#it was 'too happy' i was waiting for something else the whole time. for something to end sourly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cappulcino · 17 hours ago

Text

The Shape of Us

Read on AO3

Words: 6,440

Pairing: Larissa Weems x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Larissa are on a “break”. When you agree to meet for coffee at the Weathervane, you finally get to begin healing.

Tags: established relationship, angst with a happy ending, some fluff (flangst if you will), emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut (skippable, but maybe minors dni), maternal Larissa, character development, no Y/N

Trigger warnings: non-graphic mention of G!P (tell me if I should add more)

A/N: Quite a change of style with this one. I had the idea and just wanted to use it to practice instinctive writing, kind of. It’s also the first time I try to write present tense. Very experimental overall, not as thought out as usual, Larissa might not even be characterised the way I like her to be. Also, no beta, we die like Phasma. I hope you still enjoy it.

Eight months. That's how long you haven't seen Larissa.

You're not divorced –not yet anyway. But after four years of marriage, six years total of a seemingly perfect romance, Larissa had asked for a 'break'. You had agreed to it, and perhaps it had been the right decision, too.

You and Larissa had been constantly fighting over trivialities. And since you had been barely having any, not even sex could have saved your relationship at that point. The main argument often revolved around Elias, your son from your previous spouse.

You had met Larissa when you were seven months pregnant after a particularly hard divorce, and it had never discouraged her. She had courted you all the same, made you feel loved and beautiful like your abusive ex never had –or any other partner, for that matter–, and she had sworn to stay by your side forever.

Elias' birth had propelled your relationship into something terribly concrete in very little time. It had not been easy. But Larissa had helped you raise your little boy as her own without complaining once.

That was until your somewhat divergent views on Elias' upbringing got in the way, amongst other things, leading to endless arguments late at night, trying to keep your voice hushed so as not to wake Elias, but gesticulating and pacing furiously until you were both too tired to say another word.

And then one night, Larissa had said, "I think we should take a break."

Out of anger, you had asked her to be the one to pack her stuff and leave. You had bought your house together –she could have claimed the right to stay, too. But you had Elias and nowhere else to go. She had her quarters at Nevermore. So she had packed and left that very same night without even putting up a fight.

Eight months ago, then.

The break had hurt, kept hurting month after month, and to this day it still hasn't stopped hurting. It might even be worse.

Today, however, you and Larissa have agreed to meet for coffee at the Weathervane –just to see each other and talk, nothing more–, and you are desperate for this pseudo-date to mark the end of that damned break.

But while Larissa had been the one to initiate it, you had been the one to be a bitch about it, so you know you can't expect Larissa to jump for joy when you bring yourself to step inside the Weathervane.

Yet, you're filled with hope, and when you finally push that door, you realise it's not the chilly wind making you shiver, it's the anticipation.

With faked determination in your stance, you head towards the counter. But then you catch the shy wave of a hand with perfectly manicured red nails from the corner of your eye and stop abruptly.

Larissa is already here –of course she is– and slides a cup of coffee across the table she is sitting at. She knows she is always ten minutes early to everything and you, ten minutes late, and has ordered accordingly so your cardamom and sea salt vanilla latte is waiting for you, still steaming.

You want to run to her –you almost do. But you have to take a second to compose yourself. There is a whole range of emotions on her face, from bitterness to sadness and hurt. But she flashes you a weak smile and you are pleased to find out that there is still love underneath it all.

Slowly, with less determination than before, you walk up to the booth she has chosen and sit across from her.

"Hey…"

There is a slight hesitation in Larissa's attitude and tone as you take off your coat and put your bag down, and you wonder if she's excited to see you or scared –or both, like you are.

"I took the liberty to order for you. I hope that's okay," she says tentatively, as if worried your tastes might have changed in the past eight months.

"More than okay. Thank you."

Your eyes start a game of roaming all over each other's bodies without ever meeting, and you notice how Larissa unclasps her hands and her fingers start reaching out before she changes her mind to pull away and fidget under the table instead. It makes your heart clench.

"You look good," she suddenly blurts out.

It's game over for you as your eyes snap back up, boring into hers. You tell her that you think she looks even better. You mean it. But you are pained to see the weary look on her face, the hint of exhaustion no amount of makeup can hide.

You also notice the dress she is wearing, the same one she was wearing the day Elias was born. She had complained time and time again that it didn't fit her anymore, and the thought of her losing so much weight it does again almost brings tears to your eyes. Guilt is consuming you.

Larissa clears her throat in that particular way you know she does when she is struggling to stay calm, and you know it's your cue to pretend you haven't seen anything and start an actual conversation.

"How have you been?" you ask before taking a sip of your latte.

Larissa shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, even though she is anything but.

"Oh, you know… Busy. With Nevermore, mostly. The new term is approaching, so there's a lot to take care of. What about you? And… Elias?"

You purposely ignore the first question. You feel anything but good and don't have the strength to pretend like Larissa does. You don't want to admit you have been obsessively thinking about her every single day for the past eight months either. But when she mentions your son, you can't help but let your heart speak before your brain can reason it anyway, your tone clipped and cold.

"Let's not pretend you don't know how he's doing. I know you've been calling his school, and that you 'casually dropped by' Clarisse's house right when Elias was there for Timothy's birthday."

Feeling caught, Larissa pinches her lips and looks away. But she quickly recovers, her expression slightly hardening.

"You cannot expect a mother to stay away from her child for months on end without any news. Elias is my son, too."

"He's my son."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like dying inside, drowning in instant regret.

Larissa feels punched in the gut –so hard that it makes her gasp audibly. You notice the way her nostrils quiver and her eyes immediately water. But she clenches her jaw, forcing herself to remain cordial.

"Now you're just being cruel."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you say that?"

"I don't know!"

And it's true. The worst part in all this is that you never mean any of the poison you spit at your wife. It just comes out and you're not even sure why.

An awkward silence sets in for a moment, and you bring your cup to your lips with trembling hands before speaking again.

"He barely talks to me now. And when he does, it's only to ask, 'When is Mummy coming back?'"

"What do you tell him?" Seeing your lack of response, Larissa presses further. "He deserves answers."

"But I don't have them, do I? Just like I don't know what to tell him when he comes home from school and tells me that little Lisa's parents are getting divorced and her father is now with another woman, and asks me if his mummy is, too."

"What do you mean, you don't know what to tell him?" Larissa asks, briskly bringing her hands back on the table to better lean forward.

"Well, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"With another woman."

Larissa scoffs loudly, visibly shocked by your question.

"Heavens, no! I'm still wearing my ring."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"No?"

Once again, Larissa visibly aches at your reaction, and you hate yourself for it. Thing is, the fact that she is still wearing her wedding ring does mean a lot to you. It means everything. But you're too scared to get your hopes up, and before you can do anything about it, your heart decides it's best to kill that hope in the womb.

"So… You haven't seen anyone else? At all?" you ask nonetheless, still needing to make sure Larissa remains yours.

You have always felt like she was the most attractive of the two, and have always had this fear she would go look for someone better than you whenever she got the chance.

Larissa glares at you as she sips her own coffee, debating whether to indulge your jealousy or not. Eventually, she decides to be entirely honest.

"Someone did ask me out." Your eyes instantly darken while she continues. "Hannah, the florist. But–"

"But what?" you cut her off, feeling yourself turning green. You can't bear the thought of her with anyone else.

"But I said no, of course! Gosh, who do you think I am? I was never interested in her."

There is another pause and, seeing your eyes dart away, Larissa suddenly worries you might have been trying to tell her something. You notice her gaze quickly scanning your left hand to check your wedding ring is still there.

"Have you been seeing anybody else?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good."

The relief that washes over Larissa's face is undeniable. You find it almost cute, but mostly you feel a weight lifting from your own shoulder, reassured by the notion that you both remained fiercely faithful, no matter what.

Impulsively, Larissa stops fumbling with her napkin, cup, and whatever is in front of her, and gives in to her desire to touch you again, snatching your left hand. She squeezes it, presses it to her cheek. Her thumb traces loving circles on your skin, her lips pepper your knuckles with urgent kisses. Her breath is heavy as she relishes the familiar touch.

"I still love you, you know," she finally blurts out in a desperate whisper. "So much."

You can't help but gasp. Larissa wants to see you. She is wearing the same dress she wore for your son's birth. She hasn't taken her wedding ring off. She doesn't want Hannah the pretty florist. She still loves you.

It has been way too long since you last heard these words, and they make your eyes instantly well up, tears threatening to fall over your waterline like a dam bursting open.

Seeing that, Larissa brings a hand to cup your cheek without letting go of your left one, which she still kisses now and then. The movement is barely there, but you see her shake her head as well, and you can tell she hates seeing you like this and wonders if this break was truly a good idea after all. You're both more miserable than you care to admit.

Eventually, she dares express her doubt.

"Was this break beneficial to you at all?"

You can't say that a little distance wasn't needed. But God knows you can't live without Larissa either, and raising a six-year-old on your own is just too difficult.

"Was it to you?" you ask, once again eluding her question.

Larissa looks up, both forcing herself to swallow her own unshed tears and trying to come up with an answer. But for the first time since you sat at that table, she seems not to have any.

"All I know is that I miss you," she confesses instead. "And I miss our son."

"I miss you, too. We both do."

Your voice cracks at these last words.

"I want to see him. I need to see him," Larissa practically begs. "You can't keep me away from him forever."

You nod slowly and snuffle. You know that's fair –you had no right to forbid her to see Elias. Worse than that, you had no right to forbid your son to see his mother.

After a moment, you carefully pull away and grab your napkin to wipe your tears and blow your nose rather disgracefully. Larissa can't help the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she hears that sound and sees how red the tip of your nose has turned.

"Do you, uh… Do you want to come home for dinner?" you ask then. "I think Elias would be delighted to see you."

Larissa's heart skips a beat at your invitation. The idea of going home, spending some time with you, with your son… It's everything she has secretly been yearning for. Yet, you sense a slight hesitation. Larissa is still wary of how the evening could go –rightfully so, considering all the arguments you've had in the past.

"Are you sure?"

You don't want to imagine anything negative right now, so you just nod.

"Be there at eight?"

"I'll be there."

That evening, at eight, when the bell rings, you send your son to open the door.

"Elias, honey, I think you might want to answer that."

Your son turns away from the cartoon he is watching to glare at you darkly, but you insist, jerking your head towards the door, and he finally complies, sliding off the couch to go answer it.

When he does, you can see Larissa standing rather awkwardly by the doorway from where you are. The realisation of how uncomfortable she must feel to have to be invited into her own home truly tugs at your heartstrings. But then you see her eyes land on Elias, and her demeanour changes immediately.

"Hello, sunshine!"

Elias gasps loudly.

"Mummy!" he shouts, bouncing excitedly on his legs.

But just when you expect him to jump into Larissa's arms and squeal like he has just seen Santa, he freezes on the spot and a noisy whine escapes his mouth, quickly turning into full, ugly cries –the only way for him to express all those big emotions he had apparently kept bottled up all these months.

"Oh, oh, oh… Baby, no…"

With practised ease, Larissa picks Elias up, even though one of her hands is already full with the bouquet of roses she has bought for you on her way here. Hearing your son cry so desperately is killing you. But your heart breaks even further when you notice his short hair turning platinum blonde.

Elias has inherited your shapeshifting abilities but is too young to control them, of course –and you've never been too keen on teaching him how to, either. When a young, inexperienced shapeshifter feels strong emotions, it is not uncommon for their powers to go haywire. Quite often, the youngest partially shapeshift into someone they feel close to, usually a parent. For Elias, it's Larissa. Always Larissa.

"Mummy…"

"Oh, I know, sweetheart. Mummy missed you, too. More than you can imagine."

As you lean against the wall of your entrance, your hand on your chest to prevent yourself from choking on your guilt, Larissa glances at you, silently communicating her own mixture of sadness, guilt and affection.

Seeing Elias won't let go of her anytime soon, your wife invites herself inside. You come closer, closing the door behind her, while your son struggles to calm down.

"I… brought you these," Larissa says, bending at a weird angle to hand you the flowers without letting go of the little boy in her arms.

You take them, a small smile on your lips until you realise whom she must have bought the roses from.

"Did you buy them–"

"From Hannah? Yes." Larissa notices your jealousy flaring, but she quickly tames it. "I asked her for the most beautiful roses she had so I could gift them to my wife."

The pride in her eyes and her slight possessiveness make your heart soar and the smile returns to your lips.

"They're beautiful. Let me find a vase for them."

As you go find a vase for the roses, you can hear Larissa struggle to get out of her coat and then walk into the living room without ever putting Elias down.

"It's okay, sunshine. Oh… What's that you were watching? Is that Pokémon?"

"Mmh."

"You like Squirtle, don't you?"

"No. My favourite is Lucario."

"I'm sorry," you hear Larissa reply with a melancholic tone. "Of course, it's Lucario."

That simple exchange makes you realise just how fast things can change in a child's life, and therefore how much Larissa has missed because of you. You wonder if she will ever find it in her heart to forgive you. You know you won't.

Throughout dinner, Elias simply cannot stay still. Every time Larissa so much as shifts on her chair, his little hands reach for her to make sure she won't leave without him. Despite your instructions to eat his food –especially his vegetables–, he also keeps wiggling free, running back and forth between the table and his bedroom upstairs to go fetch his new toys and latest drawings and show them to Larissa. He speaks fast and loud, as if scared to give even the tiniest opportunity to either of you to say something negative and ruin the night for him.

Larissa, for her part, seems overwhelmed but far from unhappy. She holds each drawing carefully, murmuring praises as she flips through them, her smile never leaving her lips. Still, she regularly sneaks glances at you, and you understand she is waiting to be finally alone with you for a moment. You're waiting for this, too. You also both can't stop your eyes from darting to each other's lips, and it definitely doesn't help with the tension that has been building up since your coffee date at the Weathervane.

Thankfully, with all those emotions and that energy spent, Elias is quick to collapse on Larissa's lap, his thumb stuck in his mouth. You reach for his tiny wrist –you have successfully started weaning him off that habit over the past months and don't want him to pick it up again. But Larissa gently pushes your hand away.

"Leave him," she says, her voice not unkind but firm. "He needs it."

You sigh but give in. Tonight is not a night to argue about anything.

"You should go tuck him in," you offer after observing your sleepy child for a moment. By now, even his nose has shapeshifted into Larissa's.

Your wife smiles at the proposal and excuses herself, cradling Elias close to her chest as she brings him upstairs. Your gaze follows them fondly until you can't see them anymore and you decide to get up to clean the table a little bit.

But you quickly stop to go upstairs instead and see how things are going. You can't help it. Not necessarily because you want to control your wife, no. It's more because you find the sight of her with Elias comforting and absolutely heartwarming, and you need that right now.

As you arrive in front of your son's bedroom and peek through the crack of the door, you hear Larissa trying to explain to Elias how "mommies can still love each other very much and not be together for a while". You find her courageous. You've never had the balls to attempt such a difficult explanation, despite Elias' incessant questioning.

"I want you to be with me and Mommy again," you hear him plead sleepily.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Larissa coos, her fingers delicately brushing his still-platinum hair away from his forehead. "I want that, too. I really do. But Mommy and I… we're working on some things, okay? We're trying to make things better, I promise."

"I hate her."

The brutal honesty of your own child as he thinks you're not looking makes you want to scream, throw up, and bang your head against the wall. The pain burning in your chest is indescribable, and you have to cover your mouth so your inevitable sobs don't ruin the moment for Elias and his other mother.

Still, through it all, you are glad to find out Larissa has your back.

"Don't say that, Elias. I know you're sad, but Mommy loves you very much."

"But she doesn't want me to see you."

"I know, beautiful. I know. But Mommy is just… She's hurting, too. And sometimes, when people hurt, they say and do things they don't mean."

There is a moment of silence only broken by the constant stroking of Larissa's hand on your son's face. Then Elias speaks up again, his voice still weakened by the fatigue.

"Mummy?"

"What is it?"

"Is it my fault you and Mommy don't talk anymore?"

You can hear Larissa's heart break from the hallway.

"Oh, no, no, no, angel… No. Never. You have nothing wrong, you hear me? Nothing wrong. Adults disagree and need some alone time sometimes, but sweethearts like you are never the reason why, alright? Now, close those pretty eyes. You need to rest."

"But you won't be here when I wake up," Elias whines.

"I know. I'm so sorry, baby. But we'll see each other soon, I promise. Mommy will let me see you now."

You haven't even really talked about this with Larissa yet, but there is no point in denying it –Elias needs both his mothers with him and you can't prevent Larissa from loving him and wanting to take care of him.

There is a pause, and you can hear in Elias' lack of response that he is contemplating accusing his mother of lying. But thankfully, he is too tired to put up a fight and settles for a "Goodnight" instead.

You watch as Larissa tucks the covers around his tiny body and leans in to kiss his forehead, then step aside to rest your back on the wall next to the door so Larissa doesn't feel too overwhelmed by your presence when she comes out.

Still, she stops in her tracks when she spots you waiting outside. She looks at you, you look at her, and you both notice the tears in each other's eyes as you both ache deeply for your little boy.

"Do you want to say goodnight?"

You shake your head slowly. Deep down, you want to. But you figure Elias is halfway in the arms of Morpheus –if not already there– and might not want to see you anyway. With a small nod of understanding, Larissa closes the door.

"I haven't seen him so happy in a long time," you tell her as she moves to lean against the wall opposite you. "I shouldn't have kept you away from him. He misses you too much."

"You shouldn't have. But I think I understand why you did."

"He doesn't," you reply with a jerk of your head towards Elias' bedroom.

"He's just a child caught in the middle of our problems. It's not fair to him, we have to make things better one way or another."

You nod, your heart heavy with profound sadness, but say nothing because what is there to add? Larissa is right through and through –she always is. You're the one who keeps making the wrong decisions.

"You didn't answer my question earlier," Larissa eventually says, her voice soft and quiet like it always is after she has spent some time with Elias.

"Which one?"

"How are you?"

Your eyes meet hers, but only for a fleeting moment. You miss her, you long for her, you crave her, her touch, her lips, her scent… You feel like if you look at her for too long you're either going to pass out or do yet another regrettable thing.

Larissa calls your name, asks you to look at her. You don't answer. You can't. And then, in one swift motion, she is only inches away from you, tugging at your shoulders to pull you into a hug.

You don't resist, of course, and lean against her with your whole weight. But you don't have the strength to lift your arms to hug her back and instead just start crying, your face buried in her chest.

If there was any word stronger than miserable, that's what you would be.

"I know, I know," she says tenderly as if reading your thoughts. "Me too."

Her voice cracks and she finally lets her emotions fully show, too. Her silent cries pierce your heart, and only then do you feel strong enough to wrap your arms around her and clutch.

Now both crying, you hold each other like you're trying to mend the pieces of each other's broken mind. It feels so painful and so terribly good at the same time. Her body feels nice and comforting, you had almost forgotten just how much.

When you both finally start calming down, you realise you're scared of pulling away. But Larissa keeps you close, only shifting slightly to rest her forehead against yours. Her skin is warm, but as always, the tip of her nose is cold on your cheek. You don't mind it, it's one of Larissa's little things you often find yourself missing the most at night.

Your eyelids flutter open, and, inevitably, you make the mistake of staring not at her eyes but at her lips. The faint aroma of wine coming out of her mouth in hot puffs makes your skin tingle, and you know that you have to look away or you won't be able to refrain from kissing her. And if you kiss her, you won't be able to stop.

But Larissa cups your face with both hands before you have a chance to move and before your brain can formulate a single thought, her lips capture yours in a slow, loving kiss. You can feel the yearning and despair that have pent up in the past eight months in the way she moves her mouth against yours, and it makes you weak at the knees.

You reply to her kiss with a whimper and she deepens it, her tongue seeking entry into your mouth with a mix of hunger and fear. You welcome it without hesitation and move your arms up to wrap them around her neck, carding your fingers through her perfect hair bun. Meanwhile, her hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You had missed this and obviously can't prevent your hips from bucking against hers, begging for more.

Larissa responds to your silent plea with a low groan and a hand moving further down to grip your butt. The air catches violently in your throat at the intimate contact and you throw your head back with a moan.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Larissa says. "Not like that."

