#life is fleeting and health is everything

[tofics]

Broken - Chapter 7

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes… Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he’ll never get.

Word Count: ~8k words

This chapter is very dark. Reader discretion is advised.

Warnings/tags: show canon violence, clear intentions of killing, mentions of mental melt-downs, description of (underage) SA, cursing

Chapter 7 - Shared Pain Is Still Pain

The door to the room flies open and crashes against the wall with a loud bang, making the pregnant lady jump. Joel feels remorse for a split second before he appears in his line of sight and Joel sees nothing but red again. His hands dig into the man's collar with the determined grip of a python, yanking him off his chair with ease in spite of the man's size and mass.

Neither height nor weight stand a chance against Joel's rage. He slams the asshole into the nearest wall, wishing it was made of something sturdier than wood, something more gravelly perhaps or spikey even. Out of the corner of his eye, he registers movement, but he ignores it. Although the bastard’s head connected with the surface with a loud thump, it's not enough, nor is the dazed expression in his eyes after the impact.

"You like touching on little girls, hm?" Joel's voice is as cold as ice. The steps behind him come to a sudden stop. A quick sideway glance at Tommy tells him his words have struck a cord with his little brother, just like they had with Joel when you'd spat them out.

Joel slams the asshole against the wood once more. "Hm? Like how helpless they are, yeah? You get off on that, big man?"

"Joel." Maria's voice carries through the room with authority, her unspoken command clear. Stand down. But Joel doesn't obey, nor do his hands release the pig's collar. He feels his lips quivering in disgust as he stares into the bastard's eyes. It's taking every ounce of strength he has not to put an end to this pig’s life right here, right now.

"Maria," Joel pushes out between clenched teeth. "Might wanna take her out of the room." He cocks his head at the pregnant woman without ever taking his eyes off of his target. "She don't have to see this."

Immediately, the woman starts to protest, and Joel feels a fleeting tinge of worry for her and the unborn child in her belly. Images of Sarah's mom cloud his vision, belly and ankles swollen. Stress ain't good for the baby. The doctor had put her on bedrest for the last three weeks.

Over the loud protests, Maria instructs two men to remove the now screaming lady from the room and then closes the door behind them. “Don’t - don’t hurt her-“ The man’s cut off by another violent shove against the wall. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Joel seethes. He’s grabbed the pig by his face, forcing his jaw shut by way of his fingers. They dig into the flesh with force, strong enough to leave bruises behind. “You think we’re scum like you, hm? Think we get off on hurting women like you do?” Joel’s spit lands just inches beside the scum’s ear. He has the decency to flinch, staring daggers into Joel’s face, but he keeps his trap shut.

"Joel," Maria warns again, but Joel’s grip doesn't loosen. If it did, his hands might wander straight to the man's throat instead, and he tells Maria so.

He hears her sigh behind him and then Tommy's right his side; a soothing hand on his back. "Liam's got a gun on him. He tries anything, we shoot. You can let go, brother." Tommy pats him on the back but doesn't urge him on. He knows him well.

Joel takes a couple more breaths, his face still distorted into a mask of disgust and fury. It feels like a monumental feat, but he manages to pry his fingers loose from the bastard eventually.

When he steps away, the other guy doesn't move from where Joel shoved him into the wall, just rightens himself slightly. Joel's delighted to see the man's hand come away soiled with blood after he touches it to the back of his head. It puts a grim smile on Joel's face.

He hasn't had much cause for blood-thirst as of late. Not since he rescued Ellie from the Fireflies. He became calmer after that, soothed by the safety Jackson had to offer and all that came with it. It changed him for the better, brought out more of the Joel he had been before the world had gone to shit and Sarah had been ripped from him. Her jarring loss had twisted something inside of him that only Ellie had managed to untangle. She'd made him softer in many ways, rounded out his hard and jagged edges where twenty years of brutal survival had chipped away at him.

But now that bloodlust has been rekindled inside of him, and the flames are licking up his insides, asking to be unleashed. Joel sees fire, and he wants to burn this man to the fucking ground until nothing but ashes are left of him.

As promised, Liam has his rifle trained on the man's chest. He's a good and loyal man, and Joel trusts him, but his hands are still itching to take the rifle from his hands and empty its magazine into the chest it's pointed at.

"So." Maria drags a chair over to herself and puts one leg up on the seat, her elbow casually resting on her knee.

"You wanna tell us in your own words what had one of our people react to you the way she did?"

Joel's glad to hear Maria's phrasing. One of our people. He knows Jackson's decision are run through the entire council. No one here decides anything monumental on their own, especially not the fates of potential newcomers. But he also knows that Maria's opinion carries weight with the rest of the council-members. It makes her phrasing of you as one Jackson’s own all the more meaningful.

"Go on," Joel urges when the man makes no move to open his mouth, just stares ahead blankly. His own hands are twitching, ready to beat the information out of him if necessary. Just give me a reason, Joel thinks. Lord knows he already has reason enough to beat this asshole to pulp.

Silence settles over the room. Four pairs of eyes rest on the man’s face, but he avoids all of them, just stares ahead blankly at the door he'd presumably love to leave through.

"Listen, you ain't doin' yourself any favors by not talkin," Tommy tries in what Joel recognizes as his ally-tone. "Better to hear it from you than someone else. You want a shot at livin' here? Give us your perspective."

"No way in hell we're letting that asshole stay-," Joel begins, but Tommy shuts him up with a look.

