You held your head in pain.
"What the hell, dude!"
"It's revenge! Every single time you say something like that, it hurts me. So I must hurt you back." You sighed. You knew he was joking, but at the same time, there was some truth behind it.
"I'm sorry, Hyune. I should have listened to you. You didn't like him since the very beginning, and you were the only one telling me my gut was right. It must have been so painful to just watch."
"It's painful to watch you now, as well." He confessed, and you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. But he pulled you back in his arms, to pet you hair lovingly. "That bastard, how dare he hurt my angel. I swear I'm gonna turn into Rapunzel's mom and lock you up in a tower so no one can ever hurt you again."
"Hmm, but doesn't pain help us grow or whatever?"
You were pretty sure Hyunjin just rolled his eyes all the way back to China.
"First of all, we all know pain just gives you more trauma. But I mean, your trauma collection is getting quite... exquisite nowadays." You smacked him again, playfully. But this time, you actually laughed. "No but seriously... there is a lesson in there somewhere. And not just to listen to me more often... to learn that you deserve more, angel." He was so close to you while he was speaking, his eyes aimed directly into yours. Your gaze wondered over him, over Hyunjin, your best friend. His chocolate eyes, sweeter than any cake you could ever eat, his vibrant lips, plumper than any wild cherry growing in the trees, his skin - like a canvas painted over the years with the brush of years and aging. His hair was long and dark, rebellious yet elegant, and the light was cascading in the room in lines, through the blinds that were semi-shut over the windows. Suddenly, there was a new sound in your mind. There was no more cricket, there was the sound of the ocean. Waves, crashing upon the shore. You were barely at the seams, the water was gently lapping at your feet; because you knew, you cannot underestimate the ocean. If you go any further, one wave is enough to push you off balance and take you into the water, like an irresistible magnet pulling you towards demise. One step, one wave, is enough. One more inch between your lips and his.
He pushed your shoulder lightly and you fell face first into the pillows.
"And if you say more mean things about yourself, I swear I'm throwing you in the pool." You reached out for the napkins on the nightstand. It was finally time to stop crying and... think about the future?
"The pool... tonight was supposed to be all romantic and perfect, with candles and the full moon on clear skies..."
"I like full moons and clear skies!" Hyunjin announced, and for some reason it made you burst into laugher. "What! It's true! The idiot would have probably not enjoyed it anyways. He has no eye for beauty. He thinks having one green wall in his grey apartment is enough for him to live 'in vibrant color'. Okay Picasso, but like why the fuck must that wall be in the kitchen?!" You look happy when you laugh. He loves seeing you happy. "You dodged a bullet, trust me. First it's the green kitchen wall, next he ignores the perfect date that his perfect girl set up for him-" His perfect girl. You heart was racing. "-and next he-"
"Tries to double tap her with the daughter of a vacation house owner. He couldn't even find the daughter of a rich CEO."
"- I was gonna say next he's the only single grandpa in a retirement home, because he's too sad of an excuse of a man, but that too." Hyunjin always did this for you, as well. He made sure to roast all of your exes until all you could think of them is burnt chicken. Until the memory of them becomes something funny, that could never hurt you again. "Plus, I'm not letting your efforts go to waste - I'm not letting you miss this chance. Let's watch the moon, together."
You nodded. What else could you do?
You decided it would be best to try to take a nap until night hit. So much crying has left you dizzy and with a headache crawling at fast speeds through your forehead and sinuses.
"Do you have any painkillers? Should I try to find a pharmacy around here?" Hyunjin offered, but you reassured him you have some in your suitcase. "Okay, wait here, I'll go get it for you- but uh, which one is yours?"
"The one that has color on it, duh." He disappeared with a giggle, around the corner.
"I will never underestimate you ever again, ma'am." He joked, placing your colorful suitcase next to the bed. He made sure none of your items were left over in the room you used to shared with David, and insisted you stay put while he brings you a glass of water.
Pills in your system, blinds closed, blanket over your shoulders, Hyunjin curled on the other side of the bed, as small as he could make himself be, so that he doesn't make you feel suffocated. But he was holding two of your fingers in his hand, from across the bed. The skin of two fingers was enough pathway for you to feel a million bodies worth of love, though.
When you woke up, he wasn't there. Nor David who was haunting you in your dreams, nor Hyunjin who was whispering poems to you to chase the nightmares away. You thought you'd be alright after crying it out, but it wasn't that easy. You woke up feeling miserable, with a heavy weight on your chest, and yet feeling so empty and hollow.
You checked your phone, and he hasn't called. You didn't know if you should feel sad or relieved about it. At least he won't chase after you again, right? It won't be another hurtful on and off. It's over. He doesn't love you anymore.
"Oh hey, you're awake- Nah ah, no more crying! You've had your fill of tears, now it's time for a fill of pizza! Get your ass to the living room, missy!" You didn't have the time to cry when Hyunjin was chasing you out of the room with a pillow.
It was a little bit awkward at first, because Jihyo and Luna didn't know if they should bring it up or just try to distract you. Eventually you bit the bullet and began to tell them about your relationship yourself. All the behavior changes, the suspicions, the hurtful words (that you now realize were manipulation) and all the lies.
"Not even his guy friends knew." Jihyo told you. She apparently told the whole group chat she was in with David's friends about what he has been doing. "He didn't just lose his girlfriend, I think he lost most of his friends by doing this."
"Thank you, Ji. For having my back." Perhaps your relationships were monster trucks, but your friends were really golden. They really looked after you.
"So!" Hyunjin announced. "Change of plans. She's having a romantic moonlit date with me, instead. So the pool is still off limits." After Luna threw what looked like a piece of olive at Hyunjin's shirt, and he screamed in your ear, eventually the sisters said they were planning on working on their DnD character sheets anyway. They were your favorite nerds.
According to your phone, the moon would begin to rise at around nine in the evening. It was just enough time for the food in your bellies to settle, while you caught up with the new videos of your favorite comedy channel. Laughter filled the room, and Jihyo and Luna made sure to cuddle the heck out of you, to distract you from that emptiness that was threatening to form into a pit in your stomach.
"So, what scented candles do you have? Something sexy and seductive?" Hyunjin asked you, wriggling his eyebrows. It made the other girls giggle.
"Apple." You answered, and the whole room deadpanned.
"In what world is apple sexy?!"
"It's his favorite!" You tried to defend yourself, but Hyunjin just scoffed.
"Jesus fucking Christ, you really needed a new boyfriend." This roast didn't make you grin. It didn't make you laugh. Instead, you looked down at the floor, a sigh shaking your body. As the seconds passed, you began to feel more and more stupid for ending up in this situation. For being so dumb as to let yourself be led on by some pretty words, and pretty eyes, that you could ever be truly loved- "Sorry." Hyunjin apologized in a panic. It just slipped, he had so much resentment bottled up for that man. "It's a good thing I brought some of mine with me. They're not exactly sexy, but they should be more fitting."
"Oh, what scent is it?"
"Ocean." Ocean, the waves that are lapping at your feet. They're calling you over.
Hyunjin was calling you over, to see if you like the smell of the candles. You had gone through too many emotions today: the anger, the sadness, the insecurities, and now this anxiety. Or was it thrill? If you put your ear on Hyunjin's chest, would you be able to hear the waves?
"I'm going to go set these up." He announced, and you nodded.
"I'll get changed." With a skip to his step, Hyunjin walked out and closed the door to give you privacy. You're not even in the water yet, and you already feel like you're drowning.
You fished out your swim suit from your luggage and laid it out on the bed before you. You actually bought this - spent so much money on it - got it in his favorite color - for a man who was cheating on you. You were really regretting not having brought an alternative with you. You couldn't just walk out in underwear and a shirt, right? Better not. You grit your teeth and put it on, but made a mental note to 'accidentally' start a dumpster fire, and 'accidentally' drop the swim suit in it after tonight.
When you were done changing, you found Hyunjin out by the pool. Somehow, he managed to turn it on by himself since you could already see steam coming off of it. He arranged two candles around one corner of the pool (since he only had two) and was probably waiting for you to arrive.
"Oh, angel. That color does not suit you." Hyunjin had always been quite picky when it came to fashion. He had his 'disgusted fashion designer' face on.
"I know, it's-"
"Let me guess, his favorite color? I've seem vomit more vibrant than that." You snorted at the comment. The color was, in fact, quite horrible. "If I wouldn't know how much money you probably spent on that, I'd tell you to set it on fire." You laughed. Great minds think alike.
"I was thinking the same thing." After exchanging grins, Hyunjin seemed to fall into thought. He had that look in his eyes that told you there was a complicated process going on in his mind.
"I'll buy you a new one." Surprised, you cocked an eyebrow at him as you approached the side of the pool he was at. You scooted next to the scented candle he lit, and sat down on the edge. "Careful you don't burn you butt." He joked, and you rolled your eyes at him. The candle wasn't even close to touching you. The water was very warm and calming, you noticed, when you dipped your feet in. It made you want to move even closer to the edge so that your tired ankles would be soothed.
"You don't need to buy me a new one. What would I use it for? I don't think I'll be at any pool again any time soon." A rosy petal tickled your toes and you realized the bouquet had somehow ended up in the water. There were petals and tiny white flowers scattered all around the corner of the pool. It would have been a beautiful sight, if it wasn't so tragic.
"Well, maybe I have been secretly planning a weekend trip to Jeju island for you and I." That surely caught you off guard. You barely had any money left after this vacation, you wouldn't be able to afford a trip to Jeju. He wasn't planning on paying for it all by himself, right?
"I mean, that sounds lovely, Hyune." You replied, even if you had some financial disagreements to talk about later. "But it's september! I don't think I'll be walking around in a swimsuit at the beach in this weather. It's getting chilly." The air was quite cold, you've noticed it ever since the morning. The sun didn't have the same strength as a few days ago - but thankfully the heat coming off of the pool was making it bearable to be out just in a swim suit.
"First of all, summer is a feeling, not a season. And second, I'll just get you one for next summer." Next summer - you almost forgot. To Hyunjin, highschool with you was barely yesterday, and next summer should be in two days. A year was nothing to him when he promised you forever.
"Okay." You replied quietly, swooshing the water around with your feet. You were scared to look him in the eyes, because suddenly you felt so vulnerable. You could trust his idea of forever, right?
"Okay!" He replied with a much brighter note. "With that settled, I'll go get changed for our pool adventure." He walked away, leaving you alone with your thoughts, and the subtle smell of the ocean. It was still calling you, but now you could hear it clearer. You could smell it clearer. One more step, one more inch of your skin under the water, and perhaps you could feel it clearer, too.
The wait would have been agonizing if you hadn't made a friend in the moon as soon as you found it in the sky. She - the moon has always been a she to you - was looking absolutely astonishing . For a second, a very silly second, you thought the moon had done a better job at dressing up for a romantic date than you did. You searched around for the evening star as well, the brightest, most beautiful star in the sky. You hoped if the moon was going on a date tonight, it would be with the evening star. For he was a strong man to always keep his light so bright, to always manage to guide the sailors lost in the night-
Hyunjin came back with a few tiny packages in his hand. He was shirtless; and from waist down he wore swim trunks, an ombre from blue, to light blue, to white. With the way the sky was reflected in the pool, you would think he was trying to blend in with the water.
"Choco?" He nudged you, offering you a golden foil. You took one from him happily, and watched him as he took off an elastic band from his wrist to put his hair up in a messy ponytail. The chocolate he offered you was very delicious, and you guessed also probably very fancy. Hyunjin never held back when it came to pleasing the senses. But you wondered, how come he's offering you something sweet? Wasn't the ocean supposed to be salty?
He also ate a chocolate quietly next to you. The silence was getting heavy, which was very odd. Silence was always comforting next to him, but now, the less he spoke the more you felt confused and lost at sea.
"The bouquet ended up in the water." You told him, trying to make any sort of small talk. He hummed, put away the foil of the sweet treat he consumed, and eased himself fully into the pool. As soon as he was in, he let out a soulful sigh. He adored warm water, and you could tell from his body language, from the way his shoulders slumped and his neck craned to stare at the night sky, jaw wide open in admiration - that Hyunjin was in a happy place. Was it just you who was nervous, then?
To your surprise, Hyunjin pushed through the water all the way to the corner where the bouquet was floating about. He picked it up, and began to crush the flowers in his hand so that the petals would fall. He left the stems empty, and then threw them out of the pool. With powerful motions, he made the water roll in waves, so that the petals would scatter throughout the entire pool.
"Now it's just part of the decorum." He said with a giggle. He approached you, and his hand was warm and welcoming when it gently touched your knee. "Forget who they're from." As he beckoned you to join him in the water, you wanted to let those words hypnotize you. Allow the pain to fade to the background.
You join him in the water, and it embraces you like you were meant to be held in someone's arms your entire life. Even though you are surrounded by those petals - those empty promises, those broken parts of your heart - something inside of you is healing. You are no longer putting meaning or significance onto them. They no longer hold you captive. For that tiny moment, everything is as it should be: there is no other place you should have been. No other person you should have been. And no other person - besides your best friend with a dizzying smile - should have accompanied you that night. It was the universe's plan, and no one could be blamed for that.
The universe is vast. As you look up, through the thousands of celestial bodies before you, you can't pin point any to curse in grief and woe. Furthermore, you can't even name this strange feeling of acceptance. It had just appeared in your heart. 
"The sky is so beautiful." You mumble, and Hyunjin almost surprises you when he hums. He looks just as awestruck as you do, and you know for a fact he was the one meant to join you. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, the deep breaths he takes as he says absolutely nothing. He is in a trance, and you are entranced by him.
"The moon and stars are shining for you, my love" You hear him say, but it was quiet, like he wasn't sure of his own words.
"For all that is up there, up above,
In the gentle skies of angels and sinners:
The moon rays and the cheeky glimmers," He takes a pause, as if to rest for a heartbeat and let himself smile.
"They're all but lights to make your eyes shine -
And help you see yourself in mine."
"That's beautiful, Hyune." You complimented. You wondered just how many poems he had stored in his mind and heart. Would you need a library pass to find out? "Who's it from?"
"Oh, he's not a published author." He replied cheekily. "Although he wishes he could be." From the shy yet smug look on his face, it was easy to piece it together.
"Did you write it?"
"Mhm."
"Like, on the spot? Just now?"
"Mhm."
You're absolutely insane!" You tell him with a gentle slap to the arm. He giggles and your heart melts. "I swear there's no human being more talented than you." He looks down at the water and something peculiar sparkles in his eyes. Something naughty, like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to and yet he's unaware, he's proud of the mistake he's done.
"Well, it wouldn't be possible without you." You stare at him in confusion. Is he trying to thank you for supporting him and his passion for poetry? For the validation and reassurance you offer him when he works? It goes without question that you would be supporting your best friend- "Do you want me to recite the poem to you again?" You're confused and caught off guard. Frankly you have no idea what is going on, so you just shrug your shoulders awkwardly.
"Sure, I guess."
While Hyunjin has been standing to your side this entire time, leaning back on the edge of the pool, the scented candle between you two, now he moved to stand before you. He was blocking the moon, invading your senses, a dim light hugging his silhouette.
"The moon and stars are shining for you, my love" He's looking in your eyes, and his hands move to grip the edge of the pool on either side of you head. Your lungs are burning.
"For all that is up there, up above" He looks towards the sky for a split second, and then he looks back at you, his eyes clouding with mist.
"In the gentle skies of angels and sinners:" He searches for you hand in the water, and with the most gentle pull, he brings it to his lips to kiss your fingers. A rose petal slips off of you arm and back into the water.
"The moon rays and the cheeky glimmers," He's smiling. He's in his happy place, and yet, you don't know how to accept that the weight of the ocean isn't trying to harm you.
"They're all but lights to make your eyes shine -"  Was he seeing the moon in your eyes?
"And help you see yourself in mine." You were in his eyes. You were. It just took you so many years to see it.
"The moon and stars are shining for me?" You ask; you had to make sure. Your hands were shaking, and a chill ran down your spine.
"My love." He completed the lyric, and you were trying so so hard, to find oxygen in your lungs.
This was exactly were you were afraid of - that one step closer, the ocean waves would take you away, and you'd fall into the dark depths - and ultimately drown. "I'm in love with you." You hear him say. "I know you've been through so many emotions already, and this is just not the right time, because I don't wanna seem like I'm taking advantage of the situation and trying to be some sort of savior to you, but I really am in love with you and I can't stand watching you suffer-"
One of your favorite quotes you've ever read, by a person named Irtiqa Nabi, was 'The sea speaks more honestly to those willing to drown'.
You just had to be willing.
You just had to understand.
You don't need the oxygen.
You take one more, final breath and reach out to kiss Hyunjin before he rambled away all night. His hands fly to embrace you, to cradle your face, to shield you with his body. 
It was the most terrifying leap of faith you've ever made, but you finally realized the ocean wasn't evil. It wasn't trying to take your life away or rob you of your heart. No, the ocean was this being full of life, full of warmth; he wanted you to dive beyond the surface. He wanted you to uncover his mysteries. And he loved you so much. 
"Wait." Hyunjin pulls away, dazed and with unfocused eyes. He bites his lip. "Are you sure about this? Once you allow me to love you, I won't stop. I don't let go." You look up at him and smile. No matter how many times you tell him, it'll never be enough: he's so beautiful. But tonight, something is different. He's exactly how the universe wanted him to be. Exactly where the universe wanted him to be. So naturally, only poetry could describe the beauty of a man who had found his destiny.
"Make me you last love, Hyunjin." You plead, and his eyes fill with both admiration and tears.
"Oh, I will." He cradles you so gently, and yet so tightly. His long fingers are enveloping your face, his body is swallowing yours like the tide, and he kisses you, again and again. And with each one, you gain life, you gather courage, a new constellation is born inside of you. Astrologers could only dream of uncovering all those new-born stars.
He drags you into the middle of the pool, and guides your legs around his waist. He holds you with ease, and from this angle, when you look down at him all you see is joy. But he hides in your neck, and finds another happy place in there.
You rest your head on his shoulder and look up the sky. The moon rose to a higher position, and she looks so calm, so all-knowing as she beams on you. She knew what was going to happen already, and now she was grinning at you slyly.
"Can you see the moon from there?" Hyunjin asks you, and you hum.
"Mhm. But you can't, can you?" It's not like he's trying, his eyes are closed as he cradles you.
"No, just tell her I said hi." You laugh. You wonder just for how long, has the moon known Hyunjin's secret? "I've got my own night sky right here." He says, as he hugs you even tighter, squeezing you to his chest like you're his childhood teddy bear.