But there is no conviction in her words, and she still has a hand on your rear and her mouth on your neck, gently sucking and nipping at your sensitive spots before soothing them with her tongue.

The noises you make are so needy that it becomes fairly evident you haven't taken much care of your own needs over the past months. The realisation makes your wife growl possessively, and her resolve crumbles. She needs to have you. Now.

"Bed?"

"God, yes."

Larissa doesn't pull away even once as she pushes you towards your bedroom. Her hands move urgently, her kisses become hungrier, her breathing accelerates.

"I love you."

You both repeat those words so much that it is unclear whose mouth they're coming from.

Larissa is quick to take off your clothes, revealing the skin she has longed to touch again for so long. You, on the other hand, try to take your time. Larissa had changed before coming home for dinner, and you've been wondering all evening if there is any fine lingerie under that burgundy dress. But it's Larissa –of course there is. You just like to torture yourself by unwrapping her like a priceless present. Besides, you don't want to look too desperate, nor do you want to make her feel like she isn't in charge. You want her to be now.

Unlike you, Larissa is not afraid to show how much she desires you. As soon as you're both naked, she pushes you onto your marriage bed, covers your body with hers and starts making up for lost time in every way possible. Fingers, vibrator, tongue… Nothing is off-limits tonight.

Then something different, something you haven't done in a very long time. Larissa shapeshifts, and you feel it –the size, the weight of it against you. Your wife looks down at you expectantly, hoping for your consent. It's something you've never downright refused, but have always felt conflicted about. It often reminds you of a past you'd rather forget and tends to make you question your sexuality in ways you don't want to think about while having sex –even though Larissa has reassured you countless times already that it didn't make you any less of a lesbian.

Not tonight, though. Tonight you nod eagerly and spread your thighs a little further to welcome her shapeshifted appendage, needing that special connection. In the faint orange glow coming from that one lamp post at the end end of your street, you see Larissa smiling brightly.

"Thank you," she whispers against your skin as she pushes into you.

She loves this, you know it, and the obscene moan she lets out as she stretches you only confirms it. It feels good, too good, and you meet her sensual thrusts with deliberate rolls of your hips, the way she moves, gasps your name, and loses herself completely to the moment only spurring you on.

She takes you twice like this. In a row. The first time, deep and slow, then rough and frenzied, until you're shaking and can't even call her name coherently. And by the time your final climax hits, you're so sensitive you feel like you're going to faint.

Larissa keeps moving, chasing her own release, her thrusts messy, uneven. And then with one last push, she spills over the edge, burying her face in the crook of your neck with a broken, "You’re mine. Mine."

You've always loved that possessive side she works so hard to mask under heavy decorum. The way she calls you hers reminds you of your wedding night and makes your chest burn with love. So when she collapses on top of you, panting in your ear, you just have to squeeze her tight in your arms and kiss every inch of skin you can reach.

You keep her close even long after she has pulled out of you, simply enjoying the warmth of her body and the scent that floats in the room in the aftermath of your passionate lovemaking.

It's about two in the morning now, but neither of you is sleeping. You're both just basking in the intimacy of the moment, exchanging gentle kisses and caresses until you break the silence.

"Come home."

Larissa shifts then, and you're suddenly scared you've ruined it all and she is going to leave. But she just props herself on her elbow to look into your eyes with a blend of vulnerability and longing.

"I want to. More than anything. I need you to know that. But…" She sighs. "There are things we need to talk about and settle, compromises to make."

"Like what?"

The way Larissa takes a deep breath before answering lets you know whatever she says won't be up for debate if you want this to work.

"We need to find common ground about our parenting styles. And I want you to try therapy."

"Are you saying I don't know how to raise my own son?"

Larissa sighs in frustration at the defensiveness in your tone.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying we have different ways of doing it, and we need to find a way to reconcile them for Elias' sake."

"You want him to explore his shapeshifting abilities," you mumble as you roll onto your back, an arm on your forehead.

"Yes, I do," Larissa replies with a kind but firm voice. "He is a shapeshifter. It's part of who he is, and it's a part we need to let him embrace, not suppress."

"The world is a terrible place for Outcasts."

"That's why there are places like–"

"If you're going to say Nevermore, I swear–"

"Yes, I am going to say Nevermore. It would be the safest place on earth for him, and he would still get to evolve around Normies. You know I've even hired a Normie teacher this year."

"And I don't trust her."

"You don't trust many people."

Touché. You sigh heavily, letting your arm fall to cover your eyes as if trying to shield yourself from Larissa's truths –or rather, from how much you hate being wrong when it comes to making choices for Elias. But Larissa pushes your arm away and tilts your chin with a finger so you look at her again.

"I know you're scared. I am, too. But what scares me the most is the thought of Elias thinking he has to hide a part of himself, even around us, or that he can only move through life safely if he denies every fundamental aspect of who he is."

If you were to be completely honest –even if only to yourself–, you would admit Larissa has already convinced you. It's hypocritical to expect Elias to repress his abilities when both his mothers are exactly like him and free to use them, or to deny him an education at Nevermore when you have spent your own childhood hoping there was a place for people like you. What would be next? He'll come out as gay, and you'll tell him it's wrong? No, this is preposterous.

But you know this is not where the problem truly lies, and it's high time you communicated with your wife to treat it at the root.

"You're his model," you finally say, your voice too hoarse for your liking. So you clear your throat and start again. "You're his model, the one he instinctively shapeshifts into when he's not doing it on purpose. Look at how quickly his hair turned like yours when you arrived. It's you, always you. Never me. I'm his mother, his birth mother. I made him. But it's always you."

Larissa doesn't like it too much when you're this possessive over Elias because it throws her lack of biological connection to him back in her face, and it is something she has always struggled with. Still, her voice remains calm and understanding.

"Yes, you brought him into this world. But I've been a part of his life since he was in your womb, I was there when he was born, I fed him, changed him, taught him how to read, and let myself be vomited on more times than I can count. I have as much an impact on the person he is as you do."

"But shapeshifters are supposed to take on the traits of their closest parent the first time, and he took yours," you protest, your voice cracking. "Why not me? What have I done wrong?"

"Oh, darling…"

Larissa sits up, pulling you up with her so she can hug you properly and draw slow, soothing circles on your naked back.

"You have done nothing wrong. Sometimes, it doesn't work like it usually does and it's nobody's fault."

"My baby hates me…"

Larissa gasps and brings her hands to your face, clasping your jaw tightly while you start weeping again.

"No. Absolutely not. Elias does not hate you. Why would you ever think that?"

"That's what he told you earlier."

Larissa presses her lips into a thin line, feeling pained that you've heard these words.

"He's only six… He's in pain and doesn't have any better way to express himself," she says, pulling you back against her chest. She stays quiet for a moment, and then continues, "It's… It's the reason why you kept him away from me all these months, isn't it? You wanted to feel him closer to you."

You realise how ridiculous this sounds and can't even begin to explain just how hard you blame yourself.

"I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," Larissa coos, rocking you back and forth, even though you know it's all but 'okay'. "We just… We need to communicate. I understand your fears, I do. I have my own. But we need to do better for Elias. I don't want him to suffer because of our problems anymore."

"I know, I know," you say with a weak nod. Then after a moment, you add, "Therapy, then."

"Yes, therapy. Please. But we're in this together, I'm not letting you go. We're a team, aren't we?"

"'Til death do us part'."

Larissa chuckles softly at your choice of words.

"Mmh, that's right. You, my love, are absolutely stuck with me. So we're going to work as a team for our son. No more isolating each other."

"But you're not coming home yet, are you?"

"No, not yet. But if we do this right, I might come back sooner than we both expected."

You untangle yourself from Larissa's embrace and let yourself fall back on your bed with a sigh. You're getting tired, and aren't sure what to feel anymore. And then you feel your wife's hand coming to rest lovingly on your belly, and it definitely doesn't help your weariness, both physical and mental.

"If you want me to leave now, I can," Larissa ends up offering, sensing your fatigue and disappointment and not wanting to cause you more pain by leaving in the morning after a whole night together.

Your eyes snap to her, wide with confusion.

"Are you serious? I'm asking you to come home, we've just had the best sex we've had in over a year… No, I don't want you to go. Stay. Elias will be so happy to see you at breakfast."

Your decision and the mention of your son's name make Larissa smile brightly, and she lies back next to you with a tiny, excited squeal before leaning in to press her swollen lips against yours one last time.

"I want to be better, Larissa," you whisper when she pulls back and makes herself comfortable on her pillow. "For both of you."

"I know, darling. I know. I believe in you."

"I love you."

Before Larissa can even reply, you're already drifting, your breath evening out and your body melting into hers.

Eight months. That's how long you hadn't seen Larissa. But you figure once you've spent your whole life with her –because you will–, it won't matter anymore.

Taglist: @cordeliasdarling @cygnetteflor @eurydice-shenanigans @vii-v @ellovett @schlaegerpaula-blog @peridot-pineapple @simonknowsnothing @goddessfloresz @barbarasstar @anothersapphicgirl @emeraldoceansstuff @dingdongthetail @valerielovebug @hasthebaconinhispants

(Click here to join the taglist)

#reblog appreciated #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie fandom #cappulcino writes

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buckleyflower · 2 days ago

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a third because my mind said yes to this combo lol;

65.) "Tell Me I'm Wrong"

69.) "I Just-"

When Buck first realized he was into men as much as he was into women, he would have never guessed that it would lead him to hook up with his best friend, with the best friend he’s ever had. He would have never even imagined that Eddie could be into him as much as he has found out he is into Eddie.

He is ecstatic, feeling like there’s a nice buzz coursing through his veins and an exciting thrill running down his spine every time he recalls the events of the night. Maybe he has spent so long thinking about it that he hasn’t had time to focus on anything else, maybe it’s his own business. He will never admit that.

What he knows is that he is a tiny bit nervous too. Because Eddie had to leave as soon as they woke up this morning, as his abuela called him for an emergency with her kitchen sink (Buck still thinks that the sink couldn’t be in a life-threatening situation so Eddie could have taken his time, maybe kiss him a bit more before leaving, but anyway…) and he hasn’t heard from him in about four hours.

He’s counting them, okay?

He is scared. He is happy, but what if Eddie is not? What if Eddie starts getting cold feet about this whole thing? Buck wants nothing more than to become Eddie’s boyfriend, but what if Eddie doesn’t want him?

He was a very willing participant in whatever they did the night before, but Buck is still afraid that it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. After all, he is Buck. He is the best at catastrophizing.

He decides to prepare a nice lunch and invite Eddie over. Call it a date, if you will.

He texts him and luckily Eddie agrees, so about one hour and a half later, Buck is pacing around his loft, waiting for Eddie to get inside. Which is stupid. How many times has Eddie been over? How many times have they had dinner together? Or lunch, or whatever really? But it has never been a date. Buck has never felt like his heart is on the goddamn line before.

Now, he feels like he could lose it all.

And he thinks he does when Eddie takes in the table set for two, with a bottle of red wine and a fake flower in a vase between their plates, and says “I can’t.”

“W— what— Eddie.”

Buck is pleading. His voice is pleading. He is begging Eddie to not do exactly that.

“Buck, I—” Eddie sighs and takes a deep breath, “what is this?”

“Lunch, Eddie.” Buck deadpans, even if he’s dying inside.

Eddie scoffs. “We can’t do this—”

“So yesterday night—” Buck feels rage and despair battle inside him, but mostly he feels confused, because Eddie is telling him something but his eyes are saying something else entirely.

He doesn’t expect Eddie to spit out such harsh words. “Shouldn’t have happened.”

“Shouldn’t have happened?” Buck repeats, bewildered, feeling like he’s gone completely crazy. His voice makes that high-pitched sound that it always does whenever he can’t believe what he’s saying and Eddie knows but he says nothing.

The silence stretches for seconds and yet it feels like hours to Buck.

“So you regret it,” Buck says.

Eddie will have to tell him. To reject him and use words to do it. Or else Buck won’t give up.

“No,” Eddie whispers, eyes cast downward. And Buck is suddenly confused. Then he notices that his friend’s hands are shaking along his sides. He’s trying to hide it by wringing the fingers together.

“You are scared.”

He approaches Eddie as carefully as he can, as though Eddie were an animal he is trying not to spook. He so desperately wants to take Eddie’s hands.

“What? I’m— no!” Eddie grimaces.

This close, Buck can see the veil of tears clouding Eddie’s eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong, then,” he insists.

“Buck.” Eddie is imploring. He is terrified.

“I see that, Eddie. You are terrified. But… of what?”

God, Buck simply won’t give up. “We can’t do this,” Eddie repeats.

“Why?” Buck immediately retorts. “If you don’t want that, if you don’t want me, us, then okay, I’ll forget it. I’ll do that for you, okay? I don’t want to but I will.”

Eddie seems on the verge of a panic attack but Buck goes on. “But if you’re scared, then I won’t ever give up, because—”

“I just—” Eddie stutters but he finally closes the distance between them and Buck reels when he catches a whiff of his perfume. He decides to rest a hand on Eddie’s side.

“Eddie, it’s just me,” he reminds him.

“And that’s what this is about, Buck!” Eddie bursts out. “I can’t lose you, you— you are my favorite person, and my— my— you are everything and if we date, I’ll fuck it up and you’ll hate me, and we—”

Buck cuts him off with a kiss, losing track of time and every trace of fear while their lips slide over one another.

“I love you, Eddie. How could I hate you?”

Eddie slowly opens his eyes and they are full of unshed tears and huge, soft. “You love me? Ho— how? Why?”

Buck laughs and drags him towards the stairs.

“Why?” He echoes, a bit hysteric but so incredibly happy.

“What about lunch?” Eddie whines.

“How?” Buck laughs. “I gotta show you how much I love you first, baby.”

—

this could have been way more angsty than this but I physically can’t run from a happy ending lol 💕

#911 abc #911 on abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #buddie ficlet

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samgirl98 · 2 days ago

Text

Connecting a Family 2/3

Prev | Next

Okay, now that I think about it, this could've been a one-shot. Anyway, I wanted to write everyone's pov at one point, but it became too much, and this lackluster chapter was born. The next chapter will be the last; it will most likely be in Jason's POV only, and it will be the end of this series.

Chapter Text

Mar’i enjoyed spending time with her new cousins. She and Danny somersaulted in the air while Ellie laughed beside them. It was nice to have family members who could fly with her. Uncle Jay watched them while he talked to daddy. Both their smiles were full of warmth. She waved at them, and they waved back.

“So, were you telling the truth? Can you take me to Tamaran?”

Mar’i smiled, “If your dad allows it, yes! I’ve been there before.”

Danny sighed, “I’m so jealous. I want to go to other planets.”

Mar’i giggled, “You really like space, huh?”

Danny’s eyes literally started glowing, and he went on to explain different facts about space. Mar’i listened intently, even if she didn’t understand many of the terms he used. Ellie floated beside them, disappearing and reappearing at random while giggling. Mar’i couldn’t help but smile at the little girl.

“Sorry, I’ve been talking about space for too long. I get excited. What about you? What do you like?”

“I like flying! I’m part of the Flying Graysons. Dad also likes to jump and fly in the air but doesn’t fly like I do. I love spending time with daddy and the rest of my aunts and uncles. I can’t wait to get to know Uncle Jay better!”

“That’s nice,” he said.

Mar’i didn’t know what she said, but Danny looked…sadder…maybe disappointed when she mentioned her dad and the rest of the family.

“Is there anything else you like to do?”

“I like to travel with momma. She takes me to Tamaran when she can; oh, we also visit her island a lot! And Titan’s Tower in San Francisco.”

“Your mom owns an island?”

“Yeah! Maybe we can go someday.”

Danny grinned, “Maybe, though I still prefer to go to space instead.”

“Guys, come down from there. We have visitors,” Grandpa Bruce said.

Danny pulled a face.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he mumbled. Mar’i was a bit confused. Did Danny not like Grandpa Bruce? Well, she’d have to find a way to make Grandpa more likable for Danny. She said nothing as she floated back down and went to daddy’s side.

“Danny, get down here,” Uncle Jay said. Danny crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue. Uncle Jay sighed and floated up to get Danny and Ellie down. Mar’i’s eyes got huge. Uncle Jay can fly, too? Wow! So awesome!

Uncle Jay got Danny and Ellie and floated down to the floor.

“Show off,” daddy said.

Uncle Jay grinned. Danny glared at daddy and then at Uncle Jay.

“I liked it up there.”

“The visitors are a surprise for you,” Uncle Jay said. Mar’i giggled. She knew who had shown up and couldn’t wait for Danny’s reaction.

“Don’t worry, Danny, you’ll love them!”

Danny sighed. “Fine, I’ll go.”

____

Bruce thinks he did well.

Danny was fluttering around J’onn and Clark, asking questions and gushing. Was he a little jealous? Yes, but Bruce could deal with it to make Danny happier and, by extension, Jason. Bruce smiled when Danny started playing with Kory’s hair. He couldn’t blame the boy; it was so big and seemed to have a mind of its own.

Danny turned to Mar’i and asked her something. Bruce was too far away to hear it, but Mar’i shook her head. Bruce loved having his whole family under one roof. Hopefully, with this surprise, Danny would be more willing to visit them more often.

“He’s happy,” Jason said. “Thanks. I know you don’t like having metas and aliens in Gotham. Thanks for having us here, too, even though we fall under the metahuman category.”

Bruce frowned.

“Jay lad, you don’t think I would stop you from coming to Gotham, especially because you have powers, do you?”

Jason said nothing and turned his head.

“Oh, Jay lad, you’re welcome back whenever you want. This is your home, too. I would never stop you from coming back.”

Jason looked at Bruce, his eyes glowing with emotions, searching for something.

“Thanks, dad,” he whispered before leaving Bruce with his thoughts.

Bruce had messed up if Jason thought he wasn’t welcome in Gotham because of his powers. Bruce sighed. He would have to do better for the sake of his family; he would do better.

____

Okay, maybe Bruce wasn’t so bad. After all, if J’onn and Clark could be friends with Bruce and vouch for him, maybe Danny had misjudged him too quickly. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be a little wary of the man and his family.

They had still hurt his dad.

But if his dad could forgive them, maybe Danny could, too, in the future.

____

They were avoiding her.

Well, the boys were, even Bruce. The girls were more than happy to talk to Jazz. She couldn’t help but feel amused at the boys’ avoidance. It told her just as much as if they had come up to her and yelled their insecurities to her.

It seemed Timmy must’ve warned them.

Well, she was more than happy to observe the family Jason had grown up in.

Bruce was, well, he was Bruce.

Jazz could tell he was trying to make amends, but the way he made amends seemed to be through bribes and presents—typical rich boy behavior. Why sit down and apologize and actually talk when he could use his money and connections to get what he wanted? She guessed it was his love language, but how he showed love wasn’t enough. He needed to sit down, process everything he’s been through, and talk with his children.

Tim, well, the boy was scared of her. Anytime she got close to him, he would use any excuse to disappear or get away from her. He was brilliant but had an inferiority complex and thought he had to be of use to be loved. Honestly, he could benefit from a hug and a few kind words from Bruce.

Dick had serious elder daughter syndrome, which honestly, mood. Jazz knew what it felt like to step up emotionally and physically as a parent. She wondered if Bruce noticed how much pressure Dick was under to be the second parent when he was unavailable. Should the man have had so many children if he couldn’t be there for one?

Oh well, it wasn’t her place to judge…well, it wasn’t her place to speak her judgment out loud.

She sipped on her juice.

Damian was a prickly child. He scowled at everyone under his sight and looked like a mini-Bruce. The only people he didn’t scowl at was Dick and Mar’i. Duke seemed the only boy who had a good handle on his feelings.

She wondered why but wouldn’t ask the young man. After all, she was here to get to know them, not psychoanalyze them.

But if any of them even thought about hurting Jason, it wouldn’t be hard to put them in their place.

#connecting a family #dc x dp #dp x dc

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symphonicsoul · 16 hours ago

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ There's a sigh and a bit of a tip of his head at the question as his lips tug down into a small frown.

"No, you were right. Kumo is a nickname. Some of our friends gave it to him, it means Cloud in their language. Makenshi is a bit of a complicated name too but it is also not his real name. His name is White Cloud. Translated of course. I don't speak his language so I don't know how to say it in his tongue but the translation of it is White Cloud. That's the closest I can give you and -

- That's what Kaze calls him. Ah -" He pauses as he sets himself up straight and raises his hand above his head.