"Cheesy." You mutter, but you place a kiss just underneath his ear. That ear begins to burn, and then his whole face is red (that's why he's hiding it away) and Hyunjin thinks he'll never grow used to it. In fact, he promises himself he won't. He promises to always allow himself to be surprised by just how much you mean to him. Over and over again.
Minutes turn to hours, just like days always turned to years around Hyunjin. Eventually you climb out of the pool to not turn into raisins - but you still continue to be tangled with each other, making up for all the kisses you've missed for all those years you've kept each other at arm's length. It feels like a pipe dream to call him yours, to kiss his lips that felt like clouds, look into his eyes that filled with lightning, listen to the words filled with thunder. And yet, his heartbeat still spoke to you in calm waves-
You and Hyunjin jump from your seats at the sound of something loudly popping. You frantically look around for the sound, and you see Jihyo and Luna, holding a confetti tube towards you. The sparkly paper falls to the floor, while some are carried by the wind towards you.
"Congratulations!" The two cheer, and you can't help but snort. Where did they even get confetti from?
"Now that the cat's outta the bag, the asshole is out of the picture and you're finally dating the right guy-" Luna almost sounds like she's rapping while she rambles, and everyone carries amusement on their faces. "And this guy can stop whining in my ear about how much he wants you-" You turn towards Hyunjin in shock, and he tries to make himself small and hide. He fails. "We can finally have some nice, family fun!"
"I thought we agreed you'd let us have the pool tonight!" Hyunjin argues, but Luna tuts in response.
"So I can just watch you two make out from afar? Nah, I wanna see it in person." With the look of an almost psycho, Luna grabs your leg and pulls you into the pool with her. She splashes you wildly in the face, and soon Jihyo and Hyunjin join you in a water fight even a toddler would easily win.
After a while a whole lot of fun, you approach Jihyo for a light conversation while the other two are struggling to inflate a beach ball.
"Have you known for a long time?"
"About Hyunjin's feelings? No, it was Luna who knew. I didn't know until tonight, honestly."
Hyunjin has been confiding in Luna, it seems. She was the only one who knew his secret - or well, maybe she wasn't. You look up at the moon, and then back at Luna, and something seems to make you laugh.
It is very late into the night, and yet you are all still awake. It came to the point where you had to leave the water, but Luna stops in the middle of the hallway and blocks the path.
"Hey, didn't that girl teach you stuff about cleaning the pool and all?"
You didn't even remember her name by this point.
"Yeah, why?"
"So what cleaning supplies should one use, let's say, if the pool becomes dirty with... An entire luggage worth of clothes and stuff?"
"What?" Hyunjin asks, breaking into a wild laugh, but he feels as if he already knows what Luna is about to say.
"Let's throw David's stuff into the pool." You display a look of horror, but when you look at Hyunjin, you see him comically dash into the house.
You're too dazed to even register when the suitcase showed up in front of your face. All three of your peers attacked the zippers like wild hyenas, and soon your ex's clothes are sent flying into the pool.
"Even his underwear is ugly." Hyunjin says, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it as far as he could into the pool. "I'm gonna need hand sanitizer after this."
You start to enjoy it after a while. Sure, you still tell them to not throw anything electric or expensive in there, like his earphones or watch, but you are the one to chuck his toothbrush in the pool and watch it sink to the bottom.
"Revenge is best served wet, baby." Luna pretends to dust off her hands and leaves the scene of the crime with a deadly hair flip.
Giggling like a bunch of school girls, you part ways to go quickly shower the chlorine away from your bodies. Then you reunite, clad in your comfiest pj's, and cuddle to Hyunjin's chest to listen to the sound of the ocean waves.
"Angel?" He calls out to you, and you look at him with hazy eyes. "Would it be weird or overwhelming if I told you I love you?"
"No." You shake your head and giggle. It's not that it was new information to you, but it did hold a new meaning now. A meaning - you found - you were always craving to reciprocate. Why have you been searching for Hyunjin in all of those people, when he was right there with you, petting your hair and making you feel alive?
"And would it be weird or overwhelming if I said that to you every night?"
"No, I would like that actually." You reach up to kiss him. He welcomes it and chases after your lips, and it's such a new high, that you wish it to turn into a habit.
"Okay." He whispers. "I love you."
"I love you." You reply. You don't say 'me too', you don't say 'i love you too'. Because this is not an action that he does and you copy. No, you love him all on your own. It's so crazy, that you love him independently, and he loves you independently, and yet when you're put together, you form the same constellation.
It's a good thing Hyunjin locked the door, because somewhere around five in the morning you got woken up by loud banging on your door, your handle being shaken erratically and an array of swear words. Hyunjin woke up as well, and you both tried to stifle your giggles, because that night you heard swearwords and insults you didn't even know existed.
By afternoon, when you got out of your room, he was completely gone. Turns out he collected his clothes from the pool and left with them soaking in a garbage bag. Luna had snuck out in the morning to record a video of David, trying and failing repeatedly to fish out his clothes with the stick end of a broom. You laughed so hard it brought you to tears, and when you went outside to check, you saw the only thing left, was a chlorine infused toothbrush sitting sad and depressed at the bottom of the pool.
You blocked him and threw away the memory of him into the sea. You knew the sea would be mean to him, drown him out and silence him. Because the universe wanted someone else to love you.
The moon, the stars, and all the eight seas;
They whispered to you that you had found your destiny.
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#okay starting off with fuck david#let's get that out of the way#ANYWAYS SKJDJD#“the same thirst of emotion of celestial scales” I LOVE THIS SENTENCE SM#i need THIS hyunjin in my life right now#“he was so nonchalant there was no waver in his voice... only now was he honest” THIS PART BROKE ME because imagine the distrust#that would rise from it#to think that an entire relationship was built on lies#“they couldn't realize what they have done to you” i loved how the roses#at first were a symbolism of the pain david inflicted on yn#that's why she saw them as ugly and then took out her rage on them#but then towards the end when hyunjin throws the petals into the pool she regards them as beautiful#“I'll let you cry. I'll cry with you” SHUT UPPPPP#“like a canvas painted over the years with the brush of aging”#such a pretty sentence#NOW MY FAV PART IS THE OCEAN I'm a sucker for ocean metaphors and like this fic was like a drug to me in this matter#how it starts with the waves just lapping at her feet- thinking that if she ever takes one step forward then she'll find her demise#wait hold this thought because#“the skin of two fingers was enough pathway to feel#a million bodies worth of love“#THIS IS SO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN I WILL TEAR MY HAIR OUT#anyways let's get back to the ocean#THE FACT THAT HIS CANDLE IS OCEAN SCENTED#“they're calling you over” SHE'S FEELING THE PULL#“if you put your ear on hyunjin's chest would you be able to hear the waves” I--- AKSKJDJD!€;“;€+€#still affects me just as much when i first read it#he's the ocean!!!!!!! but he's a gentle one he won't hurt you I PROMISE DIVE IN#also “ a year was nothing to him when he promised you forever” time doesn't exist when you're in love im so sad#his shorts being ocean colored 😔😔😔#“wasn't the ocean supposed to be salty?” THE SCALE IS STARTING TO TIP SHE'S SEEING CLEARER I'M HEREEE FOR IT
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kalims · 11 months ago
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scribbles
"( – ⌓ – ) ⎯⎯ he lets you draw on his skin, yeah thats pretty much it.
ft. malleus, vil
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malleus
it was... a breach of your patience.
the lesson, was awfully boring. the more you listened to the apparent 'heroic' doings of certain individuals. the more it strips away your attentiveness to the words spilling out of professor trein's mouth. no matter how many times you will your ears to make out the incoherent lecturing of the man... it remains deaf.
so you decide to sate said boredom.
how? of course you need to bother your seatmate!
your intentions remained within the circle of yourself of course. your eyes stuck to the stray marker over your paper so you silently twisted the cap off and scribbled on your paper—then it was your palm—and now, malleus' arm.
"child of...?" man. malleus finishes in his mind, his attention suddenly snapped away at the sudden tug of his arm. definitely not his own decision to even make it move in the first place. usually it would remain stiffly beside his body like usual and even if someone tried to pry it to them it would remain still. but without his attention, his body lets you.
without another word. you peel open his fingers, palm open to you and it's a notion he allows. and he stays silent when you tug his gloves off. perhaps with a curious huff, malleus drifts closer to you. to accommodate your actions that he's yet to get an explanation for.
... and suddenly there's very bright flowers drawn on his palm.
said owner of the palm might just be toe darkest person in the room so it's quite out of place.
but it's from you so he likes it.
he peeks at it, with a fond smile on his face. I should enchant it to remain there forever. he thinks to himself, the curve of his lips growing wider at his thoughts, like he'd proud of the idea. the idea of being able to carry around something made exclusively by you might as well shove him into a cannonball and send him to cloud nine.
it's adorable. you're adorable.
his world grows a little more blue the more he stares at you. and if it weren't for the searing glances the professor sends your way malleus would just let his eyes engrave you into his memory forever, so he laments over it and reluctantly peels his gaze off you. mind speaking a thousand memories, the very same reason he somehow can't hear anything trein says.
you draw a strange looking lizard beneath his ring finger, one that looks a little like him and he thinks that you're asking him for marriage.
that can be arranged... he ponders, oblivious.
vil
drawings, doodles, painting— art. a reflection of the soul.
vil is great at makeup.
every brush on your face, a step to beauty. that is his reflection. you are his soul. he wants to make you look—no, make you feel like you're beautiful cause the canvas he's standing in front of is his greatest piece of art, he'd want to put you on the tallest pedestal there is. the grandest one just so the rest knows your beauty is parallel to none, something they can see and admire but not reach.
but he also wants to keep you in his own room, because only he knows what he felt when he painted you. only he should be the one given the grace.
this... he doesn't know what to consider.
perhaps vil should be bothered, if not then a little peeved at the several colors across his skin. a myriad of doodles, some words, and some simple drawings. a poor portrait of him is drawn next to one he assumes yours, the 'fairest' word on the right side of his hand, and flowers.
he's sure though. you're definitely no artist.
the thought cracks a smile at him, and you steal a glance midst the cool tip of the pen dancing along his skin. "I'd thought you wouldn't even let me do this," you admit, chair having been moved over closer to him so you wouldn't have any leaning problems. a suggestion by vil you gratefully took up, though you doubt it was just another excuse to have you closer.
"why?"
"dunno," you shrug. "it looks unseemly compared to you."
he huffs, flashing you a light smirk. "so my face is, hmmm..." vil ponders for a moment, and your face twists to the realization that you possibly just exposed what you think. but you suppose it isn't really a problem since it was basically common sense that vil is...
"gorgeous." you finish for him.
his aura brightens. (probably will be for the rest of the week.)
your hand retracts from him, the marker gripped between your fingers. and he takes a look at your 'art.' he doesn't know if he should consider it as one since there are a heap of sloppy lines, and the color bleeds into his skin. some smudges that you accidentally brushed against that makes it seem like a messy picture of chaos.
vil strives for perfection, but it's only natural there are flaws. to love oneself, you must love all parts. and to love you, he loves whatever the ink on his skin is.
well, what the heck.
"pass it to me," he stretches his hand, and you quirk a brow. questioning but curious so he indulges you. "I'll show you how it's done."
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note. ngl idk what I wrote for vil it's currently 12 AM rn ☠ <- newer note, this has been rotting in my drafts for weeks and I couldn't decide whether to post it cause I wasn't sure about vil's but here hehehe
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lilacgaby · 4 months ago
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title: gala gone wrong?
pairing: prohero!bakugo x prohero!reader
katsuki was suddenly forced to confront his feelings for you, when you were put in the date auction for charity.
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the heroes gala was something katsuki wouldn't look forward to normally. but this year he had a plan. he was going to ask you to be his date.
...originally. he chickened out last minute and owed kirishima 1000 dollars.
he was surprised to see you come alone though, opting to sit next to him which made him fist pump internally. you were a very successful hero who also doubled as a model. for what reason you ask?
none really, you just did it cause days off of hero work were boring. walking runways, topping charts, and beating villains with style was just another day for you.
you looked especially gorgeous this evening though, working with another up and coming designer to design a dress that perfectly complimented everything from your skin color, to you hair, to even references of your quirk.
katsuki suddenly felt underdressed in his suit, but to be fair every hero who was a man was dressed in a suit. except for monoma.
the auction portion of the gala started before the awards were to be given out.
the awards were pretty pointless in katsuki's mind. the only ones that mattered to him were the final rankings of popularity, efficiency, and the overall category.
"you nervous?" you whispered, talking over the first few lower ranked hero's to be auctioned for a date.
"nah, i know i won at least in popularity." he said, trying to keep eye contact with you without stuttering.
"hmm. what if i won? huh?"
"shut up."
she put a hand over her mouth, when suddenly-
"and the last date to be auctioned, a night with the top ranked woman hero [name]!"
"huh? oh that's me!" you said, collecting your dress as you walked to the stage, leaving katsuki blinking in confusion to himself.
you were in this? i mean it shouldn't have been a surprise, you had a rabidly loyal fan base, even since U-A. but what was he supposed to do? bid?
"the bid starts at.. 15,000 dollars." you rolled your eyes and gestured for people to go higher, and they did.
"17,000!"
"20,000!"
"30,000"
numbers were being shouted from all around the room, with the highest bids barely even being able to be tracked. the bids ranged from new heroes who definetly could not afford you, to old men who you really wish couldn't afford you.
you covered your mouth as you let a laugh escape you, this was hilarious to you, you'd have to do this more often.
after a bunch of back and forth, one booming voice cut all the others off.
"500,000 dollars. cash." to your surprise it wasn't an old creep. grand, also known as shindo yo, had suddenly bid. just as they were about to call off the auction and announce shindo the winner,
katsuki's internal dialogue won and 'forced' him to bid too. "750,000 dollars." he declared.
he doesn't think he'd have done it had it been any other idiot who wanted a chance with you, but that loser had to go.
"sold! to dynamite! we've broken a record here folks, 750,000 for the charity of --"
the words faded into the background as he looked up at you, smiling and walking over to him. he felt is heart speed up, his hands drown in sweat, his hair puff out.
"if you wanted to take me out you could've just asked katsuki." you joked, taking him by the hand as you pulled him back to the table towards the back you two were settled in on.
"whatever, now we have an excuse to."
"don't tell me you like me or something katsuki? how embarrassing."
"i told you shut it."
she laughed and settled down, poking him on the cheek. "its okay if you do, i like you quite a lot dynamite."
he flushed red at that, tiny explosions being let out from his hands inadvertently because of how caught off guard he was.
she held his hand under the table, before looking straight ahead to the ceremonies going on in front of them. he smiled and leaned back.
the awards were pretty boring when compared to the view of you, so until they had gotten to the cool stuff he just eyed you.. daydreaming about the life you'll have together someday.
he focused again when the top three heroes in popularity, efficiency, and overall were to be announced by all might.
at the end of the night, not only did he leave with a number one trophy with 'popular vote!' embedded in its side and an all-might signature at the bottom,
he also left with a lipstick mark from you right on his cheek, some flowers, and a small note that read 'see you tomorrow :)'.
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nochepsicodelica · 5 months ago
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Bear boyfriend Toji who dreads getting sick more than the average person. He gets so grumpy during this little stunt in his health because he can't do much besides manage his harsh cough and runny nose, rest in bed and eat, but that's not even what he's most upset about. He's so pissed off that he can't be around you, unless he wants to get you sick too.
Oh, but you make it so hard on him. Walking into the room with a mug of tea with that smile that could nurse anyone back to health. You linger for longer than you should, even after he told you that if you're in there for too long, you'll get sick too. It's an annoying dilemma because on one end, watching you be sick is one of the most heart wrenching things he's ever seen. Like him, you pretend that you're fine, when really you feel so debilitated by the virus that invaded your immune system. You tell him you feel better, but your hearing is muffled and your voice is gravelly and doesn't seem to be recovering quickly. Toji sees right through it and his protective instincts kick in. He insists on doing everything necessary to get you back up and running. On the other end, he wants to see you and kiss you and just hold onto you through this horrible time he's having. He hasn't kissed you in almost three days. It really sucks that he's sick, but it's entirely unfair that you can't be near him. There is truly so much for him to be reasonably grumpy about.
"Hey, you're gonna get wrinkles on your handsome face," you say, smoothing down the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb. "Do you really want me out of here that bad?"
He sighs. Your cool hands are heaven on his burning skin. "You know I don't, ma," he croaks out, pulling your hand down from his face and holding it. "I want you here, but you can't stay."
"Baby, you lost your pretty color. You look like a zombie, but also, it's killing me to only be allowed to check on you once every hour. I think it's time I come sleep in here, again."
"No," he protests, while shaking his head. He wishes he had rethought the gesture once he's steady again. He feels like he shook his brain and his head hurts, now.
"Toji, i'm taking care of you. I'm sleeping in our bed, tonight. I'm more worried about you than I am about getting sick."
He wants to laugh at how you sound like a mother scolding her child, but he knows it'll throw him into a nasty coughing fit. He can't argue with you too much in this state. He doesn't want to argue anyway. You care and it feels nice.
"If I get sick, I get sick," you say, settling down next to him, on your side of the bed.
Toji has never been one to pull the 'woe is me' card, but when you're smothering him with so much affection and cooing at him while caressing his uncomfortably warm face, it's hard not to lean into it. You relieve his discomfort with your methods of care. Be it medicinal remedies or your extra love and affection, even your patience. You weren't the one who proposed keeping distance from him. You didn't want to sleep on the couch those last couple nights, but you did it for the sake of letting Toji be comfortable. He's your lover and you don't see a reason to avoid him, like what he has is something more fatal. His contagiousness is disregarded, because it doesn't matter.
You know he would do the same for you so you don't wrinkle your nose when he starts feeling safe enough to nuzzle into you and sluggishly kiss you, while clinging onto you. He's extra clingy, too. Your body is a lot cooler than his, so it feels nice when he rests his cheek on your chest or when his hot, clammy hands go to your arms. You don't turn away or block your face when he coughs. You rub menthol onto his reddened chest and neck, and watch as he grins dumbly when his nose clears up for a little. When he falls asleep, you stay with him, even if he doesn't wake up for the next five hours. You watch over him and only get up to grab things that are necessary, like his medicine, some water, and a damp towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead and neck.