"Kaze is an extremely tall man with dark skin and red hair. Kumo calls him by his full name. His name is Black Wind, but we just call them Kaze and Kumo instead. They don't seem to mind. Kumo is very fond of the name actually. I'm sure he won't mind if you use it."

He's shifting again as he moves to get himself up off the floor, so he can organize some of his tools on the counter while he waits for the Misterican to return.

"Kumo is a bit of an odd man. He's not human, for starters. He's what's called a Misterican and far as we know there's only him and his family that's here left. We haven't found anyone else yet. He has a bad habit of over-extending himself and speaking when something is harmless.

Like calling you out. He doesn't mean any harm by it. It's just common in his culture to do that kind of thing I assume. He's painfully honest and he has a good heart - he's just - guarded. He was in a really bad situation until a couple years ago. He's been in Wonderland for a really long time but he hasn't been with us more than a couple years.

His execution isn't always the best but he has good intentions I promise. You can ask him about anything in the whole of Wonderland and he's the one that will give you a straight answer. He's bit older than me so he's seen parts of Wonderland I've never even been too. So if there's anything you want to know, I'm happy to help how I can but Kumo knows Wonderland extremely well. He's been here a little more than half his life at this point."

Ling can't help but flinch a bit at Makenshi's voice, not having noticed him come back. He wants to glare at him for calling him out on his lie. Did he have to say that? He couldn't pretend to be innocent and not say anything? How did he even know?

He doesn't miss the way Cid says Makenshi's name and the guilty look on the other's face. What's he supposed to take from that? Was Makenshi a lie and Kumo his real name? So why is he being called out on lying if...Damn it all. He has no idea what to think.

Ling sighs quietly and takes the orange and crackers from Cid. He goes slow at first as a precaution. He doesn't want to throw this up later if he has another-

He pauses at Cid's request for Makenshi-Kumo to get Edward and Kain. He's gone before Ling can even ask if he can go too, to get out of the doctor's office, to see Ed as soon as possible. His safety.

Then his mind does a complete 180 and doubts creep up on him. What if this is all a trick? The request to get people Ling knows could just be something to placate him so Cid can get his hands all over him.

He groans and goes back to his orange and crackers, trying to push those thoughts away and focus on what Cid is telling him. Something about Makenshi-Kumo having hypersensitive hearing. It explains how he knew about the lie, although he still doesn't appreciate being called out. He'll have to be more careful in the future.

Part of him wants to ask if what's going on is a trick while they're waiting, but if it is a trick, the doctor won't tell him that. He wants to ask if he can sleep soon too, but there's something else nagging him.

"What's the story with Makenshi, doctor? Is that not his real name? When you called him Kumo, I thought that might have been a nickname of some sort. Was I wrong in my assumption?"

#v; crash landed #theyoungprinceling #guest muse: cid #tw; long post #tw; doctors #tw; medical

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moe-broey · 7 months ago

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I don't think this is Moe's first offense (saying something brazen/flippant) but I do think it's the first time it's called the King a bitch. And it won't be the last! The funniest part of Anna being the one to take charge and chew Moe out is that it gives Moe the opportunity to do The Exact Same Thing to Alfonse one-on-one (you know... to test the waters... to see how he feels about it....). Which it is. Also promptly chastised for.

FAVE PANELS...

#fire emblem #feh #moe really is. a type of guy. it immediately gets scared when anna first corrects it. so what does it do? dig the hole deeper. double down.#THAT REALLY IS MOE'S BRAVE FACE.... playing dumb or getting oppositional. sometimes both.#but it is NOT confrontational... epitome of i'm just a little birthday boy. EXTREMELY annoying type of guy LMFAOOO #i feel like anna has been v patient w moe up until this point. like this has to be a three strikes you're OUT situation.#and both alfonse/sharena have been such hard working straight and narrow types that. they have never seen anna like that.#I REALLY THINK. it's like. anna is The Literal Commander Of A Military Unit and also given her background #more or less she could have been killed for having an attitude like that. hypothetically. we don't know her background. BUT THEORETICALLY..#i like to imagine it does come from a place of that though.#also moe may be an authority hating shithead but it does VERY quickly come to respect anna actually.#you have to Earn it. be Worthy of it. it sees that anna is extremely capable and skilled and fair. it respects that.#so like... i think it genuinely doesn't want to upset or disappoint her. however... it does have ... moe tendencies.#anyways even though i'm in between a dozen things i just had to draw this out and i'm so happy i did tbh #i don't really know how anna feels about moe. but it IS extremely funny to imagine moe is just torn asunder by her at one point #AND. IT FULLY DESERVED IT. it is taking the L here.#ALSO THE FACT THAT ALFONSE IS PISSED TOO. IT'S SO FUNNY TO ME. moe you just fucked up big time #IT WAS TRYING. TO BE NICE. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#fe alfonse #sharena #fe anna #moe tag #summoner oc #my art #my comics #also that is. a whole other comic. moe committing the offense again and getting sternly corrected #until it's like ooooohhh. wait. you actually respect your dad... okay. um. let me think of something else to say #LMFAOOO... i think third time's a charm. it doesn't dare say that to sharena. what if she cries. moe is also gonna cry. and thrup

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chaos-element · 3 days ago

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I’ve been thinking about replying to this all week, @bringthekaos! I can’t believe I made your whole year! You made me really happy by writing MH Viktor, so it’s wonderful to know I was able to return the favor :)

Your research into League lore clearly paid off! Though I imagine it was also a bit of a nightmare to make sense of, especially Viktor’s, since Riot’s never been very consistent in their portrayals of him (I’m not salty about it, I swear. I’m a perfectly sane adult that’s never been tilted by League before, promise! …cough). Anyway! “Bitter divorced dad energy” killed me XD. League Jayce can be boiled down to Steampunk Tony Stark. Except Riot forgot to give him Tony’s heart of gold or capacity for introspection, so he’s just an ass most of the time. (Ironically, the comic that botched Viktor more than anything else Riot’s done happens to perfectly capture Jayce - you can read his bit here). But yeah, good call to lean into Talis over Gio. Talis has a lot more depth and character development, and a much better basis for a relationship with Viktor; Gio is more of a meme than a person lol. Still, it was neat to see how you incorporated some very Gio moments into your Divorce Era fics, so thank you for that! (I started replying to the part about how you wish they’d kept the Machine Herald and you’re salty, because damn do I have a lot to say about that subject! Gestures to mountain of salt behind them. But that got out of control SO fast and probably deserves its own post lol)... Especially since they teased it so well in the first half of S1 of Arcane! And they even snuck in some League easter eggs in the Hexclaw scene! (The claw having a mind of its own! Lasering poros!) And! And! --unintelligible angry cave man noises …ahem. Yuss, this is the way! One of the things I love about fandoms is there’s always room for more. Just because Riot decided to replace our dear metal man with… something that doesn’t really match Arcane Viktor tbh, doesn’t mean he can’t live on! (Thanks again for helping to make sure he does). And I am not a writer, so take this with a grain of salt, but is it important to have the sequel match the same format as the original? Could it not be a collection of short stories or scenes, and then if you feel like it later, you could write more to stitch them all together? I’m glad you liked writing Renata! Always fun to have a good bad guy. Tbh I ended up reading her lore for the first time after finishing Pulse, and I think you wrote her well too! (She came out a few years after I stopped playing League and therefore caring about new champ releases). Though idk who Ama is? I’m bad with names, and there’s a lot I don’t remember about League lore (tbf to me, there’s a lot of crazy in there). But I love this idea (the Stitch reference is also perfect)! Metal weirdo science man rumored to experiment on people, outwardly projects intimidating mechanical-Vulcan vibes, does the violent bidding of a real scary lady? Friend-shaped. Innately understood to be soft and squishy on the inside - in that way that children see through bullshit - and must now fend off attempts at friendship? Amazing. Beautiful. Chef kiss. Can’t wait!

Hey! Just wanted to say that I'm loving your Divorce Era fics! Finished Pulse of the Machine a bit ago and I'm working my way through the rest. You do such a great job of blending all versions of Viktor's lore - OG, 2016, Arcane - into something that feels natural, exciting, and so very Viktor! And you even managed to incorporate some of the more controversial aspects of his 2016 lore while still maintaining his characterization! (something Riot chose to sacrifice for the sake of establishing the general feel of League's factions). As someone who played League for years and loved OG Viktor, it's so nice to see his pre-Arcane elements being included in the Jayvik community. Your work has been so fun to read, and just- Aaaaaaaah!! Words are failing me! Thank you for sharing your work with all of us! P.S. I hope you do decide to make a sequel to Pulse, since you've set it up so nicely for one! (How do they free Viktor from his condition? What is Renata going to do with that Hexcore-harvested plant venom? What shenanigans do Cait and Vi get up to on their Council-ordered leave? (Love how you write those two together too!))

So sorry this took me so long to answer, but I was literally speechless. Just… thank you so much!!! This means so much to me! I’ve still never played League, I only got into all of this in ‘21 when season 1 came out, but I really did fall in love with Viktor’s (and Jayce’s!) game lore, and did my best to learn all about it! There are elements of both that I love (for instance I adore Talis and lean a little more heavily toward Talis than Gio, but I do still love Gio and his bitter divorced dad energy). And I kinda just melded the two together in a way that I hoped was smooth and genuine, and to know that I succeeded? From someone who has been following the lore long before I ever got here?? It makes me wanna break down and cry with gratitude. I really do wish they had kept the Machine Herald, and I’m still salty about it. And for a while, I was super depressed thinking I could never again write MH because he doesn’t exist anymore.

But then I decided that he’s mine now, haha. I will keep him alive by continuing to write him. Which leads me to the second portion of your ask! I still would love to write a sequel to Pulse, I did have some plot bunnies marinating in my head for it, but I never really solidified it. It was more just a collection of scenes than a fully fleshed out plot. But hopefully one day!! I loved writing Renata, and I would actually also love to work in Naph and Ama, if possible. I’m obsessed with the idea that both those kids took one look at this fucked up, emotionally repressed and lonely asshole and basically did this…

Fucking priceless.

Anyhoo, thank you again for such kind words, you made my whole year already and it’s only February! 💖

#arcane #jayvik #jayce talis #arcane viktor #league of legends #machine herald viktor #pulse of the machine #arcane fanfiction #dear god i'm actually replying to a post #i was made to lurk not socialize #how do people do this #what has this place done to me #confused incoherent screeching

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pinoruno · 8 days ago

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😁

#not to still be on this sorry guys. but i guess what is making me Sad sad is like #everyone else's birthday regardless of who they are or how active they are in the group/groupchat. it's always someone at 12midnight on the #dot giving birthday cheer/wishes/etc #like literally even if the person has never spoken a word in the chat or if they aren't really friends anymore #and i'm active and supportive and i give so much and i literally got nothing. i waited all day and i watched people have discussions about #widget apps and fuckin. cheese.#all the while every time a notification popped up i thought “oh maybe this is it”#so it was just repeated disappointment. yes i set myself up for it and i take responsibility for that #i'm just so tired of not feeling (or frankly being. based on all this. and the 3 consecutive years of it. like last year i only got birthda #wishes after i said in the group chat that i bought myself something for my birthday)#valued at all beyond what *i* can do for *them*. i'm not a priority and i never have been and thats fine but like. goddamn. okay #maybe this is just my quote unquote wakeup call to stop offering so much of myself and my time for hashtag nothing #and i feel so childish and stupid to even still be thinking about this like who cares i had a really fun day/weekend #but it just would be nice. is all.#and i'm upset with myself for comparing the few nice individual messages i got eventually with the group cheer onslaught everyone else gets #bc those are valuable too.#but like. the last message in our announcements channel where ppl say happy birthday is literally a whole string of happy birthdays for thi #girl who has been making our lives Worse via making bad choices and then getting defensive when we say that for like. coming up on five yea #shes my friend and i support her but like. thats the thing i guess. that i'm getting at. shes my friend and i support her and i see Nothing #to suggest anyone else feels that way i fucking guess! idk again i feel stupid & childish here and i definitely need to just get over mysel #and i only got individual messages after i once again mentioned that it had been my birthday. like fully the day was over.#whatever it is not like i even care. i'm over it now this is me being over it #at the end of the day. they just forgot. i understand #i too forget things

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seafoam-taide · 5 months ago

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i have a download of the nimona movie and i still havent watched it. and its for such a silly reason. it feels so silly. but i know it has a kinder ending than the graphic novel. and i fucking love that graphic novel. and when i heard it had a kinder ending i felt weird. bad? and i just can't watch the movie because i can't imagine satisfaction with a kinder ending, as if i ever felt satisfaction from the graphic novel's end in the first place. i don't want to see a kinder ending yet.

#tide of consciousness #a part of me felt disappointed at isat's ending not for any logical reason but because i felt like it was undeserved. somehow #it was 'too happy' i was waiting for something else the whole time. for something to end sourly #sometimes i would agree with siffrin that he was selfish and a little manipulative. that he didn't deserve the kindness they would receive #i try to only read or watch things with happy endings. i dont seek out tragedies. in fact i avoid them #and yet ?#recently i can't stop thinking about how i can't even consider a future where i am happy or better #and it feels silly because it shouldn't be that hard #but i don't know if i've ever pictured a future for myself before at all

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insanechayne · 20 days ago

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~ ~ ~

#just keep wondering what the fuck is the point #why bother keeping up with people and trying so hard and putting in so much effort if I get nothing back #and I’m even annoying myself with this whole run around because I’m tired of being tired of this nonsense #I’ve circled back around to be the person waiting on someone else’s messages and time and giving my all for barely any payoff and I hate it #told myself I wouldn’t do this again after Alabama fucked me over yet it seems I didn’t learn my lesson #I feel too much too fast and don’t know how to release or pace myself or be normal about anything #and so I’m stuck just waiting for someone to remember I exist and give me a fraction of their time #even doing other things during the day and distracting myself doesn’t help because in the back of my mind I’m still logging the minutes #until I hear from him again and I just feel so stupid about all of this #and it’s not fair of me to be this way because it’s not like he hasn’t put in time and shown an effort before #it just feels like we talked a lot more even just a week ago and things went so quiet so fast #is it just because we’re fucking already? put in just enough effort to secure the benefits and then go to minimal output?#I’m overthinking all of this and I know that and I hate that but I can’t stop myself from doing it and now I have anxiety from it #I’m just sick of being lonely and outcasted #even when I do click really well with someone and things seem to be going better it all just reverts back to the same old thing again #is the type of love I give out and want/need so badly only real inside myself? am I searching for something that simply doesn’t exist?#what if I never find someone who gives me the care I’m craving so desperately? do I just suffer and deal with it the rest of my life?#why is it so hard to find someone else like me? when is it my turn to truly be happy?#personal

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severepink · 1 year ago

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Observing Adam

Where I go way too deep into something that probably isn't that deep. It's long, it's long as hell.

Okay, so you'd think with how Adam talks he's just a typical misogynist, right?

This man worships pussy. So much so, he's named a whole ass angel, one of his best, Vagina. You'd say that he objectifies them and thinks of them as being lesser, but I don't think that's the whole story. In fact, I think he might be the original simp.

All of these exorcists so far have been women. All of them. He refers to them as ladies or bitches interchangeably, he sees them as being completely capable of absolutely decimating leagues of some of the most vile beings who have ever existed, and they have, to the point it was only after thousands of years that there's been a risk to this hierarchy.

He's a self-centered, egotistical, loud-mouthed, arrogant asshole, no doubt about it, but I'm beginning to suspect something now.

If Adam and Lilith were created from the same dust, if they were created as equals, I am more than willing to bet... Lilith is also a self-centered, egotistical, arrogant asshole. But, she's likely far more intelligent, composed, and duplicitous.

Lilith was allowed to refuse Adam and leave of her own free will and garnered her own independence. A new wife was created for Adam, she was replaced. My guess, is she thought Adam wouldn't be able to live without her, to come back and find herself replaced entirely, she was enraged.

I believe both Adam and Lilith were both incredibly dominant individuals who fought over ideas, thoughts, and ultimately in the bedroom as well, if we take into account the creationist stories.

I'm willing to bet she likely manipulated Lucifer into twisting humanity against its original concept. What if Lucifer's intention truly was to just spark something within Eve, like independence and thought and creation, but it was Lilith's poison within the fruit that tainted her, then subsequently Adam, with sin.

Lilith thrived in hell, while Lucifer's dreams of creation were dashed. She didn't suffer as he did, instead the power of her voice grew with hell. Her voice grew so powerful that heaven found it to be a threat, her actions instigated the beginning of exterminations.

Charlie said that when she was a little girl, she didn't know Lucifer at all. I don't think this was because of Lucifer, he's seen here, picking her up, inviting her to share in his thoughts and dreams, showing her something wonderful. Something she could see within herself.

Charlie says that it's this moment that sparked her will to fight for her dreams. Which is strange, because at the very beginning of the story, Charlie says it was her mother's dream that was passed down to her.

Lilith took Charlie away. In this scene, Lucifer wasn't done showing Charlie his thoughts and dreams, he's still yearning to show his daughter these things at this point.

Lucifer loves his daughter. He loves Charlie so, so, so much. So why wasn't he allowed to build a relationship with his daughter for the longest time? He was waiting for the opportunity to get to know her, but with how much he adores her why didn't he do it sooner? He didn't comment on 'It took you a while-' he just said he missed her smile. They don't want to be pulled apart, again.

Now, we know Vivziepop has said that Lucifer and Lilith love each other, but Lilith 'wears the pants' in the relationship. We see all of the pictures all over the walls of a supposedly happy family. I don't think the relationship was as loving as originally portrayed and Lilith is a woman who desires control above all else. She likely tried to mitigate what influence Lucifer had over their daughter when she thought his angelic thoughts and behaviors became more than what she approved of.

Lets take it back to Adam and Lute for a moment. Again, Adam is a loud mouthed idiot, he's a jerk. The moment he realizes there are demons in heaven, he's ready to go on the attack. It's only because of Lute that he didn't end up doing something absolutely idiotic.

I gotta say, Lute and Adam's relationship is an absolutely fascinating one. He's a disrespectful dick head in how he talks, but how he acts is a different story. He allows Lute to man-handle him. He does listen to her, even if he's a whiny bitch about it.

Look at him, this is the face of a man listening, a dumb one, but a dude listening all the same. He doesn't manhandle her back, he doesn't even pull away until she lets go of his collar. Of all the shit he complained about, between being grabbed and being told what to do, his biggest complaint is that she's telling him to shush.

We know that Adam is the one who suggested the exterminations to begin with, so Sera says, and this was because of the power that Lilith was amassing. To him, Lilith is a threat. Even when he was willing to move on, to go to another wife when Lilith didn't want him or want to submit to him (fair babe, he's a bit of an idiot), she came back with an angel and proceeded to manipulate his new wife Eve. This is the supposed progenitor of man-kind, the original dick (hilariously enough), the reason civilization even exists at all. He and Eve had to fight for their lives after being tempted with the fruit. They had immortality, they had no ideas of shame, they were supposedly 'innocent' creatures before Lilith and Lucifer came along. He and Eve had to fight tooth and nail to survive after being cast from Eden. I think it shows in how willing and ready he is to take lead and do what he believes needs to be done, now out of a need for entertainment rather than a need to defend or protect. But, he still stopped to listen to Lute's advice. In the mythological story of Adam and Eve, Adam is the one who has to tell Eve that god said don't eat the fruit. Eve never heard god speak to her, so she was vulnerable to the snake's manipulations. She will now die because she ate it, and because she did not want Adam to take another wife, convinced him to eat it unknowingly. Funnily enough, Adam tried to explain to god that 'she lied to me and gave me the fruit' and in this actual mythology, Adam was punished for listening to his wife. Even without mentioning Lilith in the original mythology, Eve didn't want Adam to take another wife, so when we consider it within the context of Hazbin Hotel, it may be likely that's how it went down. Eve knew of Lilith, knew that she could be replaced, and decided that she would take Adam with her.

I believe that Adam does and did rely on the women in his life to help him with direction. I think Adam knows he can be an idiot and is willing to listen, even if he doesn't agree with what he's hearing. He did listen to Charlie in the beginning, he just didn't believe in her, like everyone else and he, out of anyone there, probably had the most reason not to. Cain and Abel were his and Eve's sons, his own child became the first murderer. Out of jealousy, the same kind of jealousy that no doubt has caused Lilith to act how she did. Adam isn't going to have empathy for sinners. His family, his legacy, were filled with the original sinners. He probably had to kill his son Cain in hell during the first exterminations. What do you think he would have had to feel, if it came to be a fact that sinners could be redeemed? That maybe his son, could've been redeemed? Or any of his progeny for that matter? How did it feel when his sons, his progeny, weren't given the same mercy as the Hellborn that Lucifer managed to keep protected through some deal with the angels or god? Not to mention that Charlie could've been his daughter. Charlie is the product of the people who completely and totally destroyed the paradise he'd been born into. She's the daughter who is protected and immune from the slaughter while all of his sons and daughters are judged and killed. I believe, even though he was a dickish prankster to Charlie, he was surprisingly patient and even somewhat amicable, willing to even ask her how her weekend was like he was just trying to get to know her.

Adam could just see all of the angels under his employ as being disposable. He doesn't have to name them, or think about them in any individual fashion. But, he knows Vaggie, recognized her instantly. Thought she was badass. Lute's the one who saw her, tore her wings off, and walked away. I'm surprised they even let her live, because this just goes against everything they're doing. They're an army and they saw one of their own showing empathy to the enemy.

Look at this dumb ass. He's being a shit-head, a dick, a bastard. But, he admires Vaggie's ability to pull Charlie, congratulates her, this dude isn't even judging her for being a lesbian. I don't think it's because he objectifies women, this dude loves women, he just does. He respects fellow vagina lovers. I don't think he respects liars in the slightest though. He's being underhanded, he's trying to be manipulative (he's not very good at it). I think he's brutally open and honest about everything and that's probably one of the reasons he's such a bastard anyways, because sometimes you just need to shut-up and he's not good at that.

I don't think he respects Sera for that either, he's more than willing to let others know what the hell he's doing, but under Sera's lead, he can't be open about it. I don't think it's his jam to act this way, it's why he sucks so bad at it and I think that's why Lilith is so antithetical to him. I also think that's why he's possibly even being manipulated.

It's kind of crazy that Adam is the only one who tries to come up with what allows someone to get into heaven. So here's his list: 1. Act Selfless: Maybe at one point he was! He had to have been, to be one of the progenitors of mankind, he would have had to work, sacrifice, and give to his wife and children for them all to survive. Eve would have had to do the same, no doubt. He may not seem selfless, due to his raunchy behavior, but he's served heaven since he's been there. He's served humanity in some kind of facet. 2. Don't Steal: Considering the only other humans are his spawn, he likely had to try and get them to not steal from one another for them all to have an equal opportunity of survival. He and Eve likely both knew they would need to work together to survive.

3. Stick it to the man: This, however, is interesting. Who is 'The Man' he speaks of? God? The only other people over him or were equal to him were women. He speaks like a rocker, and I think in this case he's using the term 'The Man' in a gender neutral way. I think he allowed some amount of Authority to Lilith when they were supposed to be seen as equals, it comes so naturally to him as a character when it comes to the other women he's been interacting with. I think she is the 'man' that he's been sticking it to- Pun somewhat intended. ((This third one may also simply be a tongue in cheek reference to when Alex Brightman played Dewey in School of Rock on Broadway! Thank you to the user who brought this to my attention!))

Adam is a bit of a hypocrite, isn't he? He likes to fuck, he's made that abundantly clear. Full of lust you could say. It was his original purpose after all, and he is judging Angel Dust for something he probably would've done himself at one point or has considered doing (maybe not the having sex with men part). Angel Dust does all of these things, Adam doesn't even deny it. He even looks nervous. He's angry, but doesn't deny that Angel has done those things. He doesn't explain it away or try to lie or move the goal posts, he's just asking what is an actually very valid question.

Why isn't Angel Dust there if he can do things equal to what Adam himself hasn't done? Serenity continues that line of thought. It isn't until Charlie is realizing no one knows what it takes to get into heaven.

Adam is more than willing to let Lute take the lead here, he's willing to give her the stage to clap back, he's giving her back-up antics. By all means, they could be pushing and fighting one another, there could easily be body language expressing something other than their general comfort around one another. They aren't fighting for a spotlight like you'd expect Adam to try and do considering his egotistical attitude.

Adam fucking sucks at keeping his mouth shut and he sucks at lying. He nearly blew the secret out of the bag once, this time, Sera is the only one who tries to stop him and to be honest? Lute looks a bit too thrilled at it. He knows he fucked up, but he doesn't think it's a big deal that anyone would know. For fucks sake, they've already condemned souls, his progeny, to suffer. What's the big deal if he kills them?

I have to re-iterate what's happening here. Charlie is proud she caused this chaos, that she caused these angels to fight amongst themselves, even if in this case it's a good thing. But, this is like history repeating itself to Adam, the reflection of his ex-wife, entering his domain, causing strife among his people, being happy about it.

And the venom he expresses when it comes to the 'liar' portion, god Alex Brightman destroyed when he got to this portion specifically. There is some vehement disgust in his tone when he says liar.

Adam isn't a good person now. But, I think he used to be a good person. By all means, Adam himself could've been the first murderer when his wife made her mistake. He, at one point in time, had to have been good enough to foster civilization itself with Eve. Both good and bad. Adam's original purpose was to be fruitful and multiply. Ordained by god (or maybe just angels) himself, divine power directed and created him to fuck. He didn't chase his ex-wife down, he was given a new one, Lilith was allowed to leave. When he left things alone, when he tried to move on, his ex-wife and a scorned angel destroyed the paradise he was in with Eve. He had to struggle and toil, he had to feel shame in his own body. He had to find out his first born son was the first murderer. His second son killed. We don't know if this is going to be canon in the story, a lot has changed, and if Adam is the first soul who reached heaven, then what did happen to Abel? Was Abel considered a sinner? Or did Cain kill Abel after Adam had passed? Either way, he had to witness his children kill, he had to watch his descendants behave in a range from saints and monsters. He's seen genocides, he's seen famine, war. Adam is desensitized to the plights of his descendants. Maybe he even saw it as a duty to cleanse the universe of their existence at one point, because they were his responsibility.

At the end of this episode, he is properly scolded by Sera and does seem ashamed of himself. He isn't huffy, he is reminded that he should be ashamed of acting that way.

I love Lute's enthusiasm, she's absolutely brutal when talking about Vaggie and with how she handled Vaggie. I think it's funny that Lute is so brutal she's even made Adam uncomfortable. It's cute that he's made uncomfortable by the excitement and all he does is tell Lute, the premier hype woman over here, to chill. She's so proud of herself too, look at her.

He fully expects these exorcist bad bitches to go in there and fuck shit up. But, you know it's hilarious that he's throwing horns? This dude, this angel. First human soul in heaven, loving rock n' roll, the devil's music, and throwing motherfucking horns. It's poetic really. I think we can probably assume where things are going.

Now, this is the first point we've seen Adam being a real piece of shit to Lute. I don't think Adam likes it when people think he's too dumb to notice something, especially something so damn obvious. This is such a drastic moment of vitriolic, uncontrolled anger directed towards Lute. Adam knows he isn't the brightest tool in the shed. He likely knows he's obtuse and misses shit. It's why he sucks at lying, he knows he's not smart. That is why I think he's afforded women opportunities to direct him without fighting back against their advice and their choices. I'm sure Lilith made it obvious how dumb she thinks Adam is. I'm wondering if this might be where their ground breaking fight might've come from. Who's to say he didn't allow Lilith to take the lead, or listen to her like he's done with Lute here and now? Perhaps to an even greater point? He listened to Eve and ate from the fruit of knowledge and he was punished for it. Being seen as so dumb he can't formulate a simple fact is a sore spot for him.

Adam is incredibly powerful. It took a bit out of him to exercise that power, probably because he's out of practice just like Lucifer said. At one point, he probably wasn't so sloppy and weak willed. He's gotten lazy. Sloth like.

I think it got real personal here. How viscerally and personally he attacked Charlie. No one but Charlie truly thought sinners could be redeemed, or that they were even worth it. Not even one of the original sinners. Maybe he never considered the possibility, maybe what happened really did make him see the world as black and white to cope with that happened to him, his wife, his children. Charlie's desire to fight this idea would destroy the foundation for all of his coping through the years. He stopped seeing them as family, even though he's grandiose about his founding role in humanity. Does that itch the guilt that may lurk under the surface?

I don't think Adam thought much of Charlie at all. I don't think he had any intention of coming to kill her in the beginning, despite seeing her, despite who her parents were. But, I think with the constant push, with how eager she was to disrupt the pre-conceived idea of order, it reminded Adam and reflected her parents so much, he was eager to kill her for revenge against them. I think this electrical interference on the mask is a direct reflection of sin. Namely, wrath, in this moment.

Now, this. THIS. Is something that made me want to write this whole fucking essay. Is Lucifer implying that he not only gave Eve the Fruit from the tree of knowledge, but FUCKED HER TOO? Homies, I'm sorry but holy shit. That is some hydrating tea. I'd be pretty pissed too, fucked over twice by women who were supposed to be literal soul mates, who you were made for, who were made for you?

I knew he would have a goatee, I could almost hear it. I gotta say, I'm a sucker for how he looks. I think he's hot. He is a bastard, but so are a lot of the hot dudes in this show. It's just a theme.

This exact series of lines prompted so many of the thoughts that I had about Adam and why he thinks or acts the way he does. At one point, Adam did have to work himself to the bone and learn to survive from scratch alongside Eve. He isn't entirely without cause to not think that he deserves some respect or recognition from his descendants.

But, that doesn't give him the right to act like god himself. It's... well... Blasphemous. Isn't it? One of the worst sins is to think yourself to be worthy of worship, as if you're a god.

This is the moment that gave me empathy for them both. You could probably see the kind of loving person Adam could have been at one point with how he looks at Lute, even as he's laying there, dying. He's not crying like a bitch, just looking at Lute softly. Lute screaming for him, screaming his name. They cared for each other deeply.

And this... and this.... and this. WHAT DEAL DID YOU MAKE, LILITH? Did you make it with Sera? Did you make it with Adam? Did you make it with Lute? Did you really just want a little 'vacay' away from the hell you helped create? Left her husband, depressed and lonely. Left her daughter without any care or guidance. Maybe Alastor was sent in her place, perhaps? Seven years since he was seen after all, but why wouldn't he show up sooner if Lilith did care? Did she make a deal with Lute and Adam? Did she let Adam smash it so she could stay in heaven? Did Lute let her stay in exchange for getting Adam out of a position of power? Or was it maybe Sera who commissioned Lilith with a deal? Either way, I'm in full belief that it wasn't Adam's idea to move the extermination day up. I think he's a patsy, a scapegoat. I think Lute may have been manipulated, potentially, into manipulating Adam into this position. Was it even really Adam who came up with the idea to do the exterminations? Or was he the one who simply decided to fight originally because he was told heaven was at risk due to Lilith's rising power? The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions. I think it could be any number of these. Either way, Lute certainly does think she had authority over Lilith. Is it Lute just having hubris? Or is Lilith truly bound, just like Alastor, Husk, and Angel Dust?

Of course, now that we know a soul can be redeemed... and we certainly know that angels can fall. I don't think this will be the last we see of Adam.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #adam hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #eve hazbin hotel #lilith hazbin hotel #lilith morningstar #character study

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tojisun · 7 months ago

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the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley #simon riley x reader #suns

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fictionstudent · 7 months ago

Text

How to pull off descriptions

New authors always describe the scene and place every object on the stage before they press the play button of their novels. And I feel that it happens because we live in a world filled with visual media like comics and films, which heavily influence our prose.

In visual media, it’s really easy to set the scene—you just show where every object is, doesn’t matter if they’re a part of the action about to come or not. But prose is quite different from comics and films. You can’t just set the scene and expect the reader to wait for you to start action of the novel. You just begin the scene with action, making sure your reader is glued to the page.

And now that begs the question—if not at the beginning, where do you describe the scene? Am I saying you should not use descriptions and details at all? Hell naw! I’m just saying the way you’re doing it is wrong—there’s a smarter way to pull off descriptions. And I’m here to teach that to you.

***

#01 - What are descriptions?

Let’s start with the basics—what are descriptions? How do you define descriptions? Or details, for that matter? And what do the words include?

Descriptions refer to… descriptions. It’s that part of your prose where you’re not describing something—the appearance of an object, perhaps. Mostly, we mean scene-descriptions when we use the term, but descriptions are more than just scene-descriptions.

Descriptions include appearances of characters too. Let’s call that character-descriptions.

Both scene-descriptions and character-descriptions are forms of descriptions that we regularly use in our prose. We mostly use them at the beginning of the scene—just out of habit.

Authors, especially the newer ones, feel that they need to describe each and every nook and cranny of the place or character so they can be visualized clearly by their readers, right as the authors themselves visualized them. And they do that at the start of the scene because how can you visualize a scene when you don’t know how the scene looks first.

And that’s why your prose is filled with how the clouds look or what lights are on the room before you even start with the dialogues and action. But the first paragraph doesn’t need to be a simple scene-description—it makes your prose formulaic and predictable. And boring. Let me help you with this.

***

#02 - Get in your narrator’s head

The prose may have many MCs, but a piece of prose only has a single narrator. And these days, that’s mostly one of the characters of your story. Who uses third-person omniscient narrator these days anyway? If that’s you, change your habits.

Anyway, know your narrator. Flesh out their character. And then internalize them—their speech and stuff like that. Internalize your narrator to such an extent that you can write prose from their point-of-view.

Now, I don’t mean to say that only your narrator should be at the center of the scene—far from it. What I mean is you should get into your narrator’s head.

You do not describe a scene from the eyes of the author—you—but from the eyes of the narrator. You see from their eyes, and understand what they’re noticing. And then you write that.

Start your scene with what the narrator is looking at.

For example,

The dark clouds had covered the sky that day. The whole classroom was in shades of gray—quite unusual for someone like Sara who was used to the sun. She felt the gloom the day had brought with it—the gloom that no one else in her class knew of.

She never had happy times under the clouds like that. Rain made her sad. Rain made her yearn for something she couldn’t put into words. What was it that she was living for? Money? Happiness?

As she stared at the sky through the window, she was lost in her own quiet little corner. Both money and happiness—and even everything else—were temporary. All of it would leave her one day, then come back, then leave, then come back, like the waves of an ocean far away from any human civilization in sight.

All of it would come and go—like rain, it’d fall on her, like rain, it’d evaporate without proof.

And suddenly, drops of water began hitting the window.

You know it was a cloudy day, where it could rain anytime soon. You know that for other students, it didn’t really matter, but Sara felt really depressed because of the weather that day. You know Sara was at the corner, dealing with her emotions alone.

It’s far better than this,

The dark clouds covered the sky that day. It could rain anytime soon.

From her seat at the corner of the room, Sara stared at the sky that made everything gray that day. She…

The main reason it doesn’t work is that you describe the scene in the first paragraph, but it’s devoid of any emotions. Of any flavor. It’s like a factual weather report of the day. That’s what you don’t want to do—write descriptions in a factual tone.

If you want to pull off the prior one, get to your narrator’s head. See from their eyes, think from their brain. Understand what they’re experiencing, and then write that experience from their POV.

Sara didn’t care what everyone was wearing—they were all probably in their school uniforms, obviously, so I didn’t describe that. Sara didn’t focus on how big the classroom was, or how filled, or what everybody was doing. Sara was just looking at the clouds and the clouds alone, hearing everybody just living their normal days, so I mentioned just those things.

As the author, you need to understand that only you, the author are the know-it-all about the scene, not your narrator. And that you’re different from your narrator.

Write as a narrator, not as an author.

***

#03 - Filler Words

This brings me to filler words. Now, hearing my advice, you might start writing something like this,

Sarah noticed the dark clouds through the window. She saw that they’d saturated the place gray.

Fillers words like “see”, “notice”, “stare”, “hear” should be ignored. But many authors who begin writing from the POV of the characters start using these verbs to describe what the character is experiencing.

But remember, the character is not cognizant of the fact that they’re seeing a dark cloud, just that it’s a dark cloud. You don’t need these filler words—straight up describe what the character is seeing, instead of describing that the character is seeing.

Just write,

There were dark clouds on the other end of the window, which saturated the place gray.

Sarah is still seeing the clouds, yeah. But we’re looking from her eyes, and her eyes ain’t noticing that she’s noticing the clouds.

It’s kinda confusing, but it’s an important mistake to avoid. Filler words can really make your writing sound more amateurish than before and take away the experience of the reader, because the reader wants to see through the narrator’s eyes, not that the narrator is seeing.

***

#04 - Characters

Character-descriptions are a lot harder to pull off than scene-descriptions. Because it’s really confusing to know when to describe them, their clothing, their appearances, and what to tell and what not to.

For characters, you can give a full description of their looks. Keep it concise and clear, so that your readers can get a pretty good idea of the character with so few words that they don’t notice you’ve stopped action for a while.

Or can show your narrator scanning the character, and what they noticed about them.

Both these two tricks only work when a character is shown first time to the readers. After that, you don’t really talk about their clothing or face anymore.

Until there’s something out of the ordinary about your character.

What do I mean by that? See, you’ve described the face and clothes of the character, and the next time they appear, the reader is gonna imagine the character in a similar set of clothes, with the same face and appearance that they had the first time. Therefore, any time other than the first, you don’t go into detail about the character again. But, if something about your character is out of ordinary—there are bruises on their face, scars, or a change in the way they dress—describe it to the reader. That’s because your narrator may notice these little changes.

***

#05 - Clothing

Clothing is a special case. Some new authors describe the clothes of the characters when they’re describing the character every time the reader sees them. So, I wanna help you with this.

Clothing can be a way to show something about your character—a character with a well-ironed business suit is gonna be different from a character with tight jeans and baggy t-shirt. Therefore, only use clothing to tell something unique about the character.

Refrain from describing the clothing of characters that dress like most others. Like, in a school, it’s obvious that all characters are wearing school uniforms. Also, a normal teenage boy may wear t-shirts and denim jeans. If your character is this, no need to describe their clothing—anything the reader would be imagining is fine.

Refrain from describing the clothing of one-dimensional side-characters—there’s a high chance you’ve not really created them well enough that they have clothing that differs from the expectations of the readers. We all know what waiters wear, or what a college guy who was just passing by in the scene would be wearing.

You may describe the clothing of the important character in the story, but only in the first appearance. After that, describe their clothes only if the clothes seem really, really different from the first time. And stop describing their clothes if you’ve set your character well enough in the story that your readers know what to expect from them in normal circumstances—then, describe clothes only when they’re really, really different from their usual forms of clothing.

***

#06 - Conclusion

I think there was so much I had to say in this article, but I didn’t do a good job. However, I said all that I wanted to say. I hope you guys liked the article and it helps you in one way or the other.

And please subscribe if you want more articles like this straight in your inbox!

#writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writeblr #writing #creative writing #writing resources #writing advice #writing tips #writing descriptions #character descriptions

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milawritess · 2 months ago

Text

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow — Gojo Satoru

pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

synopsis: crushed by the pressure of his work, Satoru and the reader's relationship begins to spiral. You do everything you can to make him happy, but you fear it's not enough. Maybe it never was. After a miscalculation that could have resulted in innocent lives being lost, the situation takes a turn for the worse.

Word count: 17k+ (I'm sorry in advance)

genre: heavy angst with happy ending

warnings: heavy angst, swearing, reader is a motherly figure to Megumi but their relationship is a bit strained, mentions of depression and self-doubt, reader is a sorcerer, fighting, insecurity, arguments, and breakups (?), descriptions of gore, mentions of sexual intercourse (mdni), depictions of a complicated and untraditional relationship, reader gets hurt, hardly edited/proofread (oops), gojo is fed up and mean :(

a/n: this is the first and longest thing I've ever posted on here lol. I felt like there was a lack of sorcerer!reader, so I played around with that concept a little bit. other than potentially shitty writing (sorry for any typos or grammatical errors), I truly hope you enjoy <3

sequel & blurbs

“Get out.”

The hash sentiment lingers, hanging heavily in the air.

“Well, hello to you too.”