He takes on the role of the little spoon when you take care of him. Being pampered by you makes him feel small in all the best ways. He feels protected, like you're his guardian. It's really as if the only remedy he needs is you. The expanse of your love for him is unquantifiable, but when you wrap your smaller arms around him and press featherlight kisses onto his skin, it's like a force field that blankets him.
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yandere-wishes · 5 months ago
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Alice in Marvel-land
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𐙚Yandere! Deadpool (Wade Wilson) x Reader x Yandere Wolverine (Logan Howlett)
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ In some worlds, you were Logan's little darling. In others, you were Wade's starry-eyed lover. But here in the void, there is only one of you and two of them.
⁀➷ GORE, yandere behavior, kidnapping, Deadpool being Deadpool.
⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ IDK, probs the Deadpool and Wolverine soundtrack
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Logan feels the world slipping away.
Piece by piece, atom by atom.
In a blink, he's falling down darkness.
An endless rabbit hole.
What was the name of that fairy tale you liked so much?
The one with the girl who gets lost in splendor?
The dust is kicking up, framing the sunset portrait along the horizon.
The envoys are nearly home, this time they've brought someone back. The cage balls chime along the unsteady road. If you squint just far enough you can almost make out vibrant specks of red and yellow.
Strange, the void tends to wash out bright colors. Well, it tends to wash out just about everything.
You scrape your nails along the skeleton's sockets. Leave crescents in the decaying cartilage. "They're almost here" you call out awaiting Cassandra's next move. You watch dolefully as she's transfixed on a portal. The sparky thing unfurled like a fresh wound, strewing salt on persistent lacerations. She watches her brother, or well some variation of her brother. Surrounded by his new family, surrounded by those he loves. He's forgotten her, or maybe never even knew her. You think that the latter would hurt the most.
"Cassandra" Your voice rises in octave, this time getting her attention. "They're here".
"Coming" She sings, voice so chip it almost sounds like unshed tears. You send a final glare at the portal before it collapses on itself.
If you tried hard enough, maybe you could bring yourself to understand her pain. Those pesky notions of desperation for someone to love. But it
doesn't matter now everyone you've ever loved is dead anyway. And unlike Cassandra, you've long since given up on the childish dreams of being rescued by someone who would offer up love so freely.
"Maybe shut up now"
Logan's nerves are frying. Thin strings snapping with every syllable that leaves the red merc's mouth. He's starting to appreciate Stryker in a way he didn't even know he could. The man was a psychotic sadist but at least he knew when to sew someone's mouth shut. Maybe he can convince this Cassadra chick to do the same.
Logan's eyes are almost at 90 degrees of a roll when they stop. He stops, frozen. In the gaping mouth of the rotting skull, something all too familiar stands.
Or rather someone.
Someone he knew.
Someone he loved.
Your name tastes bitter on his tongue. All death and whisky.
Maybe cause it's been so long since the attack. Since he walked off for the night and left his family to die. Cause the last time he saw you, you were a mangled corpse laying in an open grave. Deadweight as he cradled you in his arms.
You walk closer. Face painted in too many shades of confusion.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Damn, he's started quoting that stupid book again.
"How do you know my name" You ask. You look just as beautiful as he remembers. Spine carved straight in pride with perfect lips, perfect eyes. His talons itch to glide across your soft skin, to feel you so intimately once more.
"LOOOGAN did you see what the bald chick just- HEY!!"
It takes too much effort to pull his gaze away. To stare at red and black and be reminded of cruel realities. But Wade has a tendency to be a persistent ache, some unwelcomed anchor to every problem he's ever had.
Only this time when he actually looks at him. Looks at the jittery body that's stilled abruptly. He can't help but be glad that he did. A bitter laugh bubbles in his throat. Maybe Wade's shut up for good this time.
He always knew you were special but this is truly a miracle.
"IT'S YOU!!"
Nope, didn't work. He knew he couldn't be that lucky.
Wade whispers your name, a forgotten prayer. Logan didn't even know the loudmouth knew how to pray. But he seems to almost soften when he sees you. That feral, cheeky killer, looks so so soft when he stares into your doe-eyes. Reaching out zealously to twirl a lock of your hair around his blood-soaked finger.
He can almost feel Wade choking on your essence, heart erratic, like a child finding a lost toy. He's drowning in ecstasy, and Logan is almost tempted to join him. You're here, a breath away. So close it's taking every ounce of self-control not to pull you to his chest and keep you locked between his arms until he finally dies too.
"Penunt look that's my girl!!"
"Your girl!?"
He had taken you for granted as he tends to do with most peaceful things. The realization had occurred a little too late. Right as he had been emptying a round into the target of the week's head.
He lands.
Arms high like an Olympian pleasing the crowd.
He wonders if he can make you cheer for him.
Clap and shout his name as he twirls around the mess he's made.
He wants to feel loved, although he'll never say it out loud. He's only ever been good with words when they're laced with sarcasm and profanity.
And maybe 'I love you' is just about the most obscene thing he can ever say to someone as sweet as you.
Wade plays the white rabbit, fluffy coat stained red from every kill. Tricking poor Alice into following him down cruel rabbit holes. Making you chase him through labyrinths then leaving you at every turn. He leads you to every kill, makes you watch as he dances in slaughter. He can even feel your eyes right now. Starlight slicing him open to quench vulgar interests.  
Alice always follows the rabbit.
He stalks closer, white eyes fixated on your deliciously bewildered expression. Precious thing caught in a warzone. He can almost taste you on his tongue, the sharp tip of a star slivering the inside of his mouth, soft hands painting crescent moons along the back of his neck. He needs to carve his essence across your lips, to pour the after-kill adrenaline into your soul. He needs you.
Only this time...
This time he'd been too distracted. So caught up in claiming you as his victory prize that he didn't notice the grizzled man clinging to life...
And a pistole.
The bullet punctures his shoulder. An afterthought.
But the lead keeps going.
Penetrating the air until it lands bunglingly between your eyes.
You fall into his arms.
Deadweight.
Did the white rabbit ever miss Alice?
Did he ever realize how truly special such a curious girl made him feel?
He doubts it.
Doubts that a stupid rodent would have better emotional stability than him.
He's been given a second chance. A whole plethora of them actually. He's been deemed holy, righteous. And aren't gifts of marvel bestowed upon the truly blessed? What better blessing than the sight of you standing amongst the sand and skulls?
Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...
He lets the blood trickle down his claws.
What else is there to do but dream of you?
It's the fourth day of his massacre and he's lost count of how many humans he's killed. Maybe cause after the first hundred the faces tend to blur.
He leaves your pleasants in between the rotting carcasses and broken glass. Only taking the torturous parts of you. The things that can hurt him. The sharp edges that he can slit his pulse point on, the vague memory of your glare before you cried. The soft skin of your neck between his jagged teeth.
Enough to keep the hate burning.
He wonders if the creatures of Wonderland wept after Alice left. He wonders if Wonderland lost its wonder.
But now you're standing here.
Alive.
And he wants so badly to remember the sweet taste of your lips. The soft push against his chapped lips as he swallows you whole. Even desperate rabbits can go a little feral. His eyes take in every breath, every scowl.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...
Aliath skids forward, mystified in lightning and smoke. You feel your bones collapsing under the rugged man's, Logan's, vice grip. You thrash and scream trying to break free but he only barks out orders to his friend before they take off running.
"Your safe, don't worry we got you." There's a comedic cadence to every word Wade says. You can almost fool yourself into enjoying it if the two weren't actively attempting to defy Cassandra, to defy Aliath, to defy deities and absolutes. To ripe you away from the only semblance of opulence you've come to know.
"Let me go, you custome-wearing freaks." His gripe tenses. "Don't struggle so much, we said you're safe, now hold still" Logan's anger ripples through you. It's almost muscle memory to still, to obey.
Did you know him? Know them?
In some past life too out of reach?
The ground shutters to a jagged rhythm. You're flying up, escaping the misty horrors of the ground. Your head pounds with the force, air slapping across your body as you taste the cotton of the clouds between your teeth.
Is this how Alice felt as her head hit the roof?
Wade mutters about the stars and educated wishes. About people who live and matter. Logan slices through his thigh, the mercenary's optimism making his body ring with phantom pains.
No one matters.
And when they start to, they die.
There are cruel absolutes in this world. He's tasted them all. Let them slice his tongue and heart and danced to every tune they've sung. He rips his claws out and digs them into Wade's chest.
Again
And again.  
Wade savors the salty tang of blood inside his mouth.
Licks his teeth and runs his tongue over the gaping holes.
He's sitting in the front seat head rolled back.
High off the blood and adrenaline and the thought of having you so close.
"I take it all back, the Honda odysseys fucks hard"
Bones crack, interrupted mid-heal as Logan turns his head to glare. "Shut up" he rasps and Wade almost, almost, hears approval.
There's a low moan reverberating across the broken car. Late night sleepy mumble that's half 'I love you' and half 'I need you'. Neither one has heard it in such a long time.
"Finally awake sleeping beauty? Kinda surprised you could sleep through all of that" Wade shimmies to the back, only to be greeted by your foot smashing into his face, cracking his nose open, and sending a fresh wave of blood into his mouth. He pins your knee to the seat and wiggles himself between you. caging you with his elbows as he stares down at your pretty face. "Miss me, angel baby?"
"Wrong fairy tale" Logan turns around in his seat, claws out running them across your cheek "Please stop, just let me go" you've never begged before, never fallen so low. But these two things, mutants, mutates, or whatever they are, scare you. Reckless, suicidal, dangerous. You feel so helpless in their presence. Never knowing you're to be kissed or killed.
"You're as lovely as I remember" The melancholy colors him in a monochrome of sympathy. Here is a man who's gone through every horror and still gets out of bed. Or maybe he has to, maybe he can't quite die and can't quite reach heaven. So he gulps down his immortality with black coffee to at least pretend he's being buried six feet deep. "Even after all this time I still love you" You almost melt in his brown eyes. So lonely, so desperate.
Kill or kiss
You want him to do both. Want to kiss extinction on his lips while being impaled by the claws. Kill or kiss.
Both, both, both.
"You know~" Wade pushes himself up, "I think your dress should be red...and black. To match your favorite man."
"Who the hell said you were the favorite?" Wade leans forward, in a blink he's gripped Logan's wrist and lunged the Wolvarine's claws into your abdomen.
You writhe, the bones and metal feel almost heavenly inside of you. When he retracts the claws you moan out, it's too saccharine to hold back. Everything feels so much lighter, colorful. You feel your essence slipping out, gushing over the back seat.
Red waterfall, so pretty.
Dress stained red.
"Told ya so!"
Wade pulls you roughly by the shoulders and smashes his lips against yours. He's so cute, fickle Cheshire cat, tongue dancing across your mouth, slitting itself on your peaked teeth, and filling your mouth with thick red caterpillar smoke. "What the hell is wrong with you? You really are God's perfect idiot" Logan's anger is tangible, sweet, and bitter like hatter tea at midnight.
"S'okay Logan, it feels nice" Your words slur, slipping gauche from your tongue as you giggle profusely. You feel like Alice cracking open Wonderland's ribs, crawling inside, and smearing the wonder across your face.
"When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one" You've heard these words before, Alice's words. she's right. Your fairy tale is painted red with pretty, crazy, princes who think that slicing open a princess is easier than kissing her. You reach out for Logan, desperate for a kiss. "eat me" you mutter, and Logan's face morphs into pure terror "Wade what the hell have you done to her?".
"What? It's better this way trust me"
"I hate you"
Logan bends, meeting you halfway. He kisses you with all the wary of a dead man walking. All teeth and heart and bitter memories left to rot three lifetimes ago. He pushes himself between your bones, trying to carve out his ethos in your body. He'd burn the world so long as he gets to keep you.
You squeeze your thighs around Wade's muscular thighs and hips unlocking a gibby giggle from the man. His mask is half pulled up as he trails sloppy fervorous kisses across your neck and chest. The nostalgia slithering under your skin has you squirming, you've been through this all before. In a past life somewhere where storm monsters and voids don't exist. "Remember how good this feels?" Wade mumbles as his fingers dig into your puncture wounds, drawing slow, desperate moans from your puffy lips. You don't dare answer you don't know what would be worst admitting to liking the loudmouth ministrations or admitting there were other versions of you out there, other happy versions.
"Oh for hell's sake," Logan reclines the front seat and shuffles closer. Pulling down the back of your dress. His kisses are bite marks in disguise rabid and feral, the two things the man will never escape. His name rolls across your tongue, you let it slip in an airy moan. "No fair " Wade complains "I want you to say my name too." He pulls out his baby knife and etches the skin of your thighs. Scribbling doodles of stars and half hearts and the little symbol he wears on his belt. "W-wade" you gasp never knowing whether to scream in pain or giggle in bliss.
Logan laughs into your neck. You didn't even know he was capable of such a gentle thing. You bite his lip playfully. Dragging your fingers across his muscular arms. Your thumb pushes into the space between his knuckles asking for the claws. For the most macabre parts of him. You glide your tongue across the parish where flesh meets metal. Kissing the metal and bones and lapping at the blood. Watch curiously as he draws out a long airy sigh. "Good girl" he mumbles voice marred with ecstasy and you almost see the ghost of a smile smear across his pretty lips.
Wade's thumb gently rubs against your hips. Softly usering you into peace, tranquility. Your eyes get heavy, the car gets blurry. The grotesque realignment of their bones steering you into a deep, content sleep.
"Hey Peanut, you think Alice in Wonderland here would mind if we keep going? "  
"Shut it, moron "
"Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if only I knew how to begin.”
🎀Bonus
Deadpool: "Do you think the author's going to write about us again? Or is she planning to finally write that Dune fic she keeps talking about?
Wolverine: "I have no fucking idea what the hell you're even talking about.
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🪐@yandere-romanticaa @bad4amficideas @sugarplumz100 @oscarissac2099 @facelessfionna @siphite @tocotuesday69 @linoleunm @mei-simp @shamelessdarkprince @gabriqllas @lovely-liliacs @shiroi-asashin17 @failinguniversity
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monamipencil · 4 months ago
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───── “imperfections?”
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               ⋆˚。 or, in which svt appreciates your beauty.
pairings; maknae line x reader, established relationship. | a/n; sorry that this took so long! the creative juices vanished. but i hope this provides to comfort to anyone who needs it! again, pls be kind to yourself and love yourself, just a bit more today <3 | [ check out hyung line ! ]
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⋆ MINGHAO ⏤ hands; minghao fell in love when he saw you peeling tangerines for him. most would call it the bare minimum, but it is another thing to be on the receiving end of it. he takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, the back of your hand, your fingertips and your palm. he will never let go of your hands, and he always finds a way to hold them. he shifts the all the grocery bags to one of his hands, so that he could hold yours with the other. his fingers trace the creases and crooks of your hand, memorizing them like a prayer. it doesn't whether your hands are short, long, chubby or skinny. what matters is the love they hold in them.
⋆ MINGYU ⏤ tummy; there's a certain happiness that blooms in his heart when he notices you've gained weight. it's both an affirmation of his culinary skills and his love for you. his large hand lays gently on your bloated stomach, thumb caressing the skin beneath. he sometimes loves to lay on your tummy as well, and lull to sleep to the faint sound of your heart beat. his hands always find your stomach, making a home for it within his hands. he frowns, when you try to hide yourself. he assures with you a kiss to your belly and the next you find a note from him. “oh, muse of the ancient Grecians, what I would do to carve your curves on marble, and in my heart that belongs to you.”
⋆ SEOKMIN ⏤ thighs; his hands are molded to the soft curves of your body. a warm feeling vines from your chest, seeping through out your body when he touches the soft flesh of your thighs. whether it's when he's driving, he's making love to you, it makes you feel loved. a furrow nestles between his brows and his beautiful lips pull down when you express your dislike for them. he listens to you and responds that he finds them beautiful and that he wishes you can see yourself from his eyes. his head lays on your lap, heavy with worries and sorrows. only the soft plush of your thighs can provide him comfort. he nestles on your thighs, content with the solace they can provide him.
⋆ SEUNGKWAN ⏤ freckles; angel-kissed skin, diamonds painted on your skin with colors spilled by the universe. seungkwan's hands ache to touch your skin, and trace the tiny specks littered all over it. the gentlest of his kisses are reserved for your freckles. the brush of his lips, and the tender adoration swirling in his eyes is enough to lift any insecurity. even during cuddles, his hands find purchase on the freckles. a lone finger tracing each and every speck of it. the first time he realised he's in love with you was when he looked up at the night sky. but all he could think of was you, stars littered on the vast canvas of the sky. after all, what's a night sky without stars?
⋆ VERNON ⏤ chest; now, he adores you. he loves you, your mind and your heart. he cannot bear the blame for the fact that your breasts are in front of your heart. and who could blame him anyway? his ear presses into your chest after a long day. the rhythm of your heart serves as a lullaby, making slumber creep upon his bones. his hands are somehow, always, under your shirt. they fondle, squeeze and trace your breasts. vernon doesn't care whether your breasts are big or small. he simply loves them. after all, they make home for him in all ways he thinks he doesn't deserve. but you know better, he has a home inside your heart, anyway.
⋆ CHAN ⏤ height; his heart skips a beat every time he has to look up to meet your eyes. he leans his head on your shoulders, content with how easily your bodies fit together. your hand around his shoulders gives him all the comfort he ever needs. you don't have to voice out your insecurities for chan to hear them. he sees it in the ways you make yourself smaller, a bit more “acceptable.” that's why he always makes sure to let you know that he loves you just the way you are. you don't need to take up smaller space when you deserve all the big things. you don't have to fit in any beauty standards. you fit in his hands and in the nooks and crooks of his heart. that's all that matters.
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tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy
@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic
@aaniag @nurihihi (send an ask to be on the taglist!)
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shotmrmiller · 6 months ago
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i need simon to be the one neighbor with a generator when the light's been out for days and when you shakily ask him if he can let you at least charge your phone he just drags you into his home and tells you that you can stay if you pull your weight ie. feed him and wash his ripe work clothes.
sure. you don't know how to cook but he eats it like gordon ramsey made it, doesn't even leave crumbs on the table.
you mix colors with whites, dark with light, but luckily for you, all he wears is black. (not like it matters. if you stained a wife beater pink, he'd blame it on his girl mixing her red thready knickers in with his own clothes)
it works, you suppose, but then he tells you that yall are about to have company so make plenty of food. it's 3 others but they all eat like a family of four.
and this is where things take a turn. where he always left you alone before, his hands are on your shoulders. waist. hips. curling around your ankle, thumb digging into your foot beneath the table. the scottish one notices and tells you both to keep it PG. ye're in decent company, he grumbles.
he helps pick up the dishes once everyone's happy and full of whatever you threw in the oven. stands so close he's pining you against the sink, counter digging painfully into your skin.
"they like ya," he says. well yes, you rather noticed when they kept complimenting the science experiment you called dinner. you also noticed that they called you missus. or maybe you misheard. their accents are pretty thick.
after a nightcap, he sends them on their merry way. "the missus is tired. off with ya." so you hadn't misheard.
you aren't sure how one thing led to another. how you'd been aimlessly drying dishes with a rag to having his head between your thighs, tongue dragging between your folds, fingers pressed into you up to the knuckle.
what do you know is that where he bit your neck as you came still aches. he'd been talking filth that would have even a sailor apple cheeked as he used his spit slick thumb to rub your stiff pearl in tight little circles, feeling you felt your peak approaching at a speed that almost frightened you when he sunk his crooked teeth into the junction of your neck. hard.
enough to feel a bit of a stinging tearing of skin.
ouch. you'd ask if this is also a part of pulling your weight but he's doing it for you as he drags you toward his bedroom.
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teddybeartoji · 8 months ago
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彡 NO GARDEN CAN BLOOM WITHOUT THE SUN
☆. contains: bf!satoru gojo x gn!reader; fluff fluff fluff!!!! they're in love!!!!!! satoru is the king of acts of service!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! wc: 1.5k
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"c'mon, show me those chompers, baby!"
sat on the bathroom counter, you watch your boyfriend bare his fangs at you in the most adorable way. his eyes are pressed shut, his smile so wide that it's almost reaching his ears – he's showing how you should do it.
unable to contain the sleepy chuckles that bubble up your throat, satoru's eyes crack open. he's sleepy, too. but he's still here; he's still determined to make you happy, to make you feel good, to make you smile. he's determined to take care of you no matter what.
he ushers you with a laugh of his own, showing you the lump of toothpaste sitting on your new toothbrush.
(he bought you matching ones the other day. he's very proud of himself.)
(you love him.)
you can't say no to him. his free hand squeezes your waist, a sign that he's here and he's waiting. he's not being impatient, though – no, never that. he's just reassuring; skin on skin, he wants you to know he's never leaving.
to him it isn't dramatic to be thinking about his everlasting devotion while doing a menial task like this (if you can even call it that) – it's more than normal actually. he simply cannot stop; you're eating him from the inside and he's grateful.
you do as he says and clench your teeth together while pulling your lips back. you're sure you look a little silly but satoru couldn't disagree more.
"there we go! you look like a little tiger!" he leans in and brushes his nose against yours, making it scrunch up and that makes him giggle in turn. he feels giddy around you, he feels like he's in heaven.
he wets the toothbrush before bringing up to your mouth. he takes his hand from your hip and places it on your jaw instead, gently guiding your face up so he can see a little better.
bristles brush against your enamels and you peer at satoru. he looks awfully concentrated – he's cute like this. there's a small crease between his brows, his crystalline eyes glued to your canines as he watches your mouth fill with foam.
blindly, you play with the hem of his shirt; your fingers graze his marble skin and he shudders at the light touch. the fluorescent light coming from behind you illuminates his face and you waste no time in counting the freckles that adorn his skin. again. you've done it a thousand times before and you'll do it a thousand times more. they're your stars – his smile being the sun and his pretty blue eyes the equivalent of the moon in the sky. he's your guide during the day and the night, you'd be utterly lost without him.
he's your world.
satoru wipes the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the extra toothpaste that's threatening to trickle down your skin and smears it into his shirt, laughing loudly when you gasp at his antics. you smack his stomach and watch his head loll back with a dopey grin. his chest rumbles, hearty giggles bubbling up his throat. his adam's apple bobs before he lowers his head back down, his gaze meeting yours. he's so full of love, he just might burst.
"was gonna wash it anyway."
he looks proud of himself and you snort at his answer.
"yersuchachild."
the toothpaste in your mouth is making it hard to sound serious, your words coming out all muddled and slurred as you splutter at him. he doesn't care for your lecturing – his mind is filled with hearts and sparkles and rainbows and kittens and puppies and pastries and warm blankets and glitter and roses and the color pink and the color red and your eyes and everything else that could possibly be associated with the word love. he watches your mouth move and he sees flower petals falling, he watches you blink and he sees shooting stars, he watches you breathe and he feels at home.
he's your air.
you're a perfect match – you breathe him in and he makes a home inside your lungs. you keep him safe, you cradle him with your gentle hands and hide him from the cruel world. and he in turn takes care of your heart; he warms it, he tends to it like it's a garden. he waters and he weeds, he plants new seeds and he reaps what he has sowed with the softest smile in the world.
no garden can bloom without the sun.
satoru places the toothbrush in your mouth before yanking the dirty t-shirt off of his body. he raises his brows, seeking for praise. "better?"
you nod sleepily and the brush between your teeth bounces up and down, making satoru laugh again. you give him a smile and his breath hitches just a little. all foamy and pretty – he loves you so fucking much.
he goes back to his job, carefully brushing over your front teeth and then the sides. he gives your cheeks a squeeze, telling you to open up again and then he's leaning in so close that you almost choke on the paste in your mouth. a smirk tugs on his lips as he squints his eyes, glaring at your teeth like he's a proper dentist.
your fingers itch for him and you refuse to suffer when he's right there; you trace over the scars that cover his tummy, his whole body, and you hum. finally, you decide to just rest your hands on the waistband of his pyjamas – you need to be touching him, always and forever.
but the sleepiness is starting to take over; your eyes feel heavy and satoru doesn't miss your slow blinks. he speeds up his movements, whispering for you to show him your tongue. he quickly cleans it, intent on giving you his hundred percent.
when he deems that he's finally done, he takes the brush from your mouth and leans back, taking a good look at the masterpiece before him; half-asleep, mouth covered in toothpaste & content. he couldn't wish for anything else.
without giving you time to react, he lunges forward, pressing his plump lips against yours. he holds your cheeks like you're made out of glass and you grasp at his skin like he's about to fade away—
— but you won't break and he won't disappear.
seperating from him, you're met with the most bashful fucking smile in the world. his hands rest on his hips and he really couldn't be more proud of himself. frothy lips and sparkling eyes, you simply stare at him and just let the butterflies fill your stomach. there's no stopping them anyway.
"okay, c'mon, sleepyhead." satoru taps your thighs. "wash your mouth."
he comes up close again, his nose touching yours. "or do you want me to do that for you, too?"
he's a little cocky and he's a little smug and you think it's only fair; he has every right to be – you're wrapped around his finger like honey around a dipper. but alas, you plop off the counter and press yourself flush against him before turning around and facing the sink. he doesn't move, staying glued behind you like it's where he's meant to be.
(it is.)
his arms snake around your middle, patiently waiting for you to finish cleaning up. satoru sways his hips, gently, as if trying to lull you to sleep. he stares at you through the mirror, unable to tear his eyes from you. his own shirt drapes over your figure, soft skin peeking from under the collar, just waiting for him to press his lips against it. you feel like putty in his hold, like his own personal plushie and he has never been this excited to go to bed. he can't wait to sleep with you – to curl around you, to hug and kiss, to feel your heartbeat under his heavy head.
(every morning he wakes up already dreaming about spending the night with you again. you rest together, you heal together.)
you raise your head from the sink and satoru is already handing you a towel. you thank him with your eyes and dry yourself off. he rests his head on your shoulder and your fingers crawl between his messy white strands, you rub at his scalp and he closes his eyes. a purr reverberates through his body and then through yours and another smile makes it's way onto your face. it's inevitable; he just makes you so fucking happy.
hearts beating together, you stand there in your bathroom. it feels special, it is special – he always makes you feel like this, no matter where, no matter when; like a lock and a key, like a blanket and a pillow, like a piece of paper and a pen, like rain and thunder, like the ocean and the beach—
— like a ray of sunlight and a blooming flower.
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+ hii my beloved satoru lovers just felt like tagging you guys bc... i felt like it<333 @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @staryukis @mossmurdock @neptuneblue @lxnarphase @nkogneatho @cockaiine @kentophilia @sugulani @13curses @blankwashed i love you
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thebibliosphere · 6 months ago
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Hi, me being white and Scottish does not negate the fact that I am a disabled immigrant living in America.
I have restrictions on my income, restrictions on how I can travel, and whether or not I can vote, and I am almost entirely reliant on my spouse for everything. If I am forced to leave him, as I have been made to do so in the past due to immigration red tape, my care will decline, I will lose access to healthcare, and there's a very real chance I will die.
I was, in fact, dying before he was able to move me here and take care of me full-time.
Nowhere did I say I know what it's like to be a person of color. Nowhere did I claim to know what it's like to come to this country in the worst of circumstances, unable to speak the language or deal with the horrendous, vile human rights violations that happen at the borders of this country to anyone who cannot afford to come in legally.
I was stating a fact because whenever I say I cannot vote, people scream at me to register, and I have to explain to them time and time again that as an immigrant without citizenship, I can't vote.
"Well you're husband can just go to Scotland--"
HAHAHA tell me you know NOTHING about UK politics without telling me.
As a disabled person, I do not meet the UK income requirements to sponsor my husband into the UK. I barely earned enough before my disability made me unable to work full-time. The laws changed six weeks before our wedding and we had to pivot our life plans on a dime.
If I go home, I go home alone. And again, I cannot do that. I am not being romantic when I say I'll die without him. I am being factual.
The NHS is gutted. My parents are elderly and caring for my adult brother with brain damage and can barely pay their electric bills. My friends are all barely making rent. What safety net do you think I can leave for?
Yes, my skin color keeps me safer than so many other people who deal with far, far worse. I am not and will never deny that. But that doesn't negate that I cannot vote in a country I am living in. And it makes me feel so profoundly helpless when I see people saying voting doesn't matter because it does. Voting matters. If it didn't, people wouldn't be working so hard to take it away from you.
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t34-mt · 5 months ago
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pilots have had an overall, fun fact. I don't think I've posted about them publicly for a while. freaks from moon sat'tchuckthuck (kyhuine given name in their study of astronomy on altuyur)
22-08-2024 edit: extra colors examples and an actually rendered version (oc)
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you can view the evolution of their design under the cut ->
these have never been posted before because i thought they sucked, and also just because i didn't feel like doing it. several sophonts existences in the solar system are friend-only information atm lol
the first version has been posted on their first post, as much as i still like the mecha design by itself (despite the fucked up leg placement) , i think it should only have a single pilot, and i also don't think there was much thought put behind how people sit in there etc.. So it looks a bit awkward overall. their first design was just a quick doodle i need to draw as fast as i can before i forget the idea, so it's not good LOL. its wonky, very wonky.
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this one is from march 2023, there isn't much change between the two but i still think they're interesting to have in the row. the clothes look awkward, i don't think i thought about how they'd be put on by the pilots, the layering, and so on. what used to be manipulator limbs look award too
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this is when i was trying to make them more fun. i shortened them, made them longer and blabla.. but in the end, they just looked like corgis/ dogs to me and i wasn't satisfied with that. Not that i think sophonts can't look like x earth animal, this is just me wanting to feel satisfied with my own work and not wanting to make dog 2. i don't know the exact date of this drawing, but im assuming its in late 2023
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in may 2024, the current design of pilots was made. funnily enough, it just came to me one day. My brain flashed an image and i tried to draw it as fast as i could. compared to the top drawing the limbs for carrying their youngs weren't finalized.
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the crest changing between every drawing / versions doesn't matter. because their crest changes color constantly to communicate and speak with each others. like a sort of cuttlefish skin effect, i guess pilots can still be fully white. it's just their coat for when temperatures drops. But since their moon is going through an ice age their body keeps is disoriented constantly. Workers who stay outside all year will have a winter coat constantly. But people who work / stay inside all the time are in heated environment, thus their winter coat never start up. and so on with that
heres test of the freak with winter coat ->
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their texture would be horrible, the end bits of their fur is harden, its so thick and packed and feel like velvet. even the non winter coat still feel like velvet
Despite the current design having longer legs, they're still small guys because that's more fun. Pilots are 100 cm (3ft) tall. you can pick them up (they might be sized wrong on the doodle whatever)
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meownotgood · 19 days ago
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in circles (running down) / viktor x gn!reader, character study, yearning, angst, seriously too much angst, hurt/comfort, implied past relationship, season 2 spoilers, s2 act 2 viktor, astral intimacy, (you follow the rumors of a healer to the commune, and viktor allows you to teach him what it means to be human.) word count: 15.7k
read on ao3
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Metamorphosis begins with kaleidoscopes of colors, an ache between your ribs, and your hands tightly gripped around Viktor's wrists. 
You have him pressed underneath you, pinned in place, like a butterfly's specimen; unearthly gaze pliant, gazing up at you as though you're something worth observing. A sea of stars. Infinite possibilities. Or perhaps he can see the intricate pattern of every notion you've tried to keep hidden. 
There is a distant, fragile outcome somewhere, blissfully free of the strife he's been attempting to cure, where the both of you are guided only by the present. Where stumbling inside the elysium he's made for himself means falling into familiar, waiting arms. It means whispered confessions of, Viktor, I missed you. It sets itself into motion with your arms around his neck, while your mouth remembers the shape of his. Blurring moments upon days upon years into a worshipful, mortal culmination. 
Somewhere. It isn't this reality. 
Your temple forms a near painful knot, your breathing is weighty in your tired lungs, but your old partner's expression remains blissfully passive; Schrodinger's, some kind of paradox. Not dead, not alive. It should be easy to keep him pinned underneath you, despite the newfound weight to his form. Your arms shouldn't be shaking. Viktor eyes you calmly, as patient as he is unreadable. 
His hands twitch slightly — you're binding his wings — less akin to a human's natural irregularity. Instead, more like a complex system, thumbing through and testing its limits. Still, he doesn't attempt to break away from you. He has no need to. 
"I am certain you have recognized," Viktor begins, his voice familiar, despite the odd steadiness it carries, like the calmness of a frozen, still lake. Despite the distant rumble of monotonous vibrations that manifest between his words, "I need not delve into your mind, in order to unravel it." 
Understanding one another comes naturally, when you've long since held his shape in your soul. 
Your grip tightens on his wrists. The soft satin of his makeshift clothing brushes your skin when your knee prods into his stomach. 
You've seen what Viktor is capable of. The rumors were everywhere, from the moment you fled into the Undercity. Deciphering thoughts with a mere touch, examining the minds of those he pries into. Sensing emotions and evolving them, eclipsing them. Healing ailments that shouldn't be fixable; accomplishing the future you once dreamed of, one way or another. No matter the consequence, whatever it takes. 
He isn't the man you remember. This new boundary of existence is something near-eternal. Something more star-bound, boundlessly fate-defying. 
The utopia he's prospered runs cold, when the vessels within it lack heat. Cool air, clean and sharp, nips at your skin, carried on its own phantom breeze. Viktor's chambers are quiet, more ghostly than peaceful. He's lined the floor of his cocoon with flowers. Brilliant blooms of purple hydrangea and blue wolfsbane, petals rustling, whispering prayers to the deep night sky. 
Flowers, in the Undercity. Gods. 
Viktor's hair fans out around him, messy and unkempt. Longer than you remember, chestnut strands tapering off into hues of vanilla. His gaze swirls, in shades of sunset and petroleum, polychrome like the rainbow of oil on water. His eyes remind you of a summer storm. Clouds covering the sun, before it begins to shine again. 
You shouldn't have come here, shouldn't have let his doe-eyed acolytes lead you in. But when one of them murmured in a voice you'd almost forgotten, a voice you were sure you'd never hear again — when Viktor spoke through them, to sweetly promise he'd been expecting you, how were you ever meant to escape? 
You could fill an ocean with your doubts and shouldn'ts — it was foolish. Stupidly, terribly irrational, to follow the rumors that Viktor was still alive. Looking at him now fills your veins with nothing and everything. A cataclysm of sensations, compounding all at once. 
Grief echoes in the hollow chamber of your chest. Viktor can't be real, he was supposed to stay dead. Your hands shake, fingertips digging firmly into the hard edges of his synthetic wrists. 
Viktor, on the opposite spectrum of emotion, barely falters. 
"It must be all-consuming. Irrefutable. An… anomaly, burning within you. What epitomizes the worst burden to bear?" He murmurs, resolute. Gaze examining you, submerged in tender oblivion. "Resentment? Regret? Misery?" 
Are those words an attempt to unequivocally define love, or an admission, an echo of what he is sure you are experiencing, because he once felt it in turn? 
You resent the reverberation of his voice as it throbs through your mind. You've come to regret every wasted moment, each swallowed confession. Finding him again feels like a curse — and he knows. There's a gaping, empty maw in the pit of your stomach, and you can't keep it from destroying you. You've sacrificed yourself on his altar, without realization. Twin flames are destined to find one another. They were born from the same wildfire. 
"It doesn't matter, not to you," You're gritting out. They're the first words you've spoken in ages, and they're all-too sharp when they spit from the edges of your teeth. "You don't feel anything." 
Viktor's chest heaves gently, faint breaths that contrast the mechanical thrum of his shell. 
"Your accusations are turning bold," He hums, not denying, not quite acknowledging. His voice isn't what you remember, but it's close enough, accented. Warm, when directed towards you. Enough to kill. "There is a persistent numbness, that emanates from a lack of humanity. But it is not infallible." 
Your brows pinch. "So that's- that's it? I was some kind of afterthought, I meant so little and you were so numb you couldn't think to tell me you were still-" 
"No," Viktor interrupts. Tone gentle, dream-like. Eyes softening, as his words become perfectly and paradoxically earnest. "You were the reason I felt alive." 
He watches you, observes the conflict in your shifting expression. Flexes his fingers, clenches his hands. Idly thinking. The mere sight of you is an anchor within him. Returned pieces, notches clicking into place. Radiancy, bursting with light within him like a sacred heart — a final brush of his fingertips, to the fading edges of mortality. 
Figments of sensations, the qualities he'd assumed were lost on him, are made to surge through him with the strength of a dull current; this is your doing. He can sense the faint warmth of your hands, nearly chokes on your name in his throat when he swallows. There's pain in your expression, a desire to falter, and it feels — reminds him of a gaping hole to the chest. 
Viktor opens his mouth to speak, and your free hand opts to harshly wrap around his neck. 