He hears your feet shuffle across the floor as you stumble to take your shoes and coat off. “I just came to check on you.”

“And I’m fine,” he responds without moving, one arm up, draping over his aching eyes. He lies on the living room couch, one lanky leg propped up at an angle.

“You’re clearly not fine,” you respond, seeming unphased. “Have you eaten anything?” You ask, waiting for a response that never comes. “Okay, I’ll make your favorite ramen.”

He feels the side of the couch dip, your hand settling on his chest. Your fingers were greedy like you couldn’t stop yourself from playing with the fabric or caressing his taut muscles. Your voice is gentler when you speak this time. “Do you want an ice pack? Some tea?”

You two have done this dance before. You come home to find him exhausted, overworked with a migraine that could tranquilize an elephant. And just like always, you carefully slip his shoes off and unbutton the sleek black jacket to his uniform. It’s hard for him to stay mad about anything when you’re this kind, this caring.

“Satoru, please say something.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Your voice was so gentle. So sweet, saccharine, and so fucking patient. A voice you only ever reserved for him and for his ears only. A gentle whisper carried in a gentle breeze. It was his favorite sound.

But not tonight.

So you try something else. Sweet kisses along the corner of his lips. You’re even bold enough to move his arm, the arm he was using to desperately block out any light or simulation. You kiss his eyelids, his forehead, and cheeks—feather-light. Your hand slides up his chest before reaching his face. You caress your thumb under his closed eyes, and your other hand finds his hair, gently massaging his temple. He has all of you. Every bit.

“Let me take care of you.” If it were any other night, your breath fanning his neck would have shattered him; goosebumps would have wrecked his body, he’d shiver, and everything in him would ease, and all of his stress would slip away into nothingness. He never had to be the strongest with you. You would render him down to nothing but a simple man with just a few words. “You don’t look too good, honey. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” For a woman so strong in your own right, a woman of unyielding dignity and poise and unwavering determination to succeed, this is his favorite side of you.

But not tonight.

When his hand clasps your wrist, he feels your whole body freeze against his. Maybe you were surprised. Maybe you predicted this and were preparing yourself but-

The tongue-lashing dies in his throat when he opens his eyes. Just a peak to your face makes him falter. You were pouting. Worried. “I’m fine.” it’s harsher than you deserve but kinder than the thoughts swirling through his head a second ago.

He’s agitated. Stuck in the same old system that continues to fuck him over—his students over.

And yet, you just looked too beautiful.

You pull away, finally taking the hint. Then, you stand, fully removing yourself from him and stepping away. Your body heat quickly disappears from where you once sat, and he quivers. The room was quiet once again.

The room remained quiet even as you placed a hot bowl of ramen on the table beside him, a glass of water, and two pills.

You slept alone that night.

You remember when you first met Megumi.

“Who the hell are you?”

You never would have expected that to be the the words from a child you had just met. You raised a brow. “Well, aren’t you a fucking, brat?”

You were different back then—colder, angrier. You were similar in that sense.

Oddly enough, maybe that’s what gravitated him to you.

You’re not sure when it happened, but gradually, the harsh edges of you began to… change. Not entirely softened, as thorns remained, but you bloomed, red petals and all. You grew softer, kinder, more patient—and finally—your heart had made space for others. The fear of loss remained, but you had never cared for someone so fragile. No one had ever cried for you, reached for you with small chubby fingers, or depended on you as he once had. You never had someone in your life that needed to be nurtured, protected, and guided.

He was just a boy.

Over time, you realized that if you remained unchanged, perhaps he would never grow into the man he needed to be. You’re not sure why he picked you, why he looked up to you of all people, but he did. He found comfort in you and followed you like a little duckling with a little waddle and permanent scowl.

There wasn't a rhyme or reason. He chose you, and you chose him.

Soon enough, you were waking him up for school, running your hands through his messy, dark locks. You were making him bento boxes, running to parent-teacher conferences, and having hard but meaningful conversations with him in his room about his troubling behavior.

Then you were hugging him as he cried, as he revealed the same dark thoughts you once had about yourself.

You wished this world wasn’t so cruel, so dark. You hope that in a different life, he would have grown into a normal kid, with hopes and dreams and a list of things he wanted to do and go out and experience. You didn’t want him to be shackled to a world that’s left you so scarred.

You fought for any sense of normality you could give him. If that meant confronting the higher-ups, so be it. At times, you even confronted Satoru.

He was just a boy.

Fire never harmed you; it never dared to scorch your skin. You commanded and held domination over nearly every flicker of heat. He was so small when you met him; you remember the first time you saw his small form shiver in the cold. It made you anxious. Despite buying him the heaviest winter coat you could find, you were beside yourself, always wondering—is he warm enough?

But, long were the days of you bundling him up in his jacket, tying his shoes, and tugging beanies over his dark hair and red ears. Long were the days of you clasping his little hands in yours to bring them warmth when the air grew too bitter. He grew older, smarter, wiser, and stronger. The boy that used to cling to your skirt after a hard day at school now stood inches taller than you.

You knew that one day he’d leave you, and you were okay with that. Seeing him so ready for the world made you happy. You worried—of course you still worried—but you were so proud. He was hesitant, unsure at times, and sometimes even looked back to you for assurance.

You were always there, smiling, ushering him along.

You can do it. I believe in you.

You grew up together, you think. Sometimes, you wondered if he ever paid for your shortcomings, or if he remembered your failures as a caregiver, but just like you did him, he’d assure you with a soft nudge and a gentle smile.

He knows you did the best you could with what you had.

He was just a boy.

Your boy.

He wasn’t yours, but you loved him like he was. Only as he grew did you realize the lines you had crossed.

He doesn’t remember his mother, but you’re sure he remembered her smile, perhaps her touch, or the sound of her laughter. You never meant to impose on her memory.

When it happened, he had just gotten into Tokyo Jujutsu High, and Satoru took him on his first official mission. You no longer had the means of pushing this off; you couldn’t beg Satoru or the higher-ups for another month, another week, another day. Megumi wasn’t a normal kid. He was a sorcerer and needed to start fulfilling his duties and mastering his technique.

“You can’t avoid the inevitable. You can’t protect him forever,” Satoru had once told you.

You knew he was right.

You stayed home that day, anxious and worried, but you knew Megumi would be alright. Satoru was with him. Even if the tall man was a bit harder on Megumi than you, you knew he’d keep him safe.

However, your worst fears came to fruition. Megumi wasn’t the same after that mission.

You remember. Satoru’s eyes were stern that night while Megumi's eyes never left the floor as he made his way to his room.

You remember thinking—what could I do to make my boys happy again?

After all, they were your everything, the reason you stood here now with a full heart. Things were newer for you and Satoru then, but he kissed you that night, warm, large hands gently holding your cheeks. He missed you a little bit extra that day. You were nervous, hesitant to fall into the sanctuary of his embrace, but it was only a matter of time until you were fully, devotedly his.

“Are you okay?” You had asked, only for him to nod his head.

“Yeah. Of course, I am, angel. Megumi is shaken up, but he’ll be alright too.”

You made Megumi’s favorite dinner that night—the same beefsteak he’s raved about since he was only six. Well, he never raved, but you perfectly remember the first time you made it, which happened to be the first time he tried it. He could barely get his chin over the table to scope his food into his mouth. He wasn’t good with chopsticks yet, so he used a little fork, which he held in his tiny fist. His little eyebrows raised before dipping down, creasing at the inner corners as he concentrated on the flavor. He murmured it’s good, and you remember being so proud of yourself. That was one of the first times you felt that you were doing something right by him. You made the same dish on occasion, and time only helped you perfect the recipe.

Megumi never came out of his room that night. The lights were off when you knocked. Even after hearing no response, you had cracked open the door, poking your head inside.

“Gumiii,” you stepped into his room. He was on his bed, groaning as you flicked the light on. He turned his back to you. “I made your favoriteee.”

You had sat on the edge of his bed, a hot plate of food in your hands. “C’mon, it’s the beefsteak you like. Nice and warm.”

“‘m not hungry,” he had grumbled.

You sighed. “The mission must have been unpleasant.” He remained still. “I’m sorry, Gumi. Satoru said you did well! I’m proud of you—” he flinched from your touch, snapping his arm away from your reach. You froze, having felt the coldness of his rejection. “If you don’t want to talk about the mission, how was your first day at your new school?” You asked. “Do you have any classmates you like?”

“Just quit it already…” he had murmured. “I’m not in the mood.”

Your shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. My first mission was tough too, and you already know I wasn’t great at making friends either–” you winced, biting your tongue. This was coming out all wrong. “… are you okay, Megumi?”

“I’m fine!” He clipped, pushing himself upright in bed. “Just leave me alone and stop acting like you’re my mom already!”

You remembered—and just the memory of that night shambled your heart. You could never forget the hurt those words caused and how you couldn’t show it.

You had smiled wearily. Then, you placed his dinner on his desk. “…you’re right,” you echoed. “I’m not her, never could be. I’m sorry if I imposed. I never meant to.”

You never spoke of the incident, but you remembered that things were tense between Satoru and Megumi for a short while after that. You told Satoru to drop it, but you had a feeling the poor boy received a tongue-lashing from Satoru. You were never sure, though, and you could never prove it.

You just remembered feeling cracks in the foundation of the home you never knew you had so carefully crafted, brick by brick. Some of the warmth was gone—a warmth you never knew was quite there until it wasn’t.

Little by little, you pulled back. Megumi moved into the student dorms shortly after, and he needed you less and less. You no longer made him bento boxes or his favorite beefsteak. You bit your tongue with the lectures: Megumi, that’s not nice, or Megumi, you need to have more faith in yourself. You can do it.

Though the bitter bite of cold never entirely touched you, heated by an unquenchable fame, you pulled back your hand when you reached for him. He left you seared—burned.

You still worried. You never knew if you were giving him too much or not enough. So, you left most of the mentoring to Satoru now. It’s been a few months since the incident, and now you only ever speak to him if he approached you first.

That's why you were happy when you spotted him in town. You offered him a small, shy wave. He unexpectedly approached you and asked how you were and what you’d been up to. However, the most unexpected part was when he asked if you were busy. You shook your head, and it was impossible to hide you beam when he offered to get you hot chocolate from the same coffee shop you used to take him to after school in the colder months.

However, it seemed you weren’t the only one confused by Satoru’s recent behavior.

“Huh?”

“Gojo didn’t want me going on my mission,” Megumi reiterated.

You blink a few times, tapping your fingers against the styrofoam cup in your hands. “Huh. He’s never done that before.”

“He doesn’t think I’m ready. He took the mission himself.”

“He said that? That he doesn’t think you’re ready?”

“Well… not exactly.” He scowls slightly, looking down at the cup of hot chocolate. “But he damn well implied it.”

“Gumi,” you frown at the boy. He doesn’t make eye contact with you; he looks forward now, gazing out the window and watching the fresh snow coat the ground.

He was upset.

“He could’ve at least taken me with him.”

For a moment, you see that same little boy you met over ten years ago and that same dejected look on his face after being let down one too many times. It breaks your heart.

“If Satoru took the mission and went alone, I’m sure it’s for a good reason.”

He wants to say more but opts for something quick and sweet. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You have to do something. Quick. Anything to make him a bit happier. “I have a mission later in Osaka. I’ll be catching the 2 pm train. Wanna come? I could use the extra help.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking, you presume, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Great! And just so you know, we’ll probably be dealing with a grade one or two.”

He pauses momentarily before calmly asking, “And you need help with that?”

“Uh, yeah. Any help is much appreciated. Plus, I haven’t seen you much recently.” You smile brightly, and he turns his head, eyes finding the ground, looking a little bashful.

“About that…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you wave him off. “You’ve been busy with school, and I know that.”

“But that’s not–”

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you smile again, resisting the urge to reach across the table and gently squeeze his hand. “I get it.”

He gives you a look, a small disgruntled scowl. He wanted to say more.

“Alrighty then.” You stand, stretching from sitting in the chair. “I’ll buy you another hot chocolate for the road. We should probably start getting ready to leave.”

The mission goes well. An abandoned warehouse in Osaka conjured up a nasty looking grade three, but Megumi held his own just fine—like you expected. He’s grown much stronger and more sure of himself. You’re proud. Seeing how far he’s come certainly puts a smile on your face. He’s not a little boy anymore, you realized. He’s growing into a fine young man.

Urg. Stop getting emotional.

However, after stopping for a later dinner, you both arrived home late, around nine or so.

“You did good tonight, Megumi,” you tell him for the nth time.

He rolls his eyes, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. “You’ve told me that already.”

“I know, I know. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m proud of you. You’re getting so much stronger.”

Instead of brushing you off like all the other times, he sighs before offering a forced “thanks.”

“Alrighty then. Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you and the others sometime tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Get back home safe.”

You nod, smiling. You make sure to watch him as he goes, making sure he gets inside before turning around. He’s capable of taking care of himself, but some habits never grow old. Making sure he gets inside anywhere safely has always been something you’ve prioritized, whether he was going to a friend's house, school, or boarding the train.

You loved him like your own, but you knew he wasn't. After all, it was only a few months ago now that he reminded you that he wasn't yours.

You’re not my mom.

It hurt—it still does—but you never held it against him. You still loved him nevertheless. Your relationship might have shifted but it doesn’t negate the fact that you care for him and would gladly give your life if it meant keeping him safe.

Then, there was Kugisaki and Itadori—two others slowly weaseling their way into your heart. They’ve helped Megumi so much; he might be too proud to admit it, but they’ve helped him come out of his shell; they were his friends, and you knew they had each other backs.

You sigh, a translucent cloud of white floating up and above your head. Just like always, your thoughts shift to blue eyes. Satoru. You’ve missed him today. No calls or obnoxious spam texts. It’s not unusual per se, especially when he gets busy. Regardless, you missed him.

But, something is bothering you. He wasn't communicating with you and he usually tells you these things. Even if he didn't have the time to tell you something right away, he'd eventually find a moment to talk to you. This time around, he didn’t. He didn't tell you he was leaving or about the whole ordeal with Megumi.

He just got up and left. You woke to a cold bed and an empty house. No text message, no note with a silly doodle. When you called him in the morning, it went right to voicemail. Eventually, when you pull up your shared text messages to check for anything new, you only saw the message you sent him from the day before. At a loss, you type out a quick message. You didn't think it would make things better, but at least it was something.

I hope you have a good day today :)

It was all you could really muster up after last night. He seemed so agitated, and so fed up. You blamed it on stress; he isn’t usually like that. Usually, his touch was careful, calculated as if you were fixed of glass. You missed his lame jokes and mischievous grins when he was up to no good. You weren't offered any of that last night. Or the night before. Even the night before that.

You’re starting to worry.

He always bounces back so quickly. The only thing that typically gets him this mad are the higher-ups. Which, in Megumi's case, makes sense. You can see why Gojo would intervene if they gave him a dangerous mission.

But why didn’t he take Megumi with him, at least?

Hm.. maybe it was beyond Megumi's skill set. Would the elders be stupid enough to set him up? They did it to you long ago, but they wouldn’t be bold enough to do it to the boy with the ten shadows technique, would they?

Or maybe Satoru… just doesn’t want to be near you?

Urg. You roll your eyes at your own selfish thoughts. Satoru wouldn’t do something like that. He’s already overworked as it is. Maybe you should make him something. A nice dinner? Or maybe he needed a pick-me-up? Kikufuku? You’re sure you could find the recipe online.

You're torn, so you decide to make both. Maybe you'll even put on a nice dress.

You decide to call him, and after a few rings, he answers. “Hey, honey,” you say sweetly, happy he even bothered to answer your call. "I was wondering when you’d be home tonight. I want to make you a nice dinner.”

He’s quiet again—too quiet. “Dinner? Tonight?”

“Yeah, you’ve been so busy lately. I figured you’d like that.”

He hums into the phone, sounding a bit lighter. “Dinner does sound nice…”

Your smile widens. You could hear the underlying stress in his tone; it was flatter than usual, but at least he was trying. “... I’ll even put on your favorite dress?”

He chuckles a bit. “Tempting, but I’ll probably have to leave after dinner.”

“Oh,” you murmur, wincing slightly at the rejection. Maybe you’ve gotten too spoiled—too accustomed to him pushing off his responsibilities all for the sake of spending a few more moments with you. Were you being too greedy? “Are you okay? They’re not stretching you too thin, are they?”

He sighs in a carefree tone. “I'm doing fine. Same old thing, just a different day,” is all he offers, but you can tell he’s withholding.

“I can help, y’know,” you offer gently. “If you have too many missions, I can take a few off your plate.”

“Nah,” he tells you a bit arrogantly. “It’s better if I handle it.”

Now you’re really starting to feel the distance. He usually reserves the softer parts of him for you. You suppose he just didn’t have the patience to do so right now. “You, uh, got into it with the higher-ups I heard,” you mention, trying to keep the conversation going but approaching from a different angle. “Megumi was telling me you even took his mission. I think he was a bit upset you didn’t take him with you. How come you never told me?”

“How come you never told me you were going to Osaka? Or the fact that you took him with you?”

Your stomach twists, unease bubbling in your chest. You didn’t like where this was heading. “I– it’s never bothered you before,” you manage, though your voice falters, dying down into nothing but a whisper. “And it’s not like you’ve been… wanting to speak to me recently. I haven't had the time to tell you much of anything," your trail off, your voice slowly fading before you begin again. "Did I do something to make you mad?”

The silence that follows is unbearable—longer than you ever imagined it could be. “Satoru… Please just talk to me.”

“I gotta go,” his tone is cold, clipped, and final.

There’s a click as he hangs up, and the silence becomes deafening and threateningly absolute.

You realize you miss the way he used to look at you. Not the way he'd gaze at you, but in the way he would gaze into you, as though you were ever the only thing that ever really mattered.

After your last conversation with him, you were unsteady. You hated how you stayed in bed for hours, analyzing everything he's said to you recently, dissecting his every action. You hated how needy you suddenly felt, even while laying there, in his bed, in his clothes. He paused just a second too long before answering you now, as if he had to must up the courage and energy to do so. His laugh no longer came out easily. Others might miss it, but you never could. It was still rambunctious, taking up a whole room, but to you, it felt forced, brittle even. You've known Satoru at his best, and you've also known him at his worst.

When he looks at you now, you wonder if he's really seeing you. Painfully, you realize you haven't seen him; not without his eyeband on at least. Last night you did, for the first time in a while, but he seemed agitated.

The worst part was that you didn't know how to bring yourself to confront him. You struggled, unsure which pretty words and cadence would unluck the distance between you two.

Did something happen on one of his missions? Was he stressed? Had the higher-ups pushed him too far, testing his patience?

Or was it you? Was this somehow your fault?

Did you scare him away? Have you said too much, cared too deeply, loved too loudly?

You weren't sure, but you had to try something.

You were grateful you were cooking him dinner tonight on your day off. It was the least you could do, and you adored taking care of him. You choose hot pot, something you and Satoru have tried at home before. It took over a few hours to prepare, but it was worth it. You made two broths, you sliced up shabu-shabu and wagyu beef and even went to the extent of watching a video to make a dipping sauce. Unfortunately, you forgot one of the ingredients for the kikufuku mochi and didn’t want to risk making something he didn’t entirely like. Luckily, you had spare time to run down to the kikufuku store right before it closed. Of course, you grabbed all his favorite, two boxfuls, in fact. He was a big guy, so you hoped you had more than enough food for him to indulge.

You and Satoru were together. Though he never outright asked you to be his, you knew. It was an unspoken thing, and you were content with that. For as goofy and eccentric as that man could be, it was rather surprising how he was never outright with what he was actually feeling.

He was damn good at showing it, though. In more ways than one.

You feel it in the way he’d always reach for you after a nightmare. Shaking, needy hands tightly clasping at your waste, fearful of you disappearing and slipping to a place where he could not reach you. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow. Please. His face would nuzzle into your neck, sharply inhaling your scent. You’d hold him, whispering endless promises. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Or it's okay. Breathe, my love. I’m with you.

You feel it on the nights he’d pin you beneath him, his grunts and moans echoing in your ears as he fills you so completely. He’d beg, no demand you—tell me you’re mine. Only mine.

And, of course, you’d eagerly nod, overwhelmed with the pleasure only he could strum out of you so perfectly. ‘m yours. All of me—yours.