"The hurt, you are experiencing- when it is able to be sensed, examined," Viktor takes a harsh breath, as you tilt his chin up with a firm, bruising grip. "It begins to resound." His jaw grinds. Strands of his soft hair tickle your knuckles. His pretty, familiar mole follows his mouth when his lips briefly press into a hard line. "It is innate. Engrained memories, amidst fleeting desires for connection. Knowing how deeply you are broken vexes me." 
He waits for your eyes to meet his own. Your gaze is practically piercing. 
"And nothing is stronger than this ache."
The ache he can sense, because you are caught in it. Shared, entwined pain; two complements, sewn together. 
Viktor believes part of you exists within him. It's inescapable: one's ties to another. 
Simplicity was a circumstance he took for granted. Days in the Undercity, before it became this. Evenings spent researching or collaborating or re-learning how to breathe, when your dreams hovered just out of reach. Now, you're masquerading as a God and an apostate. 
His mind hasn't quieted, since he felt your presence in his sanctuary. How could so much hurt stem from a once endless abundance of fondness? Tossing aside all past restraints seemed to be the most sensible option, the arcane's chosen option, but you are such an oddity. 
Your very existence defies and redefines reason. You are… unforgettable. A sweet, exceedingly tempting obstacle. An inevitable destiny, worthy of any sacrifice. Irregardless of if the threads of fate decide they should will it. You were the missing piece to this theorem. And yet, my ignorance aspired to push you away. 
I have you, now. I can reach you, I could begin to quiet the pestilence within you. 
So why do you refuse? 
Viktor's jaw clenches ever-so slightly. His gaze flashes with a hint of resolve, or tenderness, or something in between. 
"I understand you have… missed me," He murmurs, his tone fraying around the words when he reaches their sore spot. To have each other as something to miss is so very human, so very quaint. "There is so much tension, hidden behind your eyes. Volatile. Yet still so… gentle. I remember the times when I would call out to you, simply to watch the way they softened." 
They're softening now; your gaze can't help but melt, every single time you look at him. Despite the pain, despite the anger. The memory digs at you, it pries into your chest with sharp, thorned roots. Irreplaceable murmurs of your name in his voice. With his accent, with life in his tone, before the world sought to take it from him. With the cadence he clings to each time he goes through the syllables, your syllables, that screams, you are something I covet. 
For a brief moment, you swear Viktor shifts from his ever-endless calm expression, chapped lips tilting to form the slightest, melancholy ghost of a smile. 
"I fear I have long since owed you many apologies, little spark. There isn't much to offer, in the way of consolation. But, I-" Viktor's gaze weakens, flickers over you with dying sparks like a candle-lit flame; his hands clench, his sharp breathing echoes. 
"I would have never forgotten you. You were irreplaceable. As was the life we once shared together. For every moment spent in my solitude, I lost myself, in the certainty that we might meet again." 
Your throat tightens. An ache forms in your chest, threatening to spill over, like an overflowing chalice. 
There's a distinct weight to his wrists, as you continue to hold them in place. A heavy, but still hollow chassis, his hands are criss-crossed with various mechanical patterns. The Hexcore's corruption is beginning to envelop more of him. It isn't like carving runes into delicate skin. That, at least, was a choice. A desperate, self-destructive, self-saving choice. 
Bright, purple veins surge across what remains of his skin. They knot into his forehead, they curve underneath his tired eyes. Energy thrums from inside his hands, reminiscent of sparks rippling through electrical wire. The glow is faint, perhaps weakened. Ornaments trail down his neck, beneath his robes. Outlines of steel and amber carved into his figure. 
Unconsciously, you long to reach out and touch. To trace your fingers along his intricacies: golden, godlike. To decide if his skin, if the smallest shred of what remains of him, is still as soft and lovely as you remember. 
Your palm slips from his neck first. 
It trails across his chest, in between the silhouette of collarbones. He isn't cold, nor warm. Empty, more like. Pulses of distant magic meet your fingertips, like pressing your hand to a static-filled television screen. He weakens underneath your touch, body going limp as a silent acknowledgment. There is no heartbeat. But you can feel the repeated ricochet of his breathing, however fake, however practiced. 
Viktor's body feels powerful, reflecting the extent of his talents. It is a strong, complex, restrained prison. It must be freeing, in some ways; to breathe without the choke of rot in your lungs. To run, with the wind at your back as the ground meets your feet. You should be happy. Grateful. Viktor is alive — but he isn't able to be saved. 
The objective you arrived with is already starting to crumble. Oh, you knew this wouldn't be a quick affair. 
You didn't follow him for information, or for evidence. You weren't led by the wishes of the council's remains, or by the ambitions of your once-shared lab partner — or by anything else, besides your own heart. Nothing else matters. Just your own wavering strength, and the echoes in your mind to do something. Just each shaky step you took, traveling further into Zaun despite the smog that filled your chest. Just the plea in your mind, and the rumors at your feet that Viktor hadn't fully left. 
Finally, when you stumbled into the commune with tired legs and weary lungs, you could breathe. And you couldn't decide if it was because of the plants, the trees, the fresh air, or if it's because of him. 
You failed. You weren't meant to stay, weren't meant to trust him. But the moment your eyes locked with his, it was over. (Viktor smiled, you swore you saw amber, and he beckoned you close, without hesitation.) 
It's crushing, to feel so much. You're suffocating in the wake of your own pounding heartbeat. Throbbing in your chest, echoing in your eardrums. Pulsing in your throat. 
There's no use reconciling with your partner's shadow. And yet, in spite of it all, your partner, your reflection, rests underneath you. Gazing up at you with eyes that whirl in endless, lifeless shades. The silence stretches, and he doesn't fight the enveloping sting. 
Yes, he was right, you are burning. As bright as the sun, with a fierce fire in your chest; caught between your ribs, as the flames attempt to escape through the gaps. It's reminiscent of the sticky-warm suffocation of bleeding out. Blood made to pour onto his chest and his clothes and his hands, as Viktor would press his palms to your side to stop your wound from spilling. 
Love is a promise to pursue. To covet a name underneath your tongue. To swear to be doomed from the start. Like tying a string around two fingers — the path was set, you only needed to follow. 
Your shoulders become tense, before they start to shake. The grip you've been holding on his wrists loosens. Viktor allows his hands to flex, now freed, but you're stumbling, collapsing in on yourself. 
Uselessly, clumsily, you hide your face in your hands. It hardly helps. Your chest stings, your cheeks are wet. Your tears fall onto him like rain, droplets gently hitting his cheek. 
"Oh," Viktor's lips quiver, as he tries to find words, but there's only one solution: "Come here." 
And as though every reality led to this moment, as though embracing you is less of a conscious choice, and simply what he was made for, Viktor reaches for you, without hesitation. 
The simple movement of his palm warps reality around it. His hand hums, buzzes mechanically, thrums with an otherworldly glow. His fingers are shaky; they haven't trembled this much in ages. 
Careful fingertips brush up your arm. Your shoulders slump, and he grabs onto your wrist with little force. He feels your pulse. Each dull thud reverberates in his own chest, twisting up his spine as a surge of fire. His eyes can't help but flutter closed. 
That's when natural intuition takes over, a pulse resounds throughout the entirety of Viktor's system, and all at once, he is touching your soul. 
Your pent up emotions are an aurora in his mind. A vast array, everything complex, knit together so tightly, he doubts it's unwindable. He attempts to search through each individual spark, between every luminous flicker of starlight. Your very essence is rich with a sense of longing; it tastes like sugar on his tongue. 
Slowly, carefully, you unfurl, as if your petals were exposed to the sun. Your heart hears him, you recognize it is Viktor's touch. Soul to soul, hands threading over you, within you. And like running into a waiting embrace, you vividly let the layers of your mind open. 
There are beautiful rays of loving light, warmth that feels like the sun on his face, and subsequently feels like you. Affection burns into him with the heat of fierce, dripping candle wax. Then, there's fragile echoes that pierce through him, like pulling your lover in by the wrists, while they plunge a knife into your heart. 
And there are deep, dark depths of drowning water. An endless, barren abyss to be swallowed into; you sit at the very bottom, curled in on yourself, untouchable. He reaches out to you, extends a palm for you to take, but you won't come. From here, you won't even look at him. 
When he dives further, he sees himself. 
Feels himself, sensing and tasting and experiencing his own image through your perception. He is the warmth underneath your skin, you are the celestial glow in his ribcage. It's a rebound, a ripple, a pulse of sonar. Touches and affections that he can feel on his skin, within his own body, and then through you, with your palms. 
A touch to the small of one's back, or to a tensed shoulder, to a protruding spine. A palm between the butterfly-wing shape of his rigid shoulder blades, soft caresses to calloused knuckles and fresh wounds. His hands to the weakest parts of you, and your fingertips, tracing the still-human parts of him, before they were lost to his reunion with fatality. 
Hands finding one another, fingers brushing, fingers interlacing — and Viktor remembers how it felt to wish your hand could be in his forever. He memorizes the shape of your heartbeat, as if it were his own. 
Drowned in vivid color, painting-like and hazy, he reaches stretches of your imagination. It's easy to become lost in your dreams, within the places you wanted those touches to lead. Where you wanted him to touch. Your reveries are so bright they're blinding. 
In your dreamscape, caresses travel. Your hands become bolder than they should, when they're massaging and soothing the ache in his shoulders. The press of skin to skin is a gentle connection, between soft, hesitant, dangerous pleas for more. There are confessions in a thousand different ways, countless almosts and bitten tongues. 
Every instance is simple. Blissfully mundane. You replay and reimagine a sudden profession, while your head is resting on his shoulder, and it feels good instead of terrifying to let everything change. And when your hand finds his own, his thin fingers lace with yours naturally. And the academy is quiet, but your voice as you mumble his name is infinitely quieter. 
You imagine mutual desperations to pull each other closer. 
(Gentle brushes led by quickened breaths, exploring pallid skin, skimming the details you've mapped out in your mind. There's faint freckles on his arms, when he rolls up his sleeves. He has a mole on the back of his neck, only noticeable when his collar gets loose. A palm traces his spine, and you're picturing pressing your mouth to the scattered trail of moles on his back. Your breath is hot enough to burn, to leave behind marks of your own.) 
Oh, and you wanted him so close. Closer than he knew. Closer than you could ever be, not now, not anymore. 
Viktor sees his own image more clearly than ever; vibrant, when filtered through your eyes. Every moment shared between you plays on repeat. Looping, convening together. 
Everything he achieved — the complexities of his discoveries and innovations amazed you, but they begin to blur in your vision, when you can't help but be drawn to the thrilled, pretty look on his face. All of his details — down to the most minute. The routine fidgeting of his fingers when he's lost in thought. The specific swirl he adds to a select few letters when he writes. 
Your heart cradles each of his subtleties. Gods, how you adore him. You have all of him memorized. 
Heavy and encapsulating, the warmth left by you is so much worse, when he is pressed in between all of your pieces. He remembers himself in a much kinder way. In the way you remembered him: intelligent, remarkable, enthralling. Edges blur together and clutter the horizon where he ends and you begin. He's lost in soft greetings, and gentle farewells, reverberating in his own voice. I missed you, I was thinking of you, I'll see you. 
He walks through cathedrals of everything you admired. Your shared dreams, and his budding ambitions. Promises to make his home a better place. Hallways of framed stolen glances. Quiet utterances of the smallest assurances, and swears to achieve great things together. Embraces that molded you into one another's muse. (Something fulfilled, and something lost.) 
And deeply, strongly, he aches. His chest burns, explodes with light. To you, he represents a spark, the sun, the moon, the stars. He radiates in echoes of everything at once. And he is — 
Alive, he is irrefutably, relentlessly alive. 
Your fondness forms around him as palpable rays of radiance; glimmers surround his stratosphere, small suns and brilliant meteor showers. You are a thousand beautiful colors, smashing and blending together. You are as exceptional as he always knew you to be, you are the definition of devotion. As if your hand is at his arm, guiding him to touch the edges of the sky and the sea. Together, you are one in the same. 
It transcends corporality. Viktor reaches into the spiral of your mind. He finds you, he drags you from the depths you've tried to hide yourself in, and he pulls you into the cosmos. He embraces you. Palms pressed to your back, arms around you, as the phantom edges of his figure merge into yours, like paint blending together on a palette. 
Viktor clings onto your starlit particles at his fingertips, he savors every flickering memory and vivid emotion. You're unraveled in his palms completely, deciphered down to your faintest atoms. Your limbs entwine with his; without strife, utterly weightless. 
Time fades, combines itself into a single thread — until, for a brief moment, it's impossible to tell if minutes have passed, or hours, or centuries. 
Until he feels your touch, and realizes it isn't within the confines of your shared mind. It's real. 
All at once, he returns to reality. 
Viktor's eyes flutter open abruptly. His own soul careens back into him with the force of a freight train. His breath comes in hard pants that half-fill his makeshift lungs, and shake the entirety of his chest. The back of his throat is rough and raw. He blinks, to refocus his misty vision. 
Oh. He's cupping your face in his hand. 
Your palm has decided to press itself to the back of his knuckles, determined to keep him there. Absently, your fingertips brush the sharp angles of his metallic joints, his gold accents. The flowers surrounding his chambers rustle. Their soft petals tickle his cheek. 
Dull energy thrums from his touch — sparks of the arcane, briefly buzzing on your skin like static. Touching the scars within your deepest layers. Your presence has pulled him back onto your plane. His magic tapers off, slowly and steadily. 
Now it's just him, just his hand at your cheek. Blissfully simple. 
Your tears have stopped. Your breathing shakes. With merciful, trembling touches, Viktor caresses your face, as though it's the first time. His thumb gently brushes away a stray droplet. 
The intricate texture of his hand is irregular, almost metallic. Far from what you remember, far from the familiar softness of skin. It isn't anything you could consider human — and yet, you still lean into him, your cheek practically nuzzling into the hard edges of his palm. Brazen and affectionate, desperate and cat-like. 
Viktor's jaw clenches. His harsh gasps echo throughout the vastness of his hollow chambers. 
No, this isn't- it's not possible, he thinks, in his own stupidly weak voice, barely able to form the words. It can't be. The arcane would not allow it. 
He feels like his head might pound out of his own skull. The warmth of your cheek is the only thing he can focus on, radiating against his palm like your skin is made from stardust. 
All at once, he has been carved down to his most basic components, until what remains is pure, raw emotion. His emotion, not the residuals of yours. 
He is himself, no longer on the outside looking in. Not the shell of what remained after the fire, the hunger, the waves of corruption. A soul returning to the body feels nothing like how he'd imagined — it's sudden, unexpected. It's a swell of fire, like kindling familiar flames in the depths of your chest. 
And his complex theories should prove that this shouldn't be happening. This body feels in tessellations, with precise, predetermined, machine-like processes. Everything within him must work in harmony. The arcane possesses, as much as it aspires to synchronize. 
His own quickened breathing resounds in his eardrums mockingly. He's grown used to what became of his body and the Hexcore, and the fusion between them: the thrumming in his veins, sparking impulse, potential. 
Yet, within him now, there's nothing but silence. Endless, persistent silence. 
It scares him. 
Countless cycles of inner contemplations led him to this. His thoughts and functions are supposed to click into place, to be understandable. Distance is meant to be placed between the inner self and the surface. Separating the body from the mind is how he was able to foster this community in the first place, how he's managed to help so many — his own sense of self needed to be secondary. His own desires, his emotions. Like a covetous God, the greater good demands sacrifice. 
But there was an outlier. A contingency. A chance, a small stir amongst his faded, longing ashes, that promised it could metamorphose him. Viktor considered every possible option. In every prediction, within the web of this reality, it doesn't work. 
His reunion with you was inevitable, but in his predictions, when you arrive to see what the arcane has made of him, everything begins crumbling down. The soft embrace he'd share with you is limited only to his imagination. Your fingertips press to numb metal, and Viktor can't feel your touch when it finds him. 
He foresaw your arrival. It wasn't part of his plan; it meant little to the overarching design, to his hopes for the Undercity. It was — you were — a fated tie. He'd hoped for this. Lost himself, in the inevitably of finding you, just to have you torn from him once more. 
Every intricacy in the array before him gave the same response. He knew this was written to be a tragedy, but Gods, none of it would matter once he saw your face, one last time. 
But this? This, he could not predict. 
The intense radiance in his veins, the fire in his ribs, the warmth of you underneath his own palm; you've flipped everything on its head. Somehow, someway, you've proved him wrong. You have proven fate wrong. You are the cause of his newfound light, and you are the lighter to his innermost match. 
You've made him return to humanity. 
Viktor pulls his palm away from your cheek. His chest heaves. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, and runs his purple-hued fingers through his hair, over his forehead, somewhat surprised by the lack of sweat. 
Then, he examines his hand. Turns it over, flexes his shaky fingers. Vividly ascertains that yes, these are his own eyes that he's looking through. He attempts to steady his breathing, he tries to send power thrumming through his system. Nothing answers. Magic fails to reach his palm, aside from a few faint buzzes, like the sparks that would linger after cutting a power line. 
"Impossible," Viktor grits out, half in wonderment, half in panicked disbelief. His own hand continues to shake in front of him. He can't think, now that he has you, and he has no idea what to do with his own soul; "How could this- how could you-" 
With a dull, echoing sob, you're tipping into him. 
Viktor feels your arms clumsily wrap around his shoulders. Your weight rests comfortably against his fake body. He sees in hues of amber and gold, basking in the honey-rich glow of the sun as it fills his iris, before the sky darkens, and the colors around him go wild once more. 
You embrace him. So, so tight. As though he might disappear, slipping through the gaps in your arms and the cracks between your fingertips, if you ever were to let go. 
A hand grabs a fistful of his rumpled clothing, a palm staggers down and finds where it's loose, to let your fingers feel the back of his neck. They trace down, unsteady. You brush your fingertips over the first bolt embedded into his makeshift spine. Grazing it repeatedly, feeling the defined notch. Caressing the smooth, metal surface underneath your thumb. 
It's an anxious, idle motion. Viktor listens to the shake in your breathing. He remains still, half-limp in your weak arms. 
This is unnatural — the press of soft human limbs, to an ever-present mechanical body. Yet, Viktor can feel all of you. Every gentle fan of your breath on his neck. He senses your fingertips when they move, and with another sad little sob that has his heart splintering, your hands are getting lost in his long hair. Grasping, trembling. Viktor feels electricity race from his scalp, down to his back. 
A thousand connecting sensations come to life within him: constellations of memories, once-dormant hopes that bud like wildflowers. And he realizes, fiercely, abruptly, within what has become of him, he still remembers the shape of your name in his chest. 
Holding you is an action he wasn't meant for, it embodies everything he isn't. But Viktor expels a soft sigh. He allows himself to pretend. His arm slowly wraps around you, and his palm gently finds your back, when your head buries itself into the perfect crook of his neck. 
This body has been re-made, sculpted in the image of the arcane, and yet it cannot rid itself of the most basic human subtleties. The curve between his neck and his shoulder was made for you to rest there. He caresses your back with smooth, slow motions, and your frames fit together like two pieces of the same inseparable, destiny-drawn puzzle. 
Faint thrums of power emanate from the entirety of his shape. Weak, constant. An enveloping throb, to substitute a quickly beating heart. You sniffle against his nape, and Viktor holds you just a little bit tighter. 
Deep down, with the desperation of a man too entwined in the eternal threads of fate, he wishes he'd have the strength to bring about change. Not for this, not for him. For you. 
If the auroras he's touched and the light he encompasses could press into you, he would eclipse your darkness in radiance. If his hands could be capable of more than healing — of adoring, of remembering, he would let his palms memorize the statue of your frame, so he might carve it into himself. He'd take your strife and make it his. 
When you finally pull back from him, it's only slight; you stifle another weak noise, and your forehead falls against his own. The moment your head meets his, he collapses into your soul. He feels your pain ricochet through him, sharp and unpredictable. 
Anguish shakes your entire system like stormy waves. Guilt and devotion and lovely past lifetimes paint the surface of his skin, the center of his chest bleeds itself raw — and then, he's gone. Pushed out of your mind, unable to fight as the hold of his weakened magic slips. 
Swallowing thickly, eyes fluttering open again, Viktor wills his breath to stop faltering. It was so brief, his second brush with your emotions. But the ache you've been struck by is utterly palpable. It stings the corners of his eyes, sinks sharp teeth into his insides. 
He places his palm on your cheek, and he carefully guides the both of you apart, so he can finally look at you. 
"All of this pain. This emotion," Viktor murmurs; his voice shudders, resounding like the distant rumble of thunder. His gaze on yours floods with soft colors, reminds you of the surrounding sea of pastel florals. His index tilts your chin, to keep you looking at him. "My poor, resplendent beloved." 
You've essentially fallen into his lap; Viktor shifts, props himself up further. Gods, is he captivating. Stupidly, terribly captivating. The gnawing ache within you pleads for you to turn away, to run, but the pained pinch to his thick brows is more familiar than ever. So is the way he looks at you. Reminiscent of the one you once loved, despite the swirling shades that shine beneath. 
As you admire him through misty vision, you can almost trick yourself into believing nothing has changed. Almost. The distance in between you and Viktor begs to be closed, it mumbles promises in your ears like the way the edge whispers before a long fall. It won't hurt, as long as you close your eyes. 
Compromising, your palms shift to weakly hold his face. They push his messy hair from his eyes, and caress the edges of his jaw, where his skin tapers off into the Hexcore's corruption. Your thumb strokes lazy circles over the mole above his mouth. His skin is soft, his jaw is rigid, silky with a labyrinth of smooth, swirling patterns. 
To see his face is one thing, to be able to touch him and hold him, and know he's still here — they're privileges you never thought yourself worthy of earning. You hold him warmly, tenderly. The way you wanted to before he was gone. Like he is yours, or a deity worth worshipping. 
"Viktor-" 
You can't help it. You're starting to sob. Every heave of your chest is dry, your eyes sting with tears that won't come. You take your bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard, but the temporary pain does little to quell your all-consuming heartache. 
Trembling thumbs brush his skin, and you shake your head, you sputter, "I'm sorry, Vik, I'm so- s-so sorry…" 
Viktor is a servant to the sickening shudder that laces through him. His brows form a knot, his gaze drowns in clear sadness. Refracting in shades of autumn and azure. 
"But you have no reason to be. I have you," Viktor murmurs gently, the edges of his tone deliciously smooth. Your arms weakly drop down to his shoulders, and he gives your still-wet cheek a slow caress. "Shh, shh. You do not have to apologize. I know. I know. Your emotions are still so grievously tender." 
His tone is warm, like how you remember. Ages ago, you would've done anything to hear it again, filling the silence left by his absence. When you're able to see through the otherworldly rumble, the distant reverberation, you're able to hear just him. As though no time has passed at all, like he never left. 
"Viktor-" You hiccup, "Please- I'm sorry- Viktor." 
His name was designed to meet your voice. You make it sound maddeningly tender, as though it's something to covet, even when your heart is aching and you wish that it wasn't. 
As though you've flipped the meaning. To conquer can be something soft, it can be a gentle checkmate, a hopeful spark between ribs and an ambitious fire at the edges of fingertips. A promise to prevail, with hands intertwined. 
He feels like he's going to be sick. 
"I'm here. Breathe," Viktor answers, "Talk to me, zlato. Tell me how you are feeling." 
"I thought you- thought you were gone," You're sniffling, slurring your words together. Viktor's expression weakens. You are falling apart in his hands, and he feels so unbelievably useless. "When I- when they told me you ran off to Zaun, I was… angry. But I can't- I can't stay mad at you, I just can't." 
Viktor softens. His gaze flickers over you, as he fruitlessly attempts to find the right words to fix this. But you're already continuing. 
"I grieved you, Vik. So much." You take a slow, shuddering breath. Your words come out one at a time. "Part of me thinks I still should." 
The choice to use his familiar nickname, usually spoken so joyfully, so exuberant in his memories — I'm here, I missed you, you're so sweet, Vik. To hear it sputtered, instead, his own name chewed up and spat out short-hand; it's like a kiss to the cheek, in between a punch to the face. 
Viktor recalls what it felt like to be lost inside your mind. So much fondness, a dense galaxy of longing, was crammed inside a small, beating heart. Endless implosions of love and loss, with nowhere to go, had no option but to dig themselves deeper. He felt the weight on your shoulders, like the heaviness of rain. The icy pain in your ribs: bleak coldness, where all you can see is your own breath. Once pleasant dreamscapes were twisted and tugged into knots, because this is the end — and Viktor knows he wasn't meant to be granted an epilogue. 
"No one could have blamed you," He says, words soft enough to cushion your fall. You clumsily lean back into him, resting on his shoulder, and Viktor calmly pets the back of your head. 
Your hands quiver. "I did- I blamed myself." 
"And what choice did you have?" Viktor counters, speaking through an almost-sigh. "You were frightened. Alone. You were inconsolable, deprived of respite." And he left you. He wandered astray when you needed him most. "Affection and pain are-" He tenses, quiets. "An antithesis, forming an equilibrium. Fond memories begin to die, as fractured stars do, when such dreams encompass all you have left." 
A pause. You savor a few more moments in his arms, debating. Waiting for your resolve to return to you, before you're drawing back, and sitting up. Hastily, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. When Viktor tries reaching for you, you're swiftly pushing his palm away. 
"I- I should leave," You're choking out, "I can't be here." 
Viktor's brows furrow. 
"Why not?" He questions, and there's a broken edge to his voice, a weakness that nearly sounds hurt. He hurriedly grasps your wrist — faint energy pulses from his touch, weighty enough to make you shiver — but you stay still, not moving, not yet. "You, out of everyone, have always been welcome." 
"They were talking about setting up a barricade, back in Piltover," You're mumbling weakly, although it's clear to him you're dancing around the true reason. 
"You can stay here," Viktor interrupts. 
"No, I can't." 
"Yes, you could. There is another reason for your avoidance." His tone softens, lays itself before you like a lamb to be slaughtered. "Let me in. Please." 
"There isn't anything, Vik. It'd be better if I wasn't here. That's all. I'm sorry, I just-"
You sniffle, your heart breaks, and Viktor brushes a tear from your eye before it has the chance to fall. His knuckles caress down the length of your jaw, he softly coos a few words of reassurance. Shh, shh. Don't cry. 
Bleeding into him distantly, melting against his hand and within his veins; easily this time, as though reaching into the depths of your existence is purely natural — he feels you. 
Your soul has decayed to a dull, dying flame. You embody the convergence between warm and cold. Your mind longs to find its place within his arms, to fall into him once more and never return, as much as it believes you should push him away. There's a conflicting, swords-crossing battle inside your own heart. He experiences each of your sensations, tastes and samples them: the pleasant, and the painful. Echoing, exhausted, whispered in your own voice, he hears what you are thinking. 
Please, Gods. Why can't I forget him? 
Oh. Your mind doesn't lie. 
The boundaries of your psyche begin to crumble — toppled bricks, chipped stone, and he can't help but tense. He feels sharpness stab into every part of him, like the closing walls of an iron maiden. 
Look at what has become of him. Why must you hold on, when it would be infinitely easier to just let go? Viktor understands. He is well-acquainted with the strife of forgetting. 
It must be torture, to hold someone so close to your heart. To remember them as the sun, when all that remains is their shadow. A half-dead symbol of divinity. 
Everything would've been easier, more simple, better for the task he sought to accomplish, if he was able to cast his affections aside. This body should make it trivial, but it is still Viktor's body. It is still his vessel, and his mind, and his memories. 
Emotions hinder progress. They killed countless Gods before him, and yet love digs in deep and persists. Consumes, from the inside out. It sets fire to your soul, and makes you watch as it burns itself out. The whims of the heart are impossible to stifle. He was correct, to predict your return. But what of a body without a heart, what of him, what of the future? 
I believed I could untwine fate, Viktor thinks, as his palms brush the intricate stars laid out before him. Yours, mine. But my attempts were not conceivable. Enlightenment was never strong enough to predominate over devotion. A revival cannot undo the basis of human nature. I can never unwind myself from you, but in this, I was complacent. I was prepared to let you become my ruin. 
And your mind resounds. There's a voice, unable to hear him, speaking with itself. Shouting through a storm to harmonize with the whispering wind. Recalling pain, loss, and ashes. 
Why was it you, when it could've been me? 
Part of you envisions going back. Imagining yourself in his place, threading through options to come up with one that might save him. Or perhaps, in a blind stupor of sadness and frustration, you would've returned to the Undercity. You would try to find yourself and change your path, assuring your younger self to stay, you weren't cut out to be a scientist — to undo the outcome of ever meeting him. 
Regret eclipses you, the moment the thought crosses your mind. He overhears your internal struggle, your own voice fighting with itself. No, that isn't true. It can't be, you couldn't bear it. 
But perhaps, he thinks, for you, it would have resulted in less pain. 
He witnesses every thought, feels every regret and all of your uncertainty. As sharp as a blade, twisting within you; pressing inside him, in turn. 
Until Viktor's shaky fingers trail the back of your neck, his eyes fluttering open. He realizes you've collapsed into him, as his own weakness forces him back to the present. 
Viktor holds you, for a long stretch of time. You promised you'd leave, and yet, here you are, running into his arms once more. It's still sublimely surreal. Your palms trace his open sides, examining the golden bands, the deep indentations where ribs might sit. When his arm around your back grows loose, you're prying yourself from him hesitantly. He meets your gaze, and his lithe fingers delicately find your jaw. Admiring, thinking. 
You are terribly beautiful. Wonderful. There is nothing comparable. Not the sea of vivid flowers, not the sun, not the countless collisions of stars that he's witnessed. If he could go back, he would hold your pain in his hands. He'd make it his. 
It would mean more to him than anything, more than all of this, to see you happy, smiling, and free. You've always been so lovely. An inspiration. A dream. 
The arcane could strip him of himself, but even as it's pulling his bones from his body, it could never take away the devotion he remembers. Your touch, your voice. Your atoms and your particles, falling like rain at his fingertips, forming every retained, held-onto expression of you. 
Soft letters, exchanged between the margins of messily sketched blueprints. Tearing the paper, to keep the note you'd left, because your handwriting felt like home. Drowsy words, shoulders pressed too close together, and almost falling asleep, but trying to stay awake to talk for just a little while longer. Even though hindsight would tell him he's acting a fool. Even though the night is melting into morning, and you have projects to complete by tomorrow. None of it ever seems to matter, when the two of you are lost in each other. 
He remembers smiles like sunflowers, bright and radiant. Giddy laughter and naive wishes. Hands brushing when they shouldn't; finding one another under tables, between meetings. Fingers interlacing to swear promises, palms pressed to a quickly beating heart. 
Further, there are gentler sentiments, moments that could only come with age and years of understanding. Sitting together in silence, because it helps, when sleep refuses to come. Lessening pain wherever you can. Soothing tired muscles, holding shaky hands. Knowing where it hurts without the need to ask, and when to encourage, but also when to rest. 
Falling apart, in the ways no one else gets to see, because he knows you will be there to put back his pieces — and Viktor realizes every memory, every recollection, every death begins and ends with you. 
Gods. He breathes soft shushes, and little murmurs of, It's alright. All it takes is one brush with your heart to bring his humanity circling back. 
Your expression weakens, your heavy gaze stays steady on his own. For a moment, he expects you to collapse again. He knows he will catch you. But you breathe deeply, and when he caresses your cheek, nice and gentle, your eyes take on a dull sparkle — the same light he remembers, from countless lifetimes ago. 
"No," Viktor coos softly, with a shake of his head, "No, I believe this is precisely where you were meant to be." 
He holds your chin delicately, between his thumb and forefinger. "Stay. Please." He murmurs, continuing. I need you to stay. "Spare me a few more moments." 
His voice sounds impossibly human. There's less of a rumble, more of a tremble. Uniquely him, decidedly weak. 
It's fruitless, and he knows it. A few more moments is hardly enough, it won't make up for everything you've needed. But it's all he can have. Because in every reality, this doesn't work. 
There are mistakes he can't take back, pain he can't reverse. Humanity is a vice he can no longer hold onto. And you — once again, at the center of everything — you do not deserve this. After the boundaries you've crossed, the lengths you've travelled, you must be so, so tired. You, his dream, for all of the radiance and light in your heart, do not deserve to be drowned in more darkness. 
For every almost, for each soft touch and pained reminder of his fragility — the warmth of your arms around him, dulling the sharpness in his leg — he should have pulled you closer. From the very start, he was running out of time. He should have died. Yet, he must continue to live, with the same weight in his shoulders, with the knowledge of his failures. And with the palpable reminders of the twin flame he lost. 
He's strayed too far to make things right, now. You're two ships on different currents. 
If you were to change course and crash together, hands grasping one another tight, soft skin entwined with unnatural fingers made of violet; close enough to let heavy breaths meld into one; close enough to taunt the forces that made him, the result would prove catastrophic. Shattering his goals, the hold the arcane has on him, and your wavering heart. 
Viktor knows he cannot put you through this. His new purpose, his curse, perpetuated by the Hexcore's distant, inexplicable itch, surmises that he is destined for rebirth. Over, and over, and over again. You've already grieved him, and for your sake, this needs to be the final time. 
"Okay," You breathe, exhaling heavily, inhaling weakly. He holds your cheek in his familiar hand, and you tremble, struggling not to lean into his touch. "I… Okay. I'll stay." 
Your warmth radiates against Viktor's palm. Low and soft, tired and grief-stricken. Then brilliant, burning. 
You already know what it's like to lose him; how it feels to watch light slip from his gaze, either as a slow descent into torment, a faint snuffed out flame. Or as a vivid, scorching implosion. Forcing you to remember blood and fire, as smoke overtakes the edges of your vision. 
Ash chokes your lungs. Pain thrums in all of your joints. Muffled screams echo in your ringing eardrums. Panicked breaths, and shouts of, he's not breathing, between Jayce grabbing your shoulders, trying to shake you awake, but you just — 
Viktor pulls his hand away from your cheek, as though he'd been burned. Dull remnants of your pain linger in his chest, sharp, strained, and ashen. His index finger presses to the side of your jaw, gently guiding you to look at him. 
"Don't imagine such things," He mumbles gently; his color-rich gaze finds yours, as naturally as the moon finds the Earth, locked within the same orbit. "You are only going to exhaust yourself further. What happened that day was- it was not your fault. Not in any capacity. You know this, right?" 
Right? The soft lilt in his voice — pleading for confirmation — makes a tingle trace your spine. 
"I know," You answer dryly, your voice a little sore. "I'm fine." 
Your eyes have long since dried up, but you still sound deeply numb. Distant, as though your soul is somewhere far away. 
"You are not," Viktor counters quickly. Like you're two rival schoolmates, arguing once again. Not two inseparable souls, on the verge of the end. Close to collapsing and crossing an edge neither of you could come back from. 
"I am. I promise." 
"You have not slept. You have been following the trail to the commune for days, now. And the moment you try to rest, to let sleep find you, your mind is plagued by fits of nightmares. I do not think you need me to tell you this, but you are pushing yourself to the brink." 
It hurts, somewhere in his fragile system, to see the pain he has caused you. He hasn't merely witnessed it, he has felt it. All of your guilt and your emotions, surging through his filaments. Nearly as strong as the passive waves of magic. 
"The nightmares started long before this," You're arguing on impulse, mumbling under your breath. 
They began when he was dying. 
And he knows the nightmares, the visions he saw through your eyes, of embers and death and destruction and fragility — they are all because of him. 
You swallow, before you sigh, and your tone quiets when he places a reassuring hand on your tensed shoulder. "I wasn't asking you to pity me. It's just- it isn't anything I'm not used to." 
Viktor pauses. Then, he gives a small, amused huff. 
"You are as stubborn as you were when we met." 
He recalls it vividly: your very first meeting. You were both young, immature, and terribly eager to prove yourselves. Determination and stubbornness were traits you unfortunately shared. 
You argued. Over some unimportant invention, and then over your notes, and the ways they differed. Viktor can barely remember the assignment. But he recalls the pinch in your brows, the fiery heat in the back of your gaze. Convinced you were right, and unable to get Viktor to budge, you left, tossing some remark over your shoulder as you slammed the door shut behind you. We should ask the professor if we can change partners. It's clear we'll never get along. 
"Am I?" You mutter; it's rhetorical, obviously, made evident from the half-hearted roll of your eyes. He's sure you're dwelling on the very same memory. You breathe something of a feeble, fatigued laugh, "You really think I was the stubborn one?" 
"Mmm," Viktor hums. His lips twitch into the faintest imitation of a smile. "Possibly. You haven't told me to shut up yet. I suppose we could consider that an improvement." 
Ambitious and tender, alive and in front of you, is a part of him you'd thought you lost. 
"And you somehow still remember." 