You feel it in his protective gaze, his eagerness to hold you in the life vest of his arms. You felt it late into the night, damp bodies pressed against one another; low lighting, quiet laughter, and secrets revealed. His dreams, his wishes, his what ifs—the parts of him that no one knew or considered. Or when he handed you a silver key with a handsome and cheshire grin. What do you say? He was lovely, every bit of him, especially his gentle and selfless heart that you would never take for granted like the rest of the world seemed to.

You feel it when he comes home from overseas and how his strong arms hold onto you just a bit longer, a bit tighter. You feel it with how he smiles into your neck or that one time at the airport when he lifted you up and spun you around, uncaring who saw.

You feel it in the way that it was unspoken. You feel it in his cursed energy and how it perfectly intertwined with yours, reaching for you, comforting you when his hands could not. You especially feel it in the necklace he gifted you—the one your fingers were playing with now: a silver chain with cerulean sapphires, the same breathtaking shade of his eyes. His cursed energy, carefully imbued into the stones, was like carrying a piece of him with you—always, wherever you may go, and it rests directly above your beating heart.

He might not voice it, but you feel it. He loved you. And you certainly loved him.

So when had it become so hard to reach him? Why does he seem so intangible all of a sudden? Something deep and unsettling blooms in your stomach.

And now that you think about it…

When was the last time you two did any of that? When was the last time his careful hands caressed you?

Only Satoru could make you this worried or make you feel this displaced. A sense of panic strikes you, and you pull out your phone to text him when you realize he’s thirty minutes late. Usually, that wouldn’t bother you, but–

After only three rings, you're sent to voicemail. When you check his location, he’s at the high school. Should you check on him? Or would that make him… mad?

He toru! Dinners ready. When do you think you’ll be home? Miss you.

You bite your lip. He quickly read your message, but those three little bubbles never show up.

Nothing. Just nothing.

Maybe he’s staying up late writing the report for his latest mission?

“eek!” Your phone pings, and after a round of hot potato, you see he’s texted you back.

Only to be met with more disappointment.

Dealing with something urgent. Don’t wait up.

You frown, knowing you should drop it, but you can’t.

Satoru…

He’s typing faster now. What?

You pause, thumbs hovering over letters you hesitate to type. What’s going on? You’ve been off lately.

I’m fine. Just busy.

Do you want me to bring you dinner to the High School?

Those three bubbles appear and disappear more times than you can count. No. I said don’t wait up.

You know I don't sleep well without you.

He responds in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Your patience is wearing thin for the first time since this ordeal started. Are you saying you won’t be coming home tonight?

You’re offered no response. He doesn’t even open your message. For the second night, you lay in a cold bed. Except, Satoru doesn’t come home.

Only he could fracture you so completely.

During your next mission, you brought the whole trio along. According to the report you were handed, you were only dealing with a grade three, but there was also an Infestation in the area. You could use the backup.

You had initially asked Megumi, but once Yuji caught wind, he was adamant that he tagged along, and, according to Nobara she had nothing else better to do.

“Are you guys sure? It’s your day off.”

Yuji shrugs, both arms up, hands up and behind his head. “Yeah, I’m game.”

“Me too,” Nobara voices with a small glint in her eyes. “I got something new I want to try out anyway. We didn’t get to go on a mission last week as it is.”

You paused. "Huh? Gojo didn’t take you on any?”

“Nah,” Yuji shakes his head. “I think he’s been busy or something.” He looks at Kugisaki. “Hasn’t Gojo-Sensei seemed a little… off?”

Nobara nods. “Uh yeah. He hasn’t been himself at all. We figured you’d know something,” Nobara says, curious eyes scanning you.

“Huh… I’m not sure. We haven’t gotten around to talking lately.”

Megumi hums, though it sounds more suspicious than his usual passive tone.

Though they weren’t necessarily your students, you figured there was no harm in taking them. You've done it before and having them around was always like a breath of fresh air—reminding you of why Satoru dedicates himself so fully to his cause and being a teacher. They give you a reason to get stronger and keep fighting. You loved these kids and all their bickering.

Except, this mission doesn’t go anything like you had expected. The report was wrong—a grade two was ambling through the abandoned schoolhouse. That was fine; the four of you were more than enough to kill it. The infestation was a bit overwhelming, but you had their backs, and they were nothing but pesky small curses lower than a grade four.

Everything went well when the ambush happens. You all saw it: right in front of your eyes, a grade one emerging from the shadows, born into something nasty. It's skin oozed a sickly black slime that clung to its misshapen body. Its face—or lack there of—was dark and amorphous, split by a jagged maw that stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows of sharp serrated teeth, ready to cut and slash through flesh like a meat grinder. Other that is daunting appearance, the only other notable thing about it was its speed.

You told the kids to back down, but it was already too late. They were already involved, stuck in the heat of battle and fighting as a seamless unite. They were more than capable of standing on their own.

But you needed them out of here. Your obligation was to protect them no matter how eager they were to help. However, before you could think of your next move, the curse made one last self-preserving attack. It opened in wide jaws, releasing several red beamed energy blast aimed directly at stone pillars.

You had no time to think, only react. In an instant, you surged forward towards the trio, faster than their eyes could react. Grunting, you knocked them back, glass shattering as you kicked them through a window. You felt the impact ripple through your body, fully knowing you knocked the wind out of Megumi and Yuji. However, they recovered quickly, their instincts sharp enough to catch Nobara–

Right in time before the building collapsed.

The building groaned like a wounded beast, its entire frame buckling from lack of support. Stone walls crumbled into clouds of dust and debris, windows shattered in explosive bursts, steel beams twisted and snaped with sickening shrieks. The ground trembled violently as the structure gave way, collapsing into a chaotic heap of concrete, rubble, and smoke, swallowing everything beneath. Including you.

You survived. Reinforcing your body with cursed energy made you strong enough to withstand the impact, and your heavenly restriction certainly helped. Nevertheless, you still took on quite a bit of damage from the tons of metal and concrete.

You woke up under the rubble with a startling gasp, choking on the dust. Were you out for a few seconds? Minutes? You were unsure, but the only thing pushing you to stand was the panic coated in Megumi’s voice. He was calling for you, and so were the others. You could hear the strain in their voices, the utter distraught. You healed your broken leg and the gash on the corner of your forehead, ceasing your gushing blood. You gathered yourself and your strength before pushing. They found you quickly after that, noticing a heap of rubble moving. They ran, rushing to help you push back concrete that threatened to suffocate you. You never did like tight spaces.

Thankfully, you were alright. The kids were safe as well.

However, the curse had escaped. Megumi was visibly shaken, his fingernail cracked, bruised, and bleeding from digging urgently through the rubble to find you.

Everyone was on edge. It wasn't their fault you didn't react quickly enough. You were more than capable; maybe that's why the failure stung so much.

You let yourself down. You let them down.

You were spiraling into a dark place quickly. The guilt threatened to swallow you whole. Gojo was still nowhere to be seen. You didn't have the strength to call him. You’re not sure what you could even say. You’ve fucked up before, but never to this extent. Not to where a whole building collapsed.

“Good morning. A tragic incident occurred last night when an abandoned school collapsed around 7 pm. Authorities are currently investigating the cause, and preliminary reports suggest that the collapse could have been due to a structural weakness—one of the many reasons why the school was abandoned in the first place. We will continue to monitor the situation as more information becomes available–"

Megumi gently grabs your phone and locks your screen. Wordlessly, he shakes his head before pocketing your device. You’re too exhausted to ask for it back.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sensei?” Yuji's voice was soft, the first voice to break the ice. You look up from your hands, unsure how long you’ve been lost in thought. You force a small smile as you gaze at the three kids. You were sitting across from them in the waiting area outside the council room.

“I’m alright. Are you guys?"

“We’re all fine,” Megumi cuts in quickly. “We’re– we’re more than okay.”

“That's good,” you trail off. “That's really good.”

Uncertainty hung dangerously in the air. What happened now? You were okay, but for how long?

You knew you were in for a lashing with all the collateral damage you caused. It was supposed to be a simple mission. This wasn't supposed to happen. You four were fine, but did anyone else get hurt?

You flinch at your own thought. You don't think you could live with yourself if innocent lives were lost.

“Sensei?” Yuji's soft, unsure voice cuts in once more. When your eyes make contact, he smiles brightly. You can tell it’s forced. “After this, wanna go get something to eat? There’s this great sandwich shop down the street!”

“Y–yeah!” Nobara sits up straight after being less than conspicuously nudged by Yuji. “It’s pretty good. We went the other day–”

The council room door creaked open. The higher-ups were waiting, shrouded in shadows and faces hidden. Even if you couldn't see them, the tension was palpable. Even without seeing them directly, you could sense their anger, smell it as it rolled off of them in a quiet, unspoken fury. You glance at the kids once more, this time with a gentle, reassuring smile curling at your lips.

Everything would be okay.

Everything was, in fact, not okay.

The air was heavy as you entered your office. Your limbs ached, your head throbbed, and every breath felt like dragging glass through your lungs. You had thought the worst of it was over, and slowly, you felt your body begin to shut down, but only when there were no prying eyes to see how you compensated for your injuries. Even after using RCT, you had a limp—your bones were mended but not quite right. Your head was no longer bleeding—but still, you weren't quite right.

You dismiss it as exhaustion; after all, you had just learned RCT not too long ago. Maybe you missed something. However, this wasn’t anything you couldn't handle on your own. You could see Shoko, but why bother her? You’ve endured far worse. Dealing with a sore body and a headache for the next few days wasn’t out of your jurisdiction.

When you open the door, a flickering lamplight reveals a tall frame standing by your desk. Even before your eyes dance upon his sharp and still silhouette, the air shifts—your soul already knows he is there. Satoru.

But, his eyes never meet yours; you weren’t blessed enough to see them, a bright blue illuminating in the absence of light. His eyes were covered with a familiar dark cloth. However, you didn’t need to see them to know that the usual warmth they held as he gazed upon you was gone. In its place was a coldness that turned your stomach.

“Satoru–”

“I know,” he says, voice clipped as he turns to face you. “I read the reports.” Your heart sinks as he haphazardly tosses the report down to your desk.

You’re exhausted, unsure of where to even begin. So many questions floated in your weary mind. Where were you? When did you get here? Please, don’t be mad at me.

It’s funny how all your dignity, poise, and strength to endure are gone with him. You already took one berating from the elders, and you’re not sure you could handle another.

Not from him.

“But, I want to hear it from you.” He stepped closer, his height making him all the more domineering. “What happened out there? And how the hell are my students caught up in all of this?”

“The report was wrong. It was a grade two, not three, but we handled that just fine. We cleared out the area and completed the mission, but we were ambushed. A grade one appeared, destroyed the pillars, and–” You hesitate, unable to form the words. “Well, you know what happened.” He’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. “I–I did everything I could, Satoru. The students were fine, but the curse got away.”

“Everything you could?" His voice echoes. "I don’t need excuses. Certainly not from you. You endangered them—all of them. They’re not even your students!” He snapped, his voice rising in a way you’ve never heard before.

You bite back the lump forming in your throat. “I thought you, out of anyone, would understand the circumstances.”

“...Understand?” He utters back, a quiet fury rolling off him in waves.

“I made sure that–”

“You failed,” he snaps, voice laced with malice. “Enough. Just stop it. You were reckless and went behind my back, and you let a pathetic grade one get the best of you.”

Your chest tightened, crumbling at the weight of his tone. “Went behind your back? I did no such thing.”

“They could have been hurt because of you!” You visibly flinch, his words carrying more weight than the debris that had buried you—broken bones and all.

“I’m recommending you be demoted to grade two.”

What?

“You can’t do that. Satoru, you can’t–”

“I can,” he said coldly. “and I will. You failed, and not only did you fail, you went behind my back and involved my students. Your recklessness caused this,” disdain coats his voice, and he sucks his teeth. “I was gone for two fucking seconds, and you damn near ruined everything. People could have died. My students could have been injured. So stop being a nuisance and just do as you're told from here on out.”

No.

No, no, no, no.

You fought for years to get to grade one. A woman with a name of no renown—this society was never in favor of you; the system was set up for you only to fail time and time again. For years, you were held at grade three, then grade two, all because of your name’s sake—all because you were a woman. You didn’t have the luxury of being as good as other sorcerers; you had the burden to be better.

Even now, at grade one, they continue to undermine you and undervalue you. You knew you didn’t have room to make mistakes, for they would tarnish every bit of good you have done. You thought Satoru understood that. You thought he viewed you as an equal, someone strong enough to stand by him. You thought he valued you, respected you.

You never thought a mistake, a stupid mistake, would lead to this.

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

“This has nothing to do with my rank. You don’t believe me. You don't trust me. After everything–”

Hearing his scornful laugh, your vision begins to blur. “Don’t make this personal. You fucked up, and now I have to clean up your mess.”

Your ears begin ringing. The pounding in your head becomes too much and threatens to crack your skull open once more.

“But it is, isn’t it?” You whisper. How could it not be personal with how he's been treating you for days? “You haven't been able to look at me in weeks. You speak to me as if I’ve become nothing but a burden to you—a nuisance. What did I do to deserve this?”

He remains silent, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he grits his teeth. Point proven.

Your heart painfully twists with each beat. “Do you even… care about me anymore?” You’re not sure why you say it, why the words slip past your lips, but they do.

He read the report and he hadn't even asked if you were okay. Maybe it was a selfish thought, but it makes your chest ache. You just wanted to go home, crawl in bed and hold him. However, you knew that wasn't in the cards right now.

“Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

Your voice finally wavers before him, cracking as you press on, desperate for him to understand—desperate to have him by your side as he has been for so many years.

“You’re casting me aside like I’m... worthless."

It was cruelty, a quiet and deafening insult for him to demote you of your status—but more specifically, your place beside him. That hurt runs deep, to the point that feelings of betrayal start seeping into your veins, poisoning you, antagonizing you. Belittling you. It was a sharp dagger you never expected—searing with a hatred that threatened to cripple you. This wasn’t just about your position. He was a man of unchallenged stature, of the highest status and regard, lowering you, demeaning you with his every word, every action.

When did things go so wrong?

Yet, even now, you question yourself. Were you being dramatic? Were you taking this too personally? Were you being selfish?

Because he was right. Every word he's said so far was right. You failed. You put them in danger.

You stand there, a hollow feeling growing in your chest. The sting of Satoru’s words cut deeper than any blade you’ve faced. His jaw tightened, his gaze hard as steel and cold as ice. “You gave me what I never asked for.”

“Don't you dare!” You snap, finger trembling as you point his way with an accusatory jab. “Don’t you dare pretend this is nothing. You know me better than anyone. How could I not take this personally? I’ve done nothing but stand by you, love you, trust you–”

“Like I said, I never asked for any of that,” he utters sharply, his carefully composed exterior shattering. “Whatever we were was nothing more than fucking convenience.”

Suddenly, he stops, freezing at the onslaught of his own lethal words. His next words seemed to die in his throat. The damage was done.

Exhausted, defeated, numb. His words hit you like a death blow. “... Convenience?” Echoing the very word that came from his lips—a sound you hardly recognize comes from your mouth, a small slip of the anguish tormenting and swelling in your body escapes.

The necklace around your neck, the very one he had given you, seemed to pulse against your skin, warm and alive. It carried a piece of him, a piece of you, a guiding hand in the absence of light: a thread, an anchor—a way home.

Suddenly, you hated it. Hated the way it sat so close to your heart, hated the warmth, his energy; you hated that, even now, his words cutting so deep, unraveling the fabric of your being, it comforted you, reaching for you.

You yanked it off, the chain snapping in two as you held it in your trembling hands.

He falters, his whole being frozen. “What are you doing?” he asked, quiet and tense, blanketed in uncertainty.

“I don’t want it,” you say, voice quivering, threatening to fail you at any moment. His energy—the only energy that blended so perfectly with yours—reached for you, and so did his trembling hands. Reflexively, you flinched away, retreating further into the room and further from him. “Don’t,” you shake your head. “Don’t touch me. Not with your hands, not with your energy. Don’t.”

Silent tears stream down your face. You are unable to look at him, and your breathing is shallow and unsteady. You open your hand, letting the necklace drop to the floor. The faint sound of metal hitting wood echoes in the suffocating silence of the room.

There’s a soft knock on the door. It creaks, slightly opening. “... Y/n sensei?” came an unsure voice.

You stiffen, and suddenly, you can sense them, three nervous students standing outside your door. Too caught up with Satoru, you had entirely missed them. You clear your throat and dry your cheeks with the back of your hand before turning to the door. You walk over, opening the door wide enough to see them.

“Sorry if we’re interrupting, but we just wanted to know if you still wanted to come out for dinner with us...”

Fuck. How much did they hear?

You take a breath, and it’s shakier than you anticipated. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice. Let me grab my jacket, okay.”

Yuji only offers an unsure smile. Norbora has a hard time even looking at you, while Megumis's eyes are solid and unyielding, glaring right past you. His hands were in his pockets, balled into tight fists.

You don’t know what to do other than quickly turning. Within a few ushered strides, you were at your desk, grabbing your coat off your desk chair; you’re careful to avoid Gojo, who manages to plaster on that big fucking grin.

“Heard you guys were up to no good while I was away.”

“We were fine,” Megumi interjects before Yuji could open his mouth. “More than fine.”

“Y–yeah, everything ended up being just fine. Y/n-sensei made sure of that,” Nobara awkwardly adds, shifting her weight on her feet.

“Ah,” Gojo nods. “Well, make sure you get some rest tonight. We’ve got a long day tomorrow! You guys will be training with the second years!”

You hated how he could act as if everything was alright while you were fighting back tears. It was another jab, a suckerpunch to the gut.

You just needed to get out of there.

After dinner with the kids, you headed out on your own the following day. You went home, stuffing some clothes in a bag before spending the night at a cheap motel. Before getting with Satoru, you always floated from place to place, never truly settling. Those days, all you carried on you was your backpack. You didn’t have a home or many possessions you could call your own. You just had yourself.

I guess old habits die hard.

Megumi was the first to text you: I went to Gojo's house today and didn’t see you.

All good! I’ve been busy running errands.

Nobara text you sometime after.

Hey Sensei!! Let me know if you’re available today! Let’s go shopping!

You responded rather quickly. Sorry, I’m not around today. Maybe ask Maki? Or maybe Yuji and Megumi would like to tag along.

But guys suck :(

Then, there was Yuji: Hey, Sensei! Let me know if you want ramen! The gang and I got you since you covered for us the other night! I even got coupons!

You weren’t sure what to say. You always covered for their meals (no exceptions), but you knew they were just trying to be kind. You double-tapped and hearted the message.

You appreciated them more than anything, but frankly, it was a bit embarrassing. You never meant for them to overhear you and Satrou that night in your office, and you were never one for pity. If it were anyone else, you would have called them out and told them off. However, you wouldn’t dream of doing that to the kids. They were trying to support you in the only way they knew how, but it wasn’t their responsibility to worry about you.

Surprisingly, Shoko was the next person to contact you. You never stopped by my office. I’m assuming you’re alright?

Smiling gently, you responded. Yeah, no injuries to report.

A building collapsed on you.

You scoff, imagining her deadpan expression. Heavenly restriction, remember?

That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Yeesh. Just meet me at the bar you like downtown.

That’s where you are now, Shoko’s favorite bar, tossing back your third shot. ”Take it easy. I don’t feel like dragging you home tonight.”

“Ah. I’m alright, Shoko.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Neither do you with those bags under your eyes.”

She brings her drink to her lips, mumbling “touché” before taking a swig. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Vivid memories pressed to the front of your mind of the building collapsing. “Satoru is demoting me. After the elders ripped into me, I found him waiting for me in my office.”

“He– what? Jeez,” she took another sip of sake. “Out of everything, I didn’t expect that.”

“I– we haven’t been doing too good. I’m not sure if there even is an us after last night.”

“Huh. He did seem a little out of it today.”

“Somehow, I kinda doubt that.” There’s a beat of silence, and you swirl the liquid in your cup.

“If it means anything, he asked me about you. Asked if you were alright.”

You smile a bit sardonically. If Satoru really wanted to find you, you knew he could, as he had the means to do so. From here, you were only about five miles away from his estate. It’s not like you were too for his eyes to see. Suddenly, that thought bothers you, and you find yourself almost subconsciously concealing your cursed energy.