Viktor's temple forms a knot, but his gaze is entirely unreadable. He brushes an exploring palm down the small of your back, keeping himself propped up on his elbow. You're leaning into him naturally, as though you've hardly planned to. Your arms rest on his shoulders, your weight settles gently and tangibly in his lap. 
"I told you," He says, voice barely more than a whisper, a plea, a prayer. "Regardless of what is taken from me, you are far too precious to forget." 
Your breathing is unsteady. It echoes in his ears, becoming all he can focus on. Sharp in, shaky out. 
"I didn't know I mattered so much to you." You're glancing away, while you brush his long hair from his eyes; your breath shakes, you twirl an ombre strand around your finger. "I mean, not after- not when you're- fuck, I don't know." 
"Not as you remember?" Viktor completes. 
You reply with a shallow nod. "You're just… different." 
Alive. Anew. A vessel, not a man, not the one you admired. 
Viktor's jaw tenses. His chest stings, it pulls at him like there's a black hole where his heart should be. And this time, he isn't caught between the residuals of your emotions. He is feeling his. 
He gives a low, quiet, simple answer. "There is much between us that differs, now." 
You're silent, for a few moments, caught chewing on the inside of your cheek. 
"The Hexcore," You start, "You… absorbed it, right?" 
"In theory." 
"Our studies made it seem alive. I wasn't sure if something like that was even possible. I read your notes, Vik, I saw the runes and your leg, and I didn't- I should've been there." 
Viktor takes a breath so quiet it nearly goes unnoticed. "I should have made you stay out of it." 
He sees the heartache on your face before he feels it — Viktor's fingertips, rough and metal-like, trace the gentle curve of your jaw. But his power is weakened. Your emotions thread through him as faint pulses, and he can't dive deeper. 
Even when he closes his eyes, there's a barrier; a wall, for him to bang his fists against, despite knowing there's no way to reach you. Your soul manifests in his horizon line. Admirable and bright, unable to be touched. 
When Viktor's eyes flutter open, they're whirling in dizzy, wild shades, like the colors beneath have been mixed and shaken. They shift from crimson, to cobalt, to citrine. Impulsively, he cups your face to keep you close, to make certain you won't disappear. To remind himself that he can still feel your soft skin against his blasphemous palm. 
"You have blamed yourself enough for my atrocities. So much of your pain could have been circumvented, but then I-" Viktor softens. He brushes his thumb over your cheek slowly, over and over, like an anxious, desperate tick. "Perhaps I should have turned you away the moment you reached the commune." 
Your hand finds his, grasps it tight and keeps him pressed to your cheek; and your pain bleeds for him, inviting him in. Foggy and infinite, covered in thorns. Curling in on itself, an infinite fractal of warm tenderness and icy, bitter melancholy — 
"Viktor- that isn't-" 
"Your mind crumbles, in all cases, each and every time you look at me." He speaks carefully. Chews through every word, before he spits it out. His voice rumbles, reverberates like an earthquake, "Why?" 
He supposes he already has his answer. Delving inside your mind left him with no room for doubt. This is his fault. It's a form of self-sacrifice, a familiar brush with endless destruction, he thinks, to hear you say the final words. The ones he already knows. You are allowed to let go. Fate will embrace you in the ways I could not. 
"Because, dammit, I still care about you," You're blurting out, "More than anyone, or anything else." 
"I do not deserve it. Considering what I have-" 
"I don't care, Vik. And every time I see you, when I feel this," You squeeze his hand hard, enough to incite the rigid surface of his faux fingertips with transcendent sparks of the arcane, "I remember your notes, the fire. The days I spent following you into the Undercity. I see the empty look in your eyes when you first saw me, and I keep thinking this isn't real. That I'm going to wake up, and you… you'll be gone." 
Viktor's gaze flickers over your face, wide and iridescent, a perfect contradiction. His breathing runs quick, his palm shakes. But within the dance between your soul and his, he's daring to reach for you. 
Bright, vivid light washes over. It blinds him, for a moment. Bathes his figure in radiance. A force within him is gnawing, whispering in runic words that he shouldn't be able to understand, telling him he isn't supposed to feel this, isn't meant to have a place within him carved to fit your shape. The best option is to turn you away, to listen to his head. Evolution requires a steady mind, an unwavering resolve. An inhuman herald. 
Viktor refuses. He listens to his non-existent heart, instead, and he feels your petals, closed yet delicate. He lets himself become your sun, so he can watch you bloom. A figment of his own humanity shimmers before him. The light obscures his vision, it burns his eyes. But he holds on — pallid palms pressed together with all his might, containing his bursting luminescence and the flowery resonance of you. 
A gentle thumb brushes your cheek, and you're sighing, confessing, "I shouldn't. But I missed you, Viktor. So much." 
Your thoughts echo inside him like a ripple in water. I wish you could be more than just a memory. 
Nothing exists for him to promise. Your breathing shakes, your eyes flutter. Your body subtly arches into his touch, when he comfortingly caresses the back of your neck. 
"I missed you more than words could express," He admits, voice low, close to cracking like the edges of old stone. Everything blends, in a haze of his own making, as his palm clumsily returns to hold your face. As he gently guides you, tilting you towards him by your jaw. 
"Look at me. You meant everything. For so long, so deeply, I treasured you- do not ever think otherwise. But I was powerless. Over and over, I perpetually imagined the last time I saw you. The soft sound of your voice, and the mundane instances in between. I would have done it over again, in the same order. To be frozen in time, with this memory of you." 
Stars fade, the galaxy around him chips and splinters. But he knows this is the truth. The arguments, the introductions, the pain, the softness, the falling, the fading — history would repeat itself infinitely, and he would gladly lose himself in its spiral with you. 
Your hands clench on his shoulders, your gaze grows lost in his own. You drown in the gentle nebulas of eyes that still feel so remarkably his. 
Every outcome before him weaves into the same ending, every star carries the same grim message. He cannot go back, that's the crucial cusp of it all. The strings of fate pull him along, igniting a sharp taste in his throat. They seek to make him into the arcane's chosen puppet. 
"Viktor," You're sighing, and oh, the syllables of his name are more than a plea when they're breathed from your lips, they're a washed-out memory, a poem and a promise between his ribcage — 
"But you have me right now." 
"I know," Viktor says, because it's all he can say, "I know." 
When you trail off into silence, Viktor finds that the abyss of your soul echoes with a single unfathomable sentence. 
I still love you. 
So this is the tragedy. 
His faithful step in the universe's eternal return. An infinite expression of his fleeting, useless affections, strung throughout an inseparable existence. 
Viktor realizes now, the truth was merely a means to the end he expected. This is the predetermined resolution, where he finally gives in, and recognizes he cannot escape the path laid before him. He was always going to break you, perhaps from holding on too tight. 
Once again, he is powerless; this time, to his own body. He can sense the thrumming in his limbs, glowing through every vein. This can't last forever. He knows you are his focal point, and once you disappear, the arcane will take your place. In his hands, in his chest, in every breath he takes. Blotting out the last of his humanity. 
You smile, and it's a crooked, broken, undeserved thing — but it captivates him just the same. A flicker of heartache catches the light in your eyes. He believes he is watching you think, seeing the cogs click into place as your jaw grits uncomfortably, as your eyes threaten to well up again, as you come to the same conclusion. This is futile. 
Then, let this moment at least be yours. 
Viktor places both palms on your face. He guides you to follow him, when he falls back. The weight of your body presses his chassis into the ground. His head rests against the flowers. His hair fans out around him, faint blonde strands interwoven, like a painting's highlights: the finishing touches. 
But you aren't staring at him. Not at his eyes, your gazes don't meet. You're staring at the pretty mole, placed perfectly above his mouth — and he knows, because this isn't the first time. 
It's where you would focus when he found you lost in thought and drowsy, coming up with excuses not to stare at his lips. He remembers feeling you touch the corner of his mouth, close but not quite, before your fingertip brushed down the length of his nose; the space between you barely leaves room for accommodation, and Viktor brings a palm to your chest to push you apart, despite wanting to drop his cane and use both hands to — 
Dangerously, you stop yourself by leaning close. Viktor's eyes flutter shut, as your forehead comes to rest against his own. 
His voice is barely audible. Accent thick, low, and familiar. 
"However this may end, I need you to realize," He exhales, slow and shakily. "There was never a moment where I did not adore you." 
Those words press into you like an arrow in your chest, a hot knife lodged between bones. You breathe in deeply, you sigh carefully, and Viktor feels your breath as it fans against his mouth. 
It's merely the surface of what he wishes he could say. There is so much more, I admired you since we met. You were smart, radiant. Gods, was it the most egregious combination, because you both intimidated and captivated me. You were effortless to adore. I thought I made myself obvious. Requiring your help for every insignificant invention, stealing you at every turn because it felt delightful, to have you all to myself. Those moments are distant, yes, but they are not blights. They were brilliances. 
An infinity would not be near enough time to fall for you. I would wish to alter fate, but I can't, I cannot save you from myself. From this… inevitability, this expectation that we are doomed for ruin. 
You unfurl, you blossom. The sparkle of your soul follows the glow in his palms, eclipsing his body, shining over the rot; two lighthouses glimmering towards one another, communicating in their own code — and your mind pleads for him, one last time. 
Prove it. I need you to show me. 
And he almost does. Really, truly, almost. He nearly pulls you in, denies destiny to follow impulse, and veers both your courses towards destruction. 
The simplicity of a kiss would prove this is real, prove his humanity. It would be something for him to have, not a token for the arcane to take. No, the arcane would weep, as he ignites his new body's first experience with selfishness. The intensity he's longed for would no longer be numbed, he'd feel it surge and shine and breathe through him. Pooling at his fingertips, as he pulls you in, guiding heat to draw itself into you. 
It'd feel good, to press his mouth to yours, and discover what your lips feel like in the ways he's imagined for ages. He could hold you as if you'd never have to leave. He could pretend, as though the coolness of his sanctuary is just the evening draft in the lab, and he isn't making up for past regrets, he is fixing them. 
Warmth would return to his figure, his soul would converge into his body, and fate, as cruel as it is, would be forced to do nothing but watch. 
Viktor allows his eyes to open. His palms are still on your face, your gentle weight is still pinning him down. The light of the moon above you creates pale, hazy crescents in the edges of his vision. You are so close. Your heart is its own entity. Pounding so hard in your chest, he can practically feel it as his own. His gaze flickers to your mouth, as his hands faintly caress your skin. 
Prove it, prove it, prove it. 
For a few moments, he debates the repercussions. 
It could be swift, fleeting, an accident. Barely more than a brush, a taste, before he drags himself away. Or, it could be more. 
A point of devotion, expressed with closed eyes and soft lips. Admiring you without seeing, confessing without words. 
Would your lips feel plush, would you hesitate, would you send him spiraling down along with you, as you pulled him in and whispered his name? 
Perhaps it might escalate, into a feverish mess of your hands in his hair and your lips at his throat, and would he still feel them there? Against the gold notches embedded into his neck, kissing down to admire where his body meets magic. Could either of you manage to stop if you tried, or would time bleed together, until he could die like this — until he's convinced he is dying? 
Viktor's thumb brushes your lips. Shakily, mechanically. 
Gravity threatens to drag him in, steady on your pull, strong like absolution. Centimeters stop him from closing the distance, from pulling you close and colliding so softly, so vividly. In one simple, fluid, perfect movement. He dreams of it. But still, still. 
Still, Viktor struggles to catch his own breath, although it hardly makes sense for his perfected system. Still, he allows himself the small privilege of caressing your cheek, feeling your skin beneath his ruined fingertips. Your gaze widens — he can't help but wonder, but foolishly, uselessly hope, that you might've been expecting more — and he finds your chest with his palm, to repeat past actions, to carefully push you away. 
It isn't the choice he would wish to make. But for once, it will be his choice, all the same. There is strength, a grounding sense of responsibility, a misguided tenderness, in this. Even if it hurts. 
Even if Viktor is already regretting it, the moment he sees the softness fade from your eyes. A wavering gaze stares back at him, as dark as a knot of storm clouds. His hand steadies on your chin to keep you in place. 
His last tie to humanity is a knot he can't undo. The one of few left to mourn him deserves more than empty words, or false promises. You deserve to heal. You are his greatest mistake, and his most lovely exception. 
You were worth every moment, every word, every star. He can feel you, in the chasm of his chest. Guilt runs thick in his makeshift veins. Newfound pain pushes out from his shoulder blades like wings, and he knows you may have been unable to change his fate, but you have changed him. Every piece of you will always press together to form a part of his entirety — with the same soft edges, amongst familiar galaxies of convergences. 
This isn't the end, not yet, not quite. Viktor hopes he can show you. The sun will rise again; you will bask in its glow, warm and unburdened. You'll rediscover your spark. Your soul was meant to burn on a pyre that reciprocates, and logic dictates an inhuman vessel cannot. For you, for your gentle, beating heart, this is only the beginning. 
There will be no more nightmares, no more exhaustion. He can be of use, he can help you rest. His power has limits. However faint, however controlled. But this, the science of dreams, leading their way into passages, establishing connections and fateful meetings — considering his experience with magic and the astral, it should be relatively easy to grasp. 
And he knows it will hurt hard. To see you, to lose you. Though, unlike him, you cannot force your emotions into silence. Viktor harbors a hint of envy. A flourish of frustration. You have never deserved the world's blind cruelty. He would have torn the universe apart to at least keep his pain, so the sharpness in his chest and the blood stained into his palms could serve as final reminders of you. 
One last pleasant memory won't fix what's broken, but it could save you, where he can no longer save himself. 
He supposes it's worth a try. 
"Viktor," You're murmuring, and he hates the way his own name makes your bottom lip quiver, how your shoulders tense as though you could curl in on yourself. "Sorry, I-" 
"No, no, please don't apologize. There is…" Viktor starts; he attempts to keep the words from stammering, but it's difficult when you're still so close. You are all he can see, as your moonlit gaze matches his, like it could guide his waves without trying. 
He grinds his jaw, glances away, and tries again. "There is something I've wished to show you. Could I sit up?" 
Your palms, pressed to either side of his head to prop yourself up, fidget and clench, fingers trembling. But you nod, you shift. He feels your weight leave his lap when you finally slide off of him. 
Viktor pushes himself up. The metal decorations that fix his clothing into place clink together faintly. He carefully folds his legs. He glances towards you, gives a coaxing tilt of his head, and gently pats his palm to his knee. 
"Come." 
The whispering meadow in his elaborate space leaves you plenty of room to sprawl out, as you rest your head in Viktor's waiting lap. Blades of grass tickle your arms. He is firm, rigid underneath you. Not quite the most comfortable pillow, but it hardly matters to you, because your eyes are already growing nice and heavy. 
You're losing your battle with exhaustion, he figures. Resting against him is especially potent at making your tiredness shine through. (He recalls somewhat-sleepovers, sharing the same dorm, your head falling against his shoulder as your breathing echoed into his ear.) He assists the endeavor, brushing his fingertips down either side of your face, adjusting you to make sure his lap is comfortable. You shiver, and he toys with your hair, continuing until you're sighing, relaxing. 
Viktor smiles. His gaze above you meets yours, shines with devotion. There's a new color in his eyes. Some cross between amethyst and crimson, like a swirling red wine, like drops of blood in water — sickeningly sweet. His hair frames his face. Strands brush the faux edges of his jaw. 
A few more moments to admire you is all he allows for himself. Then, he breathes deeply, calmly. He reaches beside him, into the grass, to delicately snap the stem of a tiny, almost-hidden white daisy. 
"I want you to picture," Viktor tucks the flower behind your ear, continuing slowly, the words spoken with a calm, yet melancholy edge: "A place where you can be at peace." 
"Mmm," You hum, hands clasped, resting neatly on your stomach, "Like a memory?" 
"It could be one, yes." 
"Like when we snuck out of our classes to go look at the stars, to see the autumn meteor shower. We missed an evening lecture, and the professor made us write lines…" 
Viktor distantly recalls the way his hands cramped for weeks, how his knuckles ached. His palms had thick calluses from where he tightly held his pencil, his skin was stained with graphite from where he rested his hand against the paper — but vividly, as though he could close his eyes and be transported there, he remembers your excitement. 
Your pure elation, as you hurriedly climbed the endless stairs to the very top of the viewing tower, mumbling about how you didn't want to miss it. You never stopped grinning, as you guided his hand to show him where the stars would fall, pointing to every distant shimmer in the sky. Although, to him, they never seemed to shine brighter than the look in your eyes. 
Ages later, you both returned to that same spot on the outskirts of Piltover, perhaps in an attempt to relive your youth. The viewing tower was rickety and silent. The stairs to the top were long and grueling. The fancy lights shining from various new buildings made the stars impossible to see, now. 
The Hexgates were conceptualized the next year. Viktor's doctor recommended a crutch and a brace. So it was your last attempt, in the end. 
Your tired eyes flutter open, and Viktor gazes down at you, lips upturned into the faintest hint of somber amusement. 
"It only occurs every two hundred years. The professor warned us, he said the meteor shower was a waste of our precious time," Viktor recounts, with a small, playful huff. "He had already seen it, and it failed to impress him." 
"We would've seen more elsewhere, he said, which is true, but…" You shrug lazily. "It was so quiet up there. With just us, and the stars." 
"The calmest place in all of Piltover," Viktor replies in agreement. 
"After that, we talked about getting out of the city. Maybe vacationing somewhere once we graduated, just for a while." 
There were late night talks, sleepy confessions, foolish dreams of far-off places. Much like this, really. Your brows pinch, you stifle a yawn. Viktor can't help but find it adorable. 
Then, your head tilts back, as you gaze at him again. "Remember?" 
Viktor softens. "You dreamt of seeing the flowers in Ionia." 
Your smile widens. "I'll try to picture that, then." 
Moonlight burns in the back of his gaze. Magic returns to pulse through him — connecting threads to the minds of hundreds of followers, casting a line to hook into the arcane. The sort of pain that becomes a new heartbeat, offering to seal itself within him. His fingers shake, as he hesitates to bring them towards you. He forces himself to steady, to meet your tender expression, and commit the depths of it to memory. 
Everything must come to an end. Viktor cups your face in both palms, and prepares for his last dance with mortality. 
"Imagine a field of endless, untouched blooms. Culminating in stunning magic, able to be sensed within the ground itself, thrumming underneath your feet." Viktor's voice is a low, level, comforting murmur. Like he's reading straight from an Ionian textbook; in another life, it would be enough to put you to sleep. 