“Is that why you texted me?”

She gives you a weird look. “Partially. I had my own concerns.”

“Like what?”

“If I’m being honest with you, you’re not great at RCT. I wanted to check and make sure everything was alright. It eventually catches up with you if you don’t do it correctly. I’ve seen it cause irreparable damage before.”

“Ah. I guess that makes sense.”

“You should come to my office tomorrow so I can check–”

“I think I’m gonna quit.”

“…what?”

“I mean, that’s what they really want, right?”

“If you do that, they’ll find the easiest excuse to label you as a traitor. A cursed user.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Since day one, they’ve been trying to paint me as a villain.”

“So don’t give them what they want,” Shoko bites back. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “Listen, I can’t stop you. You are going to do what you want to do at the end of the day, but you don’t need to do this. You made a mistake.”

“I’m just tired,” you tell her truthfully. “For months, I’ve been pretending, going through the motions. I've been miserable. Megumi hasn’t wanted me around much. He’s older now, and he doesn’t need me anymore–”

“Of course he does,” Shoko cuts you off. “He’s still a kid.”

“And I’m not his mother,” you retort bitterly. “Then, there’s Satoru. He’s been so distant. He used to always be in my corner and make everything better, but I don’t even have that now. Now, all of the jujutsu society thinks I’m a liability. He thinks I’m a liability. Maybe it’s why he’s grown to resent me so much.”

“Please. Just stop talking,” Shoko remarks, overwhelmed with how quickly you were talking. She wasn’t necessarily a fan of conversations like these, but at least she listened. “I’m here if you ever need anyone. And please, don’t let this fester. I would rather not lose another friend.” She takes a large gulp this time, finishing her drink before gesturing for a refill. “Tsk. Satoru is complicated—I get it—but he wouldn’t want you to leave. Neither would Megumi. That kid loves you. Maybe you and Gojo just need a break.”

A break? Ha. That was one way of putting it. However, it already felt much more like a breakup, and its permanence frightened you. Like many other things in your relationship, it was never voiced but certainly felt.

“Yeah,” you say softly, body buzzing as you down your fourth shot. “Maybe you’re right.”

You start walking home after having drinks with Shoko. It was a long walk, and you took your time. You weren’t in a rush to head home to potential chaos. The thought of staying at a hotel crossed your mind, but you had nothing to change into. Frankly, it didn’t matter where you went either. It’s not like you’d be able to sleep any better.

Though, it’s not like you were going back home to anything good. You were suspended without pay; you couldn’t go near the school grounds or exercise any curses—a stipulation you rolled your eyes at. If they thought just a few measly words would stop you from exercising a curse, they would be more idiotic than you thought.

Still, maybe it’s good to take some time off. Maybe you should stay at the hotel. If you were lucky, they’d have a washer and dryer.

Then, your phone starts to ring—a unique ringtone that a white-haired idiot assigned to his contact one day after you let him “borrow” your phone. He even changed his contact photo; years later, you never had the heart to change it.

Your heart aches when you see the contact photo of him, his goofy smile and gorgeous eyes peeking over his black shades. You answered hesitantly after a few rings.

“Hello?”

“Heyyy,” you hear, his voice light and cheery yet, lacking its usual spark. “Where are you? I know I missed dinner the other night so I picked up your favorite on my way home!”

Back to normal? Just like that?

You take a breath, reeling in your emotions. It wasn’t normal, per se, but you could tell he was trying, stepping cautiously over the ice he knew could shatter at any moment.

“I’m not home, right now.”

“Huuuh?” You can hear the slight whine in his voice, and you can imagine him pouting like a small child. You expect him to carry on with his theatrics, but he hesitates. “When do you think you’ll be home then?”

“Uh, I don’t really know,” you trail off, unable to keep up his faux mirth and bravado.

“Well, if you don’t want to sleep next to me tonight, I can just take the guest bedroom!” For a moment, he sounds hopeful.

Honestly, he’s just making your head spin.

“Honestly, I think it’s best if I stay out of the house for a little while, Gojo.”

There’s a beat of silence before you hear his nervous laughter. “Gojo?” he remarks dejectedly. “Can’t remember the last time you called me that.”

You were unsure what to say; you hadn’t even realized you initially referred to him by his last name until he pointed it out. You want to tell him sorry—for everything, but your tongue tenses in your mouth, and your throat threatens to close up. You hated it when he got like this, and typically, you’d do anything to make him smile again.

But you’re hurt, and he caused that hurt.

“I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” he adds quickly, unable to withstand your silence.

“What’s there to talk about?” You ask softly. “What done is done. I messed up.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It can’t be undone now. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your stomach drops your heart twists and aches. Was he going to officially end things with you? A bitter, more cruel half of you whispers—you weren’t even officially together to begin with. However, none of that even matters; he has too much of you, too many pieces of your frail heart in the palm of his hands. You were irrevocably his, but was he ever yours?

Just a few weeks ago, you thought you would have an entirely different answer than the one you have now. You're too afraid to face him or the truth. You were guilt-ridden, your pride and dignity torn to shreds. Hearing that he no longer wishes to be with you would be too much.

Honestly?

You’re not sure how you’d react. If you’d sob, if you’d remain stoic, or if you’d flip a table and trash every one of your possessions. You’re at wit's end, and the level of fallout threatening to break free from you was immeasurable.

So, you finalize what you had been contemplating just five minutes ago. “I think I’m going to stay at a hotel, Gojo. I need space. Time to think.”

“I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other,” he says lowly, his voice reverberating through the phone. You shiver. “It doesn’t feel right.”

You hated this. You fucking hated this.

Your chest tightens, and your knees weaken. You wanted to give in. He always had that power over you. He ruled your heart so effortlessly. You yearned for him, your heart singing a million love songs, beckoning him back to you.

But you couldn’t. You were too mad. You felt cast aside as if you were nothing but an afterthought—after all these years. Yet again, you feel the foundation of your home cracking, and your knees go weak yet again. You take a shuddering breath right before repeating the exact words he threw at you just a few nights prior—words that so effortlessly dismantled your spirit. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

You’ve always had a habit of running. It was easier for you than most. You figured you’d go back to that cheap motel in Tokyo, but you were too restless. Too angry. Feelings of betrayal ran deep, and the guilt nipped away at you until there was only a void.

Before you could leave, though, you call a number you knew by heart. Stepping onto the train and holding your phone to your ear, it rings. For a moment, you assume he’s asleep. It was getting late, but after the fifth ring, the line clicked. A groggy voice peaks through.

“Sensei? What’s going on?”

“Megumi,” you breathe out. “Hi. Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Nozomi 1, departing from Tokyo and heading to Kyoto, will depart shortly. Please be careful of your footing while boarding. Please refrain from using mobile phone inside the train–“

“You’re leaving?” The tiredness in his voice is replaced by something else you can’t quite place.

“Only for a short while. It’s not like I’ll be working anytime soon,” you chuckled nervously. “But I just wanted to let you know. It didn’t feel right leaving without speaking to you first.”

“Oh,” is all he can muster up at first. “I– when will you be back?”

“I’m not sure,” you answer him honestly. “A few days, maybe.”

“Well… Can we visit you? I’d go alone, but I think Yuji and Nobara would kill me if I did.”

Oh. You hadn’t expected that. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Um, yeah. When I figure out where I’m staying, I’ll let you know.”

He sounds worried. “You don’t know where you’re staying yet?”

You snicker. “Ha, this is, uh, kinda an impromptu thing.”

“… and you’re sure alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright. I just wanted to tell you.”

You can tell he’s not exactly satisfied, but he isn’t one to stop you. “Well, text me where you’ll be staying in a few hours. You should probably hang up now, though, and figure it out.”

You smile softly to yourself. He always was a kind boy—kinder than he’d ever reveal. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, Megumi.”

“Night.. I’ll call you later. Be safe.”

When you hang up, you feel a bit better.

The first night was hard—really hard. Sleeping away from Satoru was incredibly difficult, but so were his sharp words that relentlessly bounced around in your mind. You found no peace by your window, watching the last of that day's sunlight slipping away behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the dead trees covered in snow.

You could almost feel his presence, like the cast of your shadow on a wall—following you, mirroring your every move. Your phone never rang with his ringtone, your phone never buzzed with a new text. Yet you stared at the shadows for a bit longer, a bit more intensely, waiting for two blue eyes to illuminate the space. They never did.

Kyoto's stillness seemed to reflect your own, waiting for something to change, waiting for something dead and wilted to bloom once more.

However, even all the way over in Kyoto, bad luck seems to follow you like the plague. You were walking to a small corner market to grab something to eat when you felt the disturbance in the air—tasted it on your tongue. You hoped that surge of cursed energy wasn’t what you thought it was. You would have loved to be proven wrong, but your instincts were keen like a hound trained to hunt.

A curse womb opened right above a Kyoto High school.

You were definitely getting fired after this.

You knew a cursed object was most likely responsible for this. Considering it happened at a school, you were more than willing to bet a strong cursed object was placed there, most likely intended to ward off any other strong curses that might otherwise appear in the area. You assumed the seal broke, probably after hundreds of years of suppressing the power of the object. You’ve dealt with a case like that before.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

Three stupid students—ghost hunting of all things—removed the seal. The decorated white cloth tightly wrapped around a black skull was torn, and its viscous cursed energy soared, tinting the sky black.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you hissed under your breath when you slammed open the classroom door. “This way, c’mon!” You didn’t have to tell them twice. Book it, and you stay by their side for as long as you can. You had to put up your veil, but only after they were far enough.

You got impatient, however, especially towards the kid who had been recording everything up until now, where you crushed his phone in your hand.

“Wha– hey! You're gonna pay for that!”

“What the hell is more important? Recording or your fucking lives? Shut up and run!”

The air suddenly cracks with a tension that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s here. You could feel it—the dark, oppressive presence creeping across the courtyard, lurking. You yourself could see it with your eyes, but you felt it.

Your senses were better than most. It was partially why you and Yuji got along and trained together so well. You were just like him when you were younger. Granted, he wasn’t born with cursed energy like you were, but your heavenly restrictions were nearly identical.

You stop running when you reach the edge of the courtyard, but those three kids carry on in a scram. Holding the cursed object in your hands, you raise the skull in the air. It takes a considerable amount of force, but you crush the skull, black dust coating your hand. There’s a hollow screech, and you hope that’s the end of it.

Of course, your bad luck persists.

Typically, destroying the cursed object that’s created a cursed womb kills it or at least nullifies it. The exception is when the curse is an S-grade; those wombs are damn near impenetrable.

Destroying the object seemed only to irritate the curse as it began crawling out of a bloody sac.

You hold up your fist, index, and pointer finger together, pointing to the sky along with your thumb. A crimson veil pours down, covering the entirety of the school. However, you sense three others within your veil just as you seal off the area.

“Yo, Y/n sensei!! What the hell are you doing here, loca!” A deep laugh echoes across the courtyard.

Christ. You knew that voice from anywhere.

You glance over your shoulder and see a few unexpected faces. Utahime and two other students—Miwa and Todo who looks way happier than he should be, considering the circumstances.

The newly born curse loomed menacingly overhead, its red eyes gleaming like coals in a dying fire. It was tall, with protruding joints that snapped into place. Its black and sleek hair extended beyond its long, contorted body. Its face was painted white and cracked as if crafted of aged porcelain. Its kimono was white, stained with splashes of red and black goo. You stood firmly in place, fire crackling at your fingertips, your breath steady but sharp in the cold night air. Todo and Miwa joined your side quickly, and Utahime offered you a firm nod from the sidelines. She was entrusting you with her students.

Quickly, the courtyard became a battlefield, filled with the crackle of burning energy and the hum of raw power.

The curse lunged, zipping through the air. You were faster, your body twisting and moving with fluid grace. You raised your hand to strike, a jet of flame bursting forward, crackling against the air. The curse shrieked as the fire seared its back, black smoke rising from its melted skin.

It recovered too quickly for your liking. It rolled through the flames like water through a sieve, reforming and lunging again, its claws gleaming.

Your senses were on fire—every shift in the air, every sound, every movement was magnified. You could hear the heartbeat of the curse, the faintest tremor of its form as it coiled to strike. You could smell the thick, sour scent of decay that clung to it like an ancient smog. And you could feel it—the deep, heavy weight of power pressing down on you, making your muscles tighten and strain against the oncoming attack.

The curse moved to strike again, but you were already there, rolling beneath it, body twisting in a perfect arc, and feet hitting the ground in a spring-loaded motion that sent you leaping upward. Your fist, wreathed in fire, crashed into the creature’s chest.

The explosion of heat sent the curse reeling, but it was only a momentary distraction. It retaliated, slashing the air with a massive, clawed hand. Three energized strikes were headed your way. You reacted with seconds to spare, but Miwa stood directly in the line of fire. You knew her simple domain wouldn’t be summoned fast enough, but she didn’t. It would be a miscalculation that ended her life.

The claws tore through your side, then whipped down in a sickening arc, ripping clean through your arm. The pain came in an instant—a blinding, searing agony that burned through your body. You didn't even have time to scream.

You staggered back, a cry escaping Miwa’s lips as she looked at the bloody stump where your arm used to be. Blood poured and squirted from the wound, but there was no time for that.

"Get back!" you shouted to the blue-haired girl, voice raw. She wasn’t nearly ready for this; Utahime gravity overestimated her abilities or underestimated the cursed strength. Regardless, the girl was too distraught to do anything at this moment.

There’s a rush, and you suddenly realize you are outside the heat of battle. Todo went in, guns blazing, but you could only waste so much time. Todo was strong, way above his current ranking, in your opinion, but it was only a matter of time before that curse cut him down, too.

Without a second thought, you dropped to your knees. The pain was overwhelming, but you focused, drawing from the reserves settled deep within your core. Your energy surged, and tendrils of fire spiraled around the wound, filling the air with intense heat.

“Sensei! Are you alri–" Miwa gasped, her feet coming to a haunt as she watched in awe and terror as your arm began to regenerate—pulsing with energy. The flesh knitted itself together, bone and sinew reforming in a frenzy.

But the process wasn't easy and certainly didn’t come without a price to pay. Your body screamed, the regeneration draining your reserves. You were already weakened, and the battle had just begun. Tsk.

Todo found his way back over to you two, panting heavily. “How are you doing over there, Sensei?”

"Clap," you say, voice strained. "Now." He looked at you, bug-eyed, but he nodded. He didn't hesitate.

He brought his hands together in a sharp clap, and everything shifted. “Alright! Let’s dance!”

In an instant, you found yourself on the other side of the curse. You inhaled deeply, heart pounding, immediately launching yourself back into the fight.

The curse roared in confusion, disoriented, but it was too late. You were already in motion. Your feet hit the ground in a fluid motion, and with a vicious snap of your wrist, fire erupted once again. This time, it formed into a massive whip of flame that lashed through the air.

The curse hissed as the whip wrapped around its neck, and you pulled with your whole body. Never losing your grip, muscles straining, you move forward, wrapping the flames over your arm again and again, pulling tighter and tighter until you smelt the pungent odor of the burning flesh around its neck. You wrapped the whip around your arm one last time before turning your body and pulling the whip from over your shoulder, viscously yanking and slamming the curse to the ground and into submission.

The curse struggled, its body writhing, but it was weakened. Miwa went for the opening, summoning her New Shadow Style: Simple domain. She’s gotten better since the tournament, and you acknowledge with a grave chuckle as she instantly draws her blade, slicing the curse directly across its chest cavity. She cost you an arm, but deep down, you knew she had the conviction to win and succeed.

Todo doesn’t wait. Another clap. Another shift. You and Todo swapped places with the curse itself this time, and the curse had no time to react. He goes for a punch, cracking the curse with a quick jab, followed by a right hook. He claps again. The moment the curse materialized in front of you, disoriented, you surged forward, throwing everything you had left into one final strike.

It twisted in anguish, its body crumbling to the ground before its remains turned into ash.

Then, there was nothing.

The air grew still. The ground beneath you is scorched but calm. You sucked your teeth, silently berating yourself.

You hated using your technique. Frankly, you opted not to unless you absolutely needed to, which was the main reason why people hardly knew about it. It wreaked havoc, leaving nothing but indomitable infernos that refused to be quenched like normal flames. They left nothing destruction in their wake—hungry to consume and spread. However, you’ve gotten better at controlling it—you’ll give yourself that. The only thing burned here today was the grass in the courtyard.

You stood there for a moment, panting, your body trembling with exhaustion as you collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. “Y–you did it!” Miwa cheered. “I had no idea you knew RCT. Thank you for helping me back there.”

“What the– Miwa, we won! Show some conviction!” Todo cut in, flexing his biceps.

“He’s right,” you managed a weak smile as you worked on catching your breath and easing your fast-beating heart. You collapse to the ground, still gaining your breath. "We did it."

You hear footsteps approaching from behind. Tilting your head, you see Utahime standing directly above you.

“Oh. Hi ‘hime.”

She smiles a bit, but her face remains hardened. You straighten up a bit, catching on to her attitude. Something wasn’t right.

“You guys did a good job. However, another problem has arisen across the city.”

“Huh? Another one?” Miwa asked, brows tugging inward. She shifts her weight from one hip to the other. “That's like the fifth one today...”

They continue on in their conversation as you drop your veil, sniff the air, and concentrate on your surroundings. A sense of foreboding strikes you under the dark ambiance of the sky. Even after killing that S-grade, things don’t feel right.

“Thanks for joining us,” Utahime says, drawing back your attention. “I nearly had to call for backup.”

You scoff, glancing up at her from the ground. “Something doesn't feel right, Utahime.” She nods, agreeing with your observation. “When did the reports come flooding in?”

“About an hour ago now.”

“Hm,” you wonder, thinking back to when you first found the cursed womb. “That’s about the same time I first sensed the presence of the cursed womb. They’re most likely connected.”

“That's what I thought. The presence of the cursed womb must have irritated some of the curses in the city, most likely because they were drawn to the energy fluctuations the cursed womb caused. It's good you were here. We're stretched thin right now. If you don’t mind staying, we could use your help. The other students are out on missions across the city, and things just keep getting worse.”

You smile up at her before pushing yourself back up on your two feet, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Sure, let’s get going–” but as you stand, it feels as if a bolt of lightning strikes you down or as if your chest has been cracked open by a sledgehammer. The agony was too great to even scream as you fell to your knees and crashed back into the ground.

It was lights out.

It was quiet. Dark—a vast, unending expanse of nothingness that swallowed you whole. An endless drift. It would have almost been peaceful if not for the faint pull at the edges of your awareness, like an anchor trying to tether to something you couldn’t see.

But then came the first sound.

You heard voices—muffled cries. Please wake up, said one voice. Please stay with me, came another.

Pain began to throb somewhere in the background, dull and distant. Disembodied as if it belonged to someone else.

Don’t you dare leave me. The voice was sharp, demanding, cracking under the weight of fear. You knew that voice and remembered all the sweet things it used to whisper to you. Your heart takes a painful lurch. You can hear its occasional beat in your ears. We need you. I need you.

Oddly, you were cold.

You were drifting again, further and further. The anchor was slipping. You were sinking, your head hardly above water, when another muffled voice broke through—whimpering, sobbing. Your heart lurches painfully.

Mom, please don’t go.

The words pierce through the nothingness, shattering it all to bits and pieces. The words pull at you, a lifeline you hadn’t known you clung to and needed. Images begin to flash, and suddenly, the voices are no longer just voices. Your heart suddenly burns as though the memory of life itself is fighting its way back into you.

Your eyelids were heavy, limbs weak, unresponsive—cold. You were so cold, but it wasn’t enough to stop you from crawling out of a black pit that threatened to swallow you whole. There’s a faint sensation of pressure, a hand tightly gripping yours.

Light begins bleeding into the edges of your awareness. You sucked in a deep breath, lungs empty and greedy.

Then, your eyes fluttered open.

You blinked a few times, realizing how hard it was to breathe. Breathing was supposed to be an automatic response, but you had to force it, each breath dragging along the back of your throat like sandpaper. You’re weak and shivering as you use most of your energy to sit up. You were in an empty room, you realized—the sharp smell of sanitizer permeating your nose.

You push yourself out of bed, knees buckling under your weight. You catch yourself, gathering whatever bits of strength you have left. Your teeth clattered. You were freezing. Shaking, you wrapped the white blanket over your shoulders, gripping it tight before you trudged towards the door.

The hall was mostly empty, all except for a sleeping boy slouched over in a chair beside your door. Your heart squeezes.

“Megumi,” you whispered his name. You stare at him for a moment, unable to bite back the tears that nip at your dry eyes.

You wrapped the blanket around him, tucking it gently around him. However, he flinches, jumping straight up in his chair. “S-Sorry,” you tell him quickly with a watery smile. “You looked cold.”

“You…” the word was a raw and weak whisper. His eyes widened. It took a moment for recognition to settle in, but once it did, he spoke again. “You’re awake.” He stood up from his chair, and you stepped back, offering him space. “You’re awake,” he repeated again.

Then, you start to wonder just how long you’ve been out of it. Days? Weeks? The thought of months terrifies you, but before you can even go down that loophole, he’s hugging you tightly. “You’re awake,” he says once more, his voice breaking.

However long it was, he’s right. You’re awake. You’re here, living and breathing. You wrap your arms around his torso, patting and rubbing his back soothingly. “Yup… I’m here. I’m awake.”

You let him be the one to pull away, letting him take however long he needs. You enjoyed it regardless. You couldn’t remember the last time you hugged him.

When he pulls away, his eyes are red. He sniffs a bit, backing up and taking the blanket off his shoulders. This time, he’s the one wrapping the fabric around you. He’s frowning a bit as he does. “... you’re the one that’s cold,” he notes quietly.

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” He asks softly, brows furrowing.

You shook your head. No. Frankly, you didn’t remember much of anything right now. “I was on my way with Yuji and Nobara. We got on the train after you let me know where you were staying.” That’s right. You texted Megumi when you figured out where you’d be staying. You thought they’d come over sometime in the following days. You had no idea they were rushing to see you on the next available train.

He places his hands awkwardly on your shoulder before gently guiding you to the chair he was sitting in moments ago. As you go to sit, your body seems to forget how to move for a moment, and you lose your balance. He catches you quickly, carefully helping you down into the chair. “When we got to Kyoto, we realized quickly how bad things were over there. We started helping out at the Kyoto school, dealing with the curses that had been lingering in the area where the cursed womb opened up. Eventually, we ran into Todo and Miwa. They told us what happened.” He grunts, kneeling down so he’s at eye level with you.

You’re silent for a moment. “How long was I out for?”

“Pushing four days now.”

The memories strike you like a fright train. “Are you okay? Is everyone alright?” You hadn’t realized you had reached for his cheek.

He grabs your wrist, thumb gently caressing the back of your hand before pulling your hand away, guiding it back to your lap. He moves the blanket until it's covering you again. “We’re all fine. Everything’s been dealt with. Yuji and Nobara went down to the cafe to grab some lunch. They’ll be thrilled when they come back.”

You tilt your head. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

He smiles a bit. “I didn’t want to leave you unattended.”

You don’t know what to think. You’re just happy you’re back. Happy because he was happy. You always hated it when he worried about you. You never believed it was his job to do so. However, he stayed by your side and protected you when you couldn’t protect yourself.

You wiggle your toes and roll your shoulders before standing again. “You shouldn’t be standing–”

“I’m alright, I promise,” you tell him, dismissing his concern. “I just want to walk around, okay?”

He stares at you intently, unsure, but he seems to have no energy to argue with you. “... alright,” he relents.

He follows you closely as you drag your feet across the floor. You don’t know where you are walking, but you want to stretch your legs and regain a sense of your body. You are weak, but you need to move.

You ask the question you were too hesitant to ask: “What about Gojo?”

He huffs. “He left a little while ago. Said he’d be back shortly,” he scoffs. “Bullshit if you ask me.”

“Megumi,” you sigh his name with a soft reprimand.

“He should be here,” he responds disgruntledly. “He should be by your side, and he’s not."

You stay quiet. You’re not exactly sure what to say to him when you agree. Maybe Gojo was done. Whatever this was, whatever relationship you had—maybe he didn’t want you anymore. You look ahead, fighting your own body that threatened to collapse at any moment. You could feel Megumi’s eyes on you, but you didn’t have the heart to look at him right now.

You were afraid you would sob if you did.

Though you had never walked these halls before, the hospital's layout was quite easy to catch on to. After taking a fourth right turn, you see your room in the distance. A stubborn part of you says to keep going and keep walking, but the exhaustion is catching up to you quickly. If Megumi hadn’t been by your side, cautious eyes scanning you, you might have kept going until you passed out. You realize that the strength you had was nearly depleted. Only trickles of your cursed energy remained, and it would be a long while before you gained it back.

You hear footsteps behind you. Quick and ushered. Megumi turns before you, his whole frame tensing. He sucks his teeth and clicks his tongue. “So he finally shows up.” He speaks in a sardonic tone, loud enough for anyone in the hallways to hear.

Satoru comes running from around the corner then, taking deep breaths. Your brows slightly pinch together in confusion. “S–Satoru,” you stutter, walking closer. “When did you get here?” He looks disheveled. Alarmed. Was he just running?

It was hard trying to figure out what he was feeling or experiencing when that black eyeband covered his eyes. However, you noticed the bouquet in his hands, a delicate combination of soft and tender hues: pale pink and roses, white peonies, deep pink lilies, and baby’s breath delicately wrapped along sprigs of greenery.

You place a hand on Megumi’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go eat with the others?”

“But–”

“I’ll be alright,” you explain to him in a soft tone.

He hesitates, torn between staying and leaving. He was unsure if he should leave you to handle this alone, but after a moment, he backed down, probably realizing he shouldn’t stand between the two of you and what needed to happen. With an irate glance shot at Gojo, he turns, pocketing his hands as he makes his way to the stairs.

Only when the door shuts do you look at Satoru again.

He stays unusually quiet, his face unreadable. Frankly, it was rather unsettling. You had no idea what was going through his mind. “I–I’m sorry!” you blurt out the first words that crash to the surface of your mind the moment you see him in his entirety. There was no hope of holding back. After days spent away from him, lost in his absence, and days dancing on the edge of death, the words tumble out of you before you can stop them—unbidden, unstoppable. “For everything. Y–You must have been stressed with work and other things. My fuck up only added to your plate. I get it, ya know? It's selfish of me, even now, to rely on you so much when there’s a whole world that needs you. They are not my students, and I put them in danger.” Quickly, the tears gather in your waterline again, but you blink them away. “I–I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll… I’ll go. I’ll get out of your way, and you won’t have to deal with me bothering you any longer–”

“Can I touch you?” The question comes suddenly, softly, and almost hesitantly.

You blink a few times, puzzled, but then, you unravel, folding inward under the weight of his voice. Your breath hitches in your throat. Was he still holding onto what you had said that night? Was he haunted by the barriers broken and the others so carelessly assembled?

He still wanted you?

You didn’t want him to let you go. Not yet. Not ever.

Like a dam breaking, you surged forward, closing the space between you two. Seconds later, you feel his resolve crumble. He crushes you to his chest, flowers falling to the floor. His arms enveloped you with a force that robbed you of breath, your feet nearly coming off the ground as you both stumble backward. Trembling, he clung to you as if you were an anchor in a world that threatened to tear him apart. There were no words—the unspoken agony and grief were far too overwhelming to put into words—if there even were words for it.

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m glad you’re okay. You felt it all with him. You could feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, hear its frantic rhythm match your own.

His hands were shaking, one tangling in your hair, the other wrapping entirely around your frame and squeezing your hip. He buries his face into your neck, and his hot breath is ragged and uneven as he inhales your scent. “I thought–” he swallows, shaking his head. “I didn’t know where you were—for a second time.”

Your cursed energy was low, more depleted than it had ever been. It explains why you were so weak, so frail. When he saw your empty bed, he must’ve panicked. He ran to you, anxiously following the weak traces of your presence.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and the familiar silk of his eyeband rubs against your skin. You gently tug at the fabric with the tips of your fingers. His breath hitches, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he stills as you slip the black band from his face. He lifts his head just enough to rest it against yours. They were that same stunning shade of azure—bright and impossibly vivid, glowing softly as if they carried the remnants of a forgotten star. Captivating, otherworldly, yet achingly human—something he’d often forget from time to time.

“You promised,” he murmurs, voice broken. “You promised.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask just as brokenly.

Suddenly, one of his hands grasps your neck, and you choke on your words. He doesn’t squeeze tight, but the look on his face is enough to make you gasp. “I couldn’t feel you. I couldn’t feel you anymore,” he says achingly.

Your chest tightens, nails slightly digging into his forearm. You open your mouth to speak, failing more times than succeeding. You wanted to speak, but the words lodged in your mouth.

“I–I don’t understand.”

“You’re not wearing it anymore,” he murmurs, his nose brushing softly against your cheek. The necklace you always wore—his gift to you, the one that held a part of him, a part of the two of you—was gone. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, an absence that gnawed at him like hunger, an emptiness he could never satisfy.

His voice wasn’t angry, far from it. It wasn’t even harsh, but something in it—a quiet desperation—made the air between the two of you quiver.

“You promised you’d never go where I couldn’t follow,” he whispers again. “Remember?”

You nod in his hold, tightly pursing your lips together when a few tears escape, dripping from your eyes. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours again, gazing deep and unwavering into your eyes. I remember. His grip on your neck loosens until he removes his hand from your throat completely, gentle fingers pushing down your shirt's fabric. His fingers trace your skin, the empty spot where your necklace once laid.

Then, it suddenly hits you. “Oh.”

He could feel you as much as you felt him. If you were ever too far from him—out of the range of his sight, out from where his hands could reach for you, that necklace was a beacon, a beckoning, a lighthouse in the storm that guided you home—guided him home.

You squeeze him tighter. You missed him. You really missed him.

“How did you find me?”

He takes a moment to breathe, trying to settle the rapid beat of his heart. “Utahime.” He wheezes out a pained laugh. “She called me panicking once you collapsed. I got there as quickly as I could.”

You copy his laugh, albeit coughing a bit from the pain blooming in your ribs. You hated to admit it, but the longer you stood, the more your body began to hurt. “I should just heal myself and get this over with.”

“Don’t,” his grip tightens on you again. “you’re using it wrong. There’s damage, lots of it,” he tells you, wiping at the blood that had stained your skin at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Any more and–” his eyebrows furrowed deeply, the weight of grief and guilt tugging his features. The corner of his lips tightened. “Shoko operated on you for hours. You nearly died.”

He sees what others cannot, his gaze piercing the surface to something deeper, something raw. He sees the world through an entirely different lens, and right now, the sight of you seems to pain him dearly.

For a moment, you wonder just how much damage is hidden within you and how much it must weigh on him to see it. “Shoko might have gotten you out of the woods, but she told me you’d need a few more rounds to get you back to normal.”

“That makes sense,” you murmur, allowing your entire body weight to ease into him. He accepts you with open arms. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Or twenty.”

“I missed it,” he utters, voice thick with regret. “If I had just looked a bit closer, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I fucked up. I could’ve prevented this.” His careful grip on you tightens as if you’d slip away from him once more. “But,” his tone softens. “You did so well. You took care of that cursed womb before I could even get to the scene.” Even through his pain and wallowing, his heart swells. He was proud of you.

He bends down, grabbing the flowers he dropped before moving towards you again. “Oh gosh,” you hide your face into his neck as he reaches down, one arm hooking under your legs as he lifts you. You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m definitely fired, aren’t I?”

He carefully guides you back into your room. He manages to toss your flowers on the counter by the window. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ll handle it. ‘Kay?” He places you down on your bed, but he hesitates, not wanting to fully pull away.

Your eyes flicker, recalling the night of your augment. You knew this was the reason behind his haunted expression. You recognized the torment because you, too, had felt it. “You’re mad,” he observes relatively quickly.

You didn’t want to bring it up. You weren't necessarily mad, not anymore, but even near death couldn’t make you forget the pain he had caused with words he so carelessly struck you down with.

“What you said… Hurt me, Gojo,” you look down at your hands, feeling selfish for even bringing this up after nearly dying. However, you knew this conversation was inevitable. “Even if you were right I felt cast aside. Useless. Why didn't you tell me you felt that way before?”

“No… don’t say that. I was being stupid. I over reacted. I know you'd always protect those kids and that's exactly what you did. You’re not weak or a nuisance, or... convenient.” you flinch at the word. “You’re far from that. I need you to know that.”

“...Then what am I?”

“Everything,” he shudders. “You’re everything.” His lips brush over your forehead, your cheeks, and eyelids, each kiss tender and lingering. But then he pauses, his smooth lips hovering just above yours. He’s always been so confident, so self-assured. You’re unsure how to react.

You were sitting on your bed, feet dangling just above the floor. He is leaning over you, one large and warm hand on your thigh, the other cupping your face gently. He was close, but not close enough. Even bent at the waist, his height keeps him just out of your reach unless he leans back down just a bit more…

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, giving him all the assurance you have to offer.

You were hurt, but you still wanted him.

You still loved him.

His mouth was warm and soft—testing the waters and treading carefully. His grip on your thigh tightens until–

He lets go. You feel the tension in his body dissipate, and finally, he allows himself to fully enjoy you—taste you. The kiss deepens, and you swear it brought life back into your frail body. He overwhelms you now in the most delicious way possible. Your toes curl, and your tight embrace eases. Your arms go weak, your hands moving to run down his chest, his taut muscles quivering in the wake of your touch. Every moment was a promise, every brush of skin a new vow. No words were spoken, but you both heard everything that had been held back, everything that had been left unsaid.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

He smiles against your lips, but you don’t stop or pull away, catching and nipping at his bottom lip. Then, you kiss him again, slotting his top lip between yours. “You really love me, huh? Hehe.”

Oh. You hadn’t realized you said it—whimpered murmurs against his lips. No wonder why he looked all dopey and smiley.

“You’re not going to make me grovel for forgiveness?” He pecks your lips again. “This seems too easy. I know you’re still mad.”

You chase after his lips. “Of course, I’m still mad,” you mutter against him. “But I thought I would never see you again.” Even as he frowns, you pepper his lips with kisses. “Plus, it's not like you to grovel.”

“I would for. Only for you, of course.”

You giggle, nipping his lip a little harder. “Yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “I’d like to see that.”

Oh no. You’ve made a grave mistake. You knew you messed up again the second the words fell from your lips. There’s a glint in his eyes now.

“Oh, my beautiful, angelic Queen! I know I have displeased you. Please accept my humble apologies!” You squeak at the suddenness of his actions. He sinks to his knees dramatically, and his palms meet the dirty floor, and so does his forehead. “I am at your mercy! I have failed you greatly, and I wish to make amends.”

You swat him on the back of his head, but it's not nearly enough to hurt him or deter him from whatever this is. “Gojo! Don’t bow like that! Get up!”

“But I can’t!” He whines. “You must forgive me! I will spend eternity on my knees if it means I can regain your favor, my perfect, beautiful, divine Queen. You alone rule this sinners heart!” He inches forward on his knees, squeezing himself between your legs. His hands find homage on your waist as he nudges his face into your stomach.

Your eyes roll skyward. “Only you could apologize and insult me at the same time, Satoru,” you grumble, looking down at him before running your fingers through white stands.

Suddenly, he looks up from this position, resting his chin right beneath your ribs, grinning ear to ear. “You called me Satoru~”

You feel your face flush, heat gushing to your cheeks and ears. “Shut up. You’re such an idiot. Can you get up now?”

“Nah,” he says lazily, burying his head into your stomach again. His voice comes out muffled. “I’m trying to make amends with my Queen. Let me, will ya?”

You ease, realizing you won't be able to stop him from doing what he wants. Even if it was a bit theatrical, he was doing his best—you know that because you know him. You let your nails gently graze his scalp as you continued to pat him. He hums, almost purrs, as your other hand finds his shoulder, squeezing him gently before running your fingers under his shirt, caressing his skull and the taut muscles in his back. A beat of silence passes, but you find yourself uncaring.

You had him back in your arms. That’s all that really mattered to you right now.

“Look, I know… I know I messed up,” he begins, voice so low, you nearly miss it. “I’m not great at this—saying the right things. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was stressed. I was fed up with the higher-ups and fed up with my missions, but that’s no excuse. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat. You deserve better than what I was giving you. I’m gonna try to be better… for you. For us.” His words hang in the air a bit awkwardly, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice. It couldn’t be missed. He shifts a bit, moving to kiss your belly. Then, his large hand wrap around yours, guiding your hand closer to his lips. He kisses the back of your knuckles tenderly as if the act of his apology could never be enough.

“You want me to stay?”

He squeezes you tighter. “Of course I do. What would I be without you?”

“Hm. You’d still be Gojo Satoru. Even without me.”

“I don’t want to imagine a life without you,” he mutters. “Wherever you go, that��s where I’ll follow. I've already told you that…”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper sweetly, patting his head. He nudges his head further into you. “The world will always need you.”

“I will always need you. So please… stop talking like this.” He pinches your side, making you squeak. Finally he looks up, an unimpressed expression gracing his features. “And don’t ever leave the city to get away from me. When you told me you were going to a hotel, I thought you meant in Tokyo.”

You chuckle nervously, looking elsewhere. “Yeah… Sorry about that.”

“Next time, take a walk or something. I dunno, go touch some grass if you get tired of me.”

A small smile escaped you, followed by a quiet laugh that shook your shoulders. You pat his back three times before kneading him softly. “Okay, humble peasant. You've groveled for long enough. Now lay with me,” you demand him. “I want you to lay with me. I’m so tired.”

“Psh. I’d hardly fit on this bed.”

“Whatever,” you tell him, scooting over. “I’ll make room. Get in, string bean.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

It’s a bit awkward at first with his lanky form, but he makes it work. It was a tight fit, and his feet slightly dangled off the bed, but he made no objections. With your back to his chest, he held you against him securely.

“You’re cold,” he observes out loud when you start playing with his fingers. It’s a bitter realization, a deafening one on his part. You know it bothers him, especially as he wraps the blanket around you tighter.

He tries not to let it show. However, he quickly becomes restless and you know he isn’t sated. He begins to move. “Let me go get you another blanket.”

“Nooo. Stay here.”

“Huh? But you’re freezing! And you’re never cold!”

“I’m already warming up!” You intervene with a small giggle, tugging him by his jacket. “Just shut up and lay with me, already.” He hesitates before unbuttoning his black jacket. When he was determined, there wasn’t any stopping a man like him, and right now, he was determined to get you warm.

He lays his jacket over you, spreading the fabric out, smoothing away all the wrinkles, and making sure you're covered. It might as well be a blanket with how long it was over you. Bonus points because it still carried him warmth and smelled like his cologne. A blend of earth and wood with a hint of something darker—smokey and smooth. You always loved the scent. Whenever he walked by, it brushed past you like a gentle breeze over still water, warm and inviting, with subtle notes of leather, musk, and vanilla.

He grunts a bit before easing into the bed again. “My little icicle- ow,” you shot your elbow back, getting him right in the ribs. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He chuckles, before wrapping his arms over you one more. He brushes your hair from your neck, his breath fanning against your skin. He kisses you there once, twice, three times before saying something familiar.

“I could sense when you left Tokyo. I didn’t know what to do. Even with my eyes, I couldn’t find you. You were just gone. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow." He kisses your neck. "Please.”

You turn around, searching for his lips. He melts into you once again, squeezing your side sweetly. “I promise,” you murmur. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” you say, voicing back the same promise he made you. He smiles faintly against your lips.

When you woke up the next morning, your necklace was there. It was back where it belonged, sapphires resting gently over your steady beating heart—carrying Satoru’s silent promise.

Wherever you go, that’s where I follow.

a/n: I honestly don't know how I feel about this but if you made it to the end I hope the nearly 18k was worth reading. If you couldn't tell its based off the song Die With A Smile. Honestly, I think I might have been happier by making this a bit longer and flushing out some of the scenes more, but I was trying new things and I was excited to post my first jjk post :) however its getting late now but if there's any typos or errors I notice later I'll edit as needed.

anyways, if you'd like to see more gojo x sorcerer!reader let me know! also I really hoped you liked the bits I added with Megumi (he's just a smol bean).

likes and reblogs are always appreciated! :p

#milawritess #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #fanfic #satoru gojo x reader #angst #jjk x you #happy ending #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fanfic

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