"And the air smells lovely," You're mumbling, tired. "And the sky is full of thousands of stars." 
"Yes, but," Viktor ever-so gently brushes his fingertips over your eyelids, guiding you to close them. "You must close your eyes, little spark." 
Your expression is perfectly, wonderfully peaceful. For a few moments, he savors it. He brushes his thumbs over your skin and relishes the softness. He watches the gentle heave of your chest. The slow, mortal intake of every breath. Heavy with exhaustion. 
Viktor feels his heart crumble, although he knows he does not have one. 
He swallows, he holds your face tenderly. Energy surges from his palms. Crisp, reality-warping fragments of light. Vivid paradoxes. Sparkling against your skin, in prickles of dull static. 
The warmth of your soul is a small, kindled flame, held weakly in his palms. This time, you can feel it. Touches reaching between your ribcage. Tracing your bones, leaving bright flowers and pockets of starlight wherever his fingertips brush. It is a gradual, languid sensation; like a baptism, hands cradling your edges to carefully lower you into deep, warm water. It consumes, distorts and collapses, connects the two of you in a haze of entwined hands and twisted-together veins. Blood and magic, pain and healing. 
Viktor allows his voice to echo through your weary mind — though he is sure his words will be forgotten, by the time you awake. 
Rest, now. Perhaps, in another reality, or within a distant, rewritten future, we will be offered the chance to begin again. If you and I will it. Not fate, nor the infinite tides of entropy. 
His voice sounds clear, undistorted. Rich and enveloping. There's hints of hesitation. A clear shake. Deep traces of a faltering, human-like weakness. 
Thank you, for the opportunity to appreciate you one final time. Your mind and your emotions were lovely to be lost in. 
And I must apologize. I know our time was meant to be impermanent, yet, I cannot help but believe it was not enough. I am not myself. Your memories showed me this — they reminded me of who I was before I'd lost you. 
I'm sorry. There is a revolution I must lead. Burdens I am destined to bear alone. 
Viktor's palms leave fingerprints on your soul. The light he presses into you is glittering, hopeful. As bright as a cloudless summer's day. Waves roll over your figure, tenderness and exhaustion running thick like honey — akin to a warm hearth, like the sun in full-bloom. 
It perplexes, does it not? The very crux of humanity. I could have held every conceivable universe in my hands. And I would have traded it, to do something good, to earn the privilege of coveting you. 
The entire false, star-bound sky shakes with the weight of Viktor's trembling exhale. 
But our old sentiments hardly matter to the present. A tragedy claims itself as such, because it is certain, in its irreparability. 
Every end merely led me to your beginning. 
Your vessel drinks him in. You taste the arcane in your throat, you choke on the way his name blossoms inside your chest, and you allow yourself to drift. To be swallowed in his gentle, heartsick shadow. 
I loved you. For as long as I have known you. As immensely as a soulless body is capable. 
The last sensation to grace you is Viktor's lips, ever-so gently ghosting your forehead — and then, his fingertips, pressed subtly against your skin, to form a silent goodbye. 
Please. Do not come back. 
Then, everything concludes. The world pops like a bubble, covering you in mist. Your mind runs blank. A vibrant chalkboard of thoughts and equations and colors, erased. You collapse, even though there's nothing for you to collapse against. You're unsure if someone — if Viktor — caught you, or if you were left to descend, disappearing beneath the earth. 
Sleep comes to you in a large, encompassing swell. 
And you dream. 
— 
A meadow manifests before you. 
Flowers trail as far as the eye can see. White roses. Red carnations. Puffs of pink and purple hydrangea. Flecks of pollen drift into the air, glittering with magic, shining like little stars. Soft grass tickles your bare feet. Energy surges from the ground, threading through your every limb. Your body feels weightless, warm, and free. The air is crisp, allowing each breath to be deep and clear. You can see distant trees, and above you, intricate galaxies, spread across a dark blue sky. 
But you aren't alone. 
A figment of luminosity, an anomaly, a hazy spark of pure magic shifts, nearly blinds you, and then convenes into a figure. With a palm cupped over his eyes, to shield himself from his own light, before it finally begins to simmer down. 
The phantom edges of his shape shimmer with starlight. His slender frame — astral, seemingly untouchable — shifts in endless, vibrant colors. Faux moonlight shines through his hair, short and tousled, pure white; like soft snow, like the foam at the edges of waves. Swirling with faint whispers of blue, the fluffy tresses remind you of a cloud-filled sky. 
Your gazes meet, and it feels familiar; it isn't the first time. When he sees you, he glows, his figure alighting in shades of sunlight and gold. The amber in his eyes catches the moon's low rays, his cheeks soften into a shade of rose. His skin is warm, less pallid. The stress present on his features has changed into soft eyes and smile lines. 
Memorized, pretty moles greet you. The one on his cheek stands out like the guiding north star, shining amongst a clear night sky. The mole by his mouth follows along when his lips tip into a carefree, radiant smile. Wide and euphoric and foolish. It shows off the small gap between his teeth. 
He looks just like you remember. Just as you wanted to remember. The same handsome features: thick brows, a sharp jaw, eyes that shine as brightly as they once did, when he was lost in his passions. His expression carries a familiar sense of warmth. It reflects the same tenderness he'd reserve just for you, beloved and beckoning. The sight of you is enough to make his eyes well up with tears. 
And Viktor walks, strides, runs to you. 
He's pulling you into an embrace before you have the chance to breathe; arms holding you tight, squeezing you desperately. Pressing you into his blurry, stelliform shape. 
Your palms find his back, feeling where the cosmos meet his skin. He buries himself into your shoulder, brings a shaking palm up to lovingly cradle the back of your head. Breathing you in, he fills with tenderness, spilling over. His nose brushes your nape, weak droplets tap your skin like rain. A heavy throb works its way into every inch that you touch — his back, his shoulder, his neck, like bruises hued in shades of lilac. Your bodies fit together as though they were meant to. 
When he finally pulls apart from you, it's slow, gradual. He places both hands on your shoulders, so clumsily it slightly jostles you back and forth. His brows pinch, his hands clench until his knuckles are strained. He takes you in, gaze weakening as it flickers over your form. A palm finds your cheek to hold you tenderly; he can barely believe he is touching you. 
"There you are- oh, look at you." Viktor's voice is lovingly fragile, yet perfectly, utterly enamored. Brushing his thumb over your cheek, he can't help but choke on a weak, worthless sob. "Finally, you came, I thought- I was sure it wasn't going to work, but it- I can-" 
He cannot think, can barely talk; dizzy, his chest heaves with every sharp, quickened breath he takes in. Viktor tapers off, his palm slips from your face and his hand on your shoulder goes loose as he falters. 
Head pounding, chest aching, the very figments of his body burn like dying stars. His own pulse thrums in his throat until he can taste blood, until he believes he might cough up his own heart. He gazes at you like you might fade out, brushes his palm from your neck to your jaw like you aren't real. 
But you merely smile, and stare at him as though he holds the entire universe in his eyes. 
"Vik," You're mumbling sweetly; your hand blindly reaches for his, your fingertips brush in a clumsy waltz, before you're grabbing, squeezing, steadying him. "You're so beautiful." 
Oh. Viktor feels your hand in his, he melts in the heat of your light, and he believes heaven is here, right at his fingertips. He reflects your words, as his figure shimmers brighter than the luminous sky above — he is more than a memory. He is yours: a star incarnate. 
"You-" Viktor murmurs, lacing his fingers with yours. Warmth washes over his cheeks and his shoulders; he feels foolish, like he's young and stupid and crushing again. "-rival the divine." 
Tension briefly buds in your shoulders. "You won't… you aren't going to disappear, right?" 
Index drifting underneath your chin to keep your gaze tilted towards him, Viktor grins, putting the both of you at ease. 
"Attempting to get rid of me already?" He asks, a little confident, entirely playful. 
When your palm teasingly pushes at his chest, hardly trying to guide him away, your touch ricochets through him. It makes his vessel surge with energy, as though he'd touched a live wire. He can actually feel it. Hues of scarlet and sunset and the sea swirl down from his neck to his shoulders. Glowing fiercely, rippling incandescently. 
"No, never," You answer, "I just- I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be worried. It's just been… difficult. Without you, I mean." 
There's a hazy cadence to your words. It rivals the intricacy of flower buds opening, revealing themselves to the waiting moon. Familiar to him, by now. In this pocket of the arcane — free from strife, some dreamy recreation of the Garden of Eden — your minds can be blissfully one. 
Viktor breathes something of a sigh: a tender, understanding revelation. 
"I will stay here for as long as you need," He's cooing, guiding you to look at him again with a soft hold on your chin, even though his radiance in your vision is dazzling. "I promise. We can talk- there is so much I have waited to tell you. Or we can simply lie here. There is time for anything you prefer, my light. My sweet, little spark." 
Gaze never leaving yours, Viktor admires you with a look that cradles; palms gentle, when they hold your wings. Your hand reaches up to mirror his, your thumb gently caressing the mole placed onto the apple of his cheek.
He's staring, and you can't help but stumble out a laugh. "What?" 
Viktor doesn't answer. 
Suddenly, the depths of shared pain and the regret tied to his chosen goodbye barely matter. They are forgotten when you are right here, finally. A thousand emotions thrum through him, thick and overwhelming: fear, regret, hunger, devotion. He can't speak, he couldn't possibly explain everything your warm smile does to him. It reminds him of moments stretched through years, times where you almost pulled him close, and he knew you were just friends but Gods, did he want more — 
And perhaps, here and now, in this dream away from reality, the both of you can have it. 
Carefully, his palms hold your face: soft skin against the ethereal. Pulled in by gravity, mere inches separate you. Viktor's nose brushes yours — slightly awkward, all-too human. He breathes slowly, for a moment, before he exhales a heavy sigh, that feels like finally letting go of everything. His hesitation, his weakness, his destiny. 
And when Viktor kisses you, the infinity before you slips away. 
The surrounding galaxy becomes finite, flourishing and existing for only the two of you. It's only a kiss, but it is the implosion of stars, and the formation of new ones — energy explodes in between you with thousands of colors, smearing out from Viktor's form like paint. As though he can't contain his own resplendence. 
It is everything you have ever wanted. He makes you feel alive. 
Head tilting, he guides you close and keeps you there. Magic sparks within him from the inside out. And yet, this is the closest he's ever been to humanity. In the eyes of a distant astronomer, the press of your figure against his could be mistaken for one singular shape. A puzzle, a paradox. A supernova of affection. 
One of his hands remains steady on your cheek, the other confidently reaches for the curve of your waist. Every brush of his lips against yours feels like electricity, tastes the same as palpable desire. He's softer than the ground beneath you as you fall, weightless, landing on your back. Pressed against the flowers and the grass, as if they're made of clouds. 
Your thoughts fade out, they burn, becoming fuzzy, unfocused. All you can think about is him. Viktor's touch and his mouth, and every moment where you needed this, desperate to learn how his lips might feel against yours — 
Perfect. They feel perfect. Simple, guiltless, and lovely. Like biting into an apple, like giving in to sin. As though this moment was destined in time, and every reality has converged, so the stars and their higher powers could turn to watch it take place. 
Viktor laces his hand with yours. The flowers surrounding you tickle your skin, they blossom from his hands. Threading into you when his palm traces your side, intimate petals sweet enough to taste on his tongue. Every kiss brings you closer, igniting past memories. Frustrations you wished to take out, by slamming your mouth against his. Promises and pleas, stifled farewells. Held back tears, silent confessions. 
This feels earnestly real. Not a goodbye, nor a useless prayer. But a kiss meant to be shared between two destiny-bound lovers. 
Your free hand desperately clings to his shoulders, his back. His body feels radiant, like if a shooting star was tangible. Your fingers thread through his hair, and it's akin to touching waves, or playing with the wind, or sinking your hand into fresh snow. 
Viktor curls into your touch; he chases it, as desperately as his lips seek yours. You're sighing, when he shifts to kiss your jaw, your throat. Then, you're arching into him, blurring the outlines between your body and his, sealing his fate, as he presses his mouth to yours once more. 
He only pulls away when you're both breathless and panting. 
Slowly, gradually, he shifts back to place his figure above you. The light of the sky's faux, anomaly sphere shines onto him. It gives him a halo, bathes him in radiance. You can't decide if it's moonlight or sunlight, or if he is reflecting every ray from within. 
Viktor breathes in heavy gasps. The meadow dims, smudges, losing detail. It becomes hazy, and although he knows deep down this won't last forever, the thought hardly crosses his mind. He can only focus on you; a fallen angel, underneath him. The keeper of the love he sought to chase and possess and drown in, until the rest of the world has faded away. An arm braces beside you, while his free hand curves to hold the small of your back. 
"Your lips are even softer than I once pictured," He murmurs; his eyes sparkle, tender and loving and jewel-like. "Should… should we stop?" 
"No, please," You answer. Your voice is beautiful, unforgettable. Curling into him like a fated spiral. Your fingertips trace the back of his neck, before they re-tangle in his pearlescent hair. "Don't, Vik." 
So Viktor doesn't. He pulls you in, he pretends destiny is within his grasp. He guides you with a hand on your cheek and stars at his fingertips, to kiss you again, and again, and again. 
— 
When you wake, you are far from the Undercity. 
Your eyes flutter open, slowly and reluctantly. You recognize the softness of a bed underneath you. The surrounding room is simple, with empty grey walls, and a plain white ceiling. The vents make a low clicking sound as they struggle to choke out warm air. Familiar, the sounds of Piltover hum. An echoing train bell. The tick of gears on the side table's clock. Unfamiliar voices are kept low, just beyond your quarters. 
Tingles rake down your entire body once you sit up. Sparks trace your spine, your shoulders, your face, like a phantom touch. But they fade into nothing, as quickly as they came. 
It's strange for you to be this well-rested. Your mind feels clear. Relaxed. You were free from nightmares, for the first time in ages; as far as you can remember, at least. You recall sneaking out of Piltover, to descend into Zaun. You were exhausted, stressed, but you reached the commune, and — 
Oh. You're throwing your blankets aside, then. 
You toss on your old clothes; they smell like magic and citrus. A nurse finds you before you can leave. You've been staying at an old, run-down infirmary, on the outskirts of Piltover. Established to provide care to the Undercity, ages ago. It takes longer than you would have liked to convince her you're fine, you don't need to stay. You have somewhere you need to return to. 
You were carried here, she explains, as she walks you to the exit of the infirmary. 
There were a few people. Strange garments, they hardly said much. You slept for nearly a day, but otherwise, your condition is stable. 
Your heart twists; carried? Why and when and how would you be carried out of the commune? Your mind is still hazy, you suppose. You can barely remember where you were, or if you even reached your destination in the first place. 
Perhaps you collapsed just outside of it. Perhaps you failed, and the rumors were wrong, and the one you were searching for wasn't there after all. 
Dead men aren't supposed to come back. 
Despondent, you offer the nurse a few small words of thanks, shaking her hand before you turn to leave. 
She stops you first, though. 
Oh, she says, and as for the marks on you, I wouldn't worry. There's been plenty of cases similar to yours, with the same sort of scars. They seem like nothing to fret over. 
You freeze. 
Reaching up, you shakily brush your hand over your own face. Inscribed onto your skin, marble and metal-like, rests four unmistakable marks to your forehead — the lingering outline of Viktor's fingertips. 
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narumi-gens · 1 year ago
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boundaries gojo satoru x f!reader
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post-breakup!gojo who can't quite follow through on the breaking up. he's as present in your life after he ended things as he was when you were still dating.
he still blows up your phone at all hours with nothing important. he insists on holding your hand when you walk side-by-side. he still uses your apartment key, which you never had the heart to ask for him to return. you've ended up in more than one heated makeout session with him, although you have managed to keep them from progressing past him feeling up your tits over your bra.
and when you end up in the hospital after a mission, he shows up before even shoko can get there. you sigh when his towering form appears in the doorway of the room you've been given.
"looks worse than it is," you say and despite the way you slur your words due to the painkillers, it's true.
your concussion, while serious, isn't something that wouldn't heal on its own. your broken ribs managed to avoid puncturing any organs. even the burst blood vessel in your left eye that's colored the white of your eye a ghastly red is only really a surface-level injury.
but for once, the man who never shuts up stays silent as he pulls a chair close and sits at your bedside. he reaches for your hand but pauses when you wince at the pressure on the two fingers that are fractured and wrapped in a splint. instead, he settles for loosely holding onto your wrist.
"shoko's gonna fix it all anyways," you tell him through a yawn, your eyelids feeling heavy. "'sides, you shouldn't even be here. boundaries, satoru. 'member?"
it's a word that you've tossed in his face so many times since the breakup that it's lost all meaning. and it doesn't help that you've never managed to say it with any sort of real weight. instead, it usually comes out on the end of a resigned sigh.
you can feel his gaze on you even through his dumb sunglasses. normally, even post-breakup, you would reach out and pull them down his nose to meet those cursed eyes of his and make some joke. but with your brain working at a diminished capacity and your arm hooked up to an IV full of the best painkillers japan's doctors have to offer, all you can do is slowly blink at him in return.
"it's always boundaries this, boundaries that with you," he finally retorts with a shake of his head, but offers nothing else.
"'f you didn't want boundaries then you shouldn't've ended things, y'big dummy," you mumble, and no longer able to keep your eyes open, you finally let them close.
"I told you. I don't have room in my life for anyone else – i.e., you," he replies bluntly and you can feel the fit of giggles that you want to burst into, but all you can manage is a soft huff of laughter.
"liar," you say with a sleepy smile stretching across your lips. "can't even be honest when I'm strung out on painkillers. psh. lame."
it takes monumental effort, but you manage to crack open an eye so that you can see him sporting his own cheeky grin.
silence settles over you both and you feel yourself slowly beginning to fall into the blackness as your breathing slows. the soothing sensation of gojo's thumb rubbing circles on the skin of your wrist only aids in pushing you closer and closer to sleep.
"you were considered a suitable match." even on the edge of consciousness, the disgust in his tone at those two words reaches you. "I couldn't let them get what they wanted."
you let out a quiet hum in acknowledgment and wish you had enough strength to open your eyes, curious to see if he's surprised you weren't fully asleep yet.
"still letting 'em control you, hm? s'good we broke up. want someone who's only tied down by me," you mumble.
"baby, if you want to tie me down, all you had to do was say so," he jokingly responds, unsurprisingly choosing to sidestep the gravity of your words, no matter how slurred they were.
"boundaries, 'toru..." you trail off as you finally succumb to sleep.
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