"Everybody gets their fair trial. That includes bein' heard out," his little brother chides him and Joel has to bite down on his lips to hold back a remark. Has to remind himself that this is why he wants Ellie to grow up here, and not in a QZ, with FEDRA and their sadistic version of what 'fair' means.

"He's right." Maria takes out a notepad and pen and looks at the scum expectantly, although there's no kindness in her eyes, just a neutral expression on her face. "Now let me tell you how this goes. You talk, we listen. We, that's our council. We decide things together in this town. You're gonna have a chance to tell your story to each of us individually. After that, we'll discuss your case within the council. It's in your best interest to stick to the same story. We'll all be taking notes and comparing them, so any discrepancies will be noted and followed up on. There’ll be a vote in the end about whether or not you get to stay. Any questions?"

Joel listens to Maria explain the town's prosecution process and can't help but feel like she is reading the man his rights. If you can't afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you. The wording from the old Miranda warning echoes in Joel's head, a remnant of a life that is long gone. Probably made one hell of a lawyer back in the day, he thinks and promptly feels a profound sense of pride for his sister-in-law.

Joel's head is swimming when he leaves the interrogation room two hours later. What a goddamn fucked up world we live in, he thinks as he heads out to find you.

Something like this was bound to happen, of course. Eventually, something was bound to disturb Jackson's peace. He just didn't expect it would come in the form of a rapist of all things, much less be brought in on his own damn horse. It sickens him to his stomach that him and Jeff are the ones who brought this evil into town, even if it happened unknowingly and with the best intentions.

Amber - the pregnant lady - is bound to give birth any day now, according to Jackson’s resident doctor. Joel could’ve told you as much on his own. By the looks of her swollen belly, it was clear that she’d be due soon. When him and Jeff came upon them, it had seemed like a no-brainer that they'd bring her and her husband back to Jackson with them. After all, they were a couple in need, and Jackson had both the space and resources to help.

It only occurs to Joel now that besides you, these are the first people he has brought into town. What are the odds that his second charitable act since becoming a member of Jackson could cause such a disruption?

His head is throbbing, both from what he's heard during the last two hours and a consistent worry about you. He needs to hear your version of what he's been told, but most of all, he needs to find you and make sure you're okay.

After what he witnessed not too long ago, Joel can't shake the looming worry that with the town's newest arrivals, your mental state is on the brink of a crisis and a meltdown is imminent. He just hopes he can catch you before you fall too deep.

Your visceral attack from this morning plays out in his mind again. He sees the fury in your eyes as you lunge at the man and bring a knife to his throat in a speed he did not think you were capable of. He’s sure that if he hadn't intervened, you'd have split that man open without hesitation.

Joel quickens his pace. He needs to find you.

You're showing Ellie how to bottle-feed the lambs when Joel all but bursts into the barn with a panicked look on his face. You can see the panic give away to confusion when he takes in the scene in front of him, just seconds before relief settles over his features, just a hint of suspicion remaining.

You can't blame him, of course. You know exactly what he was expecting to find, especially after he couldn’t find you at yours or his own house. It’s likely he looked there first. You would've left a note, had you been to either place before you came here, but you didn't trust yourself enough to allow yourself even the smallest of breaks.

You just walked straight across town to where you knew Ellie was working on the town’s barrier with her security crew. She seemed surprised to see you, and you could see the same hint of worry flickering in her eyes that Joel is now regarding you with. You couldn’t blame her either - it was taking all of your strength and then some to stay collected and to not fall apart at the seams.

Ellie didn’t hesitate when you asked her to come with you. You tried to keep the urgency out of your voice, to allow her the chance to stay out of your misery if she wanted to. She had already witnessed one of your meltdowns and you were hesitant to include her in another one, already feeling shameful that your legs had brought you here, to a teenager of all things, when you were a grown woman and supposed to be in charge of your own feelings. But next to Joel, she was the one who made Jackson feel like home; a faint echo of your own daughter.

You couldn’t deny that it was also worry that had driven you here and not just a need for companionship. With the personification of your worst nightmare having set foot into town, you needed to make sure that she was safe. You would sooner die than let that bastard lay a hand on her.

To Ellie’s credit, she didn’t ask beyond what was necessary. She accepted your answer of the barn as your destination without further inquiries, and didn’t even press on when you responded with “not yet” to the question of whether she should be worried.

You would have to tell her eventually, but you didn’t have the words just then. Not in the moment where he was being interrogated on the other side of town.

About what he had done.

About where she was.

About if he had lied; if she was truly still alive.

You didn’t have the strength to find the necessary words to explain yourself in a way that wouldn’t rip Ellie of whatever innocence she had left.

At the barn, you started prepping bottles and explained some of the vital factors to take note of when taking care of little lambs. Ellie listened intently, asking questions in all the right places. You loved her dearly for it. There was no hiding of the fact that you were teetering on the brink of madness, but Ellie either had enough instinct for self-preservation or your emotional needs not to question your lecture. You were almost certain that she recognized this barn excursion for what it was: an attempt at self-regulation.

As Ellie and you fed the little baby sheep, you tried your best to stay focused on the task at hand and to abandon all thoughts of the man Jackson's guards had taken into custody, but his words kept echoing in your head.

She's still alive.

You didn't allow yourself to think about what that could possibly mean, not even for a second. No lambs in the world could have saved you then, Ellie or no Ellie present.

But now, Joel is standing in the doorway of the barn, panting and visibly relieved to find you in such a 'composed' state, even though you're hanging on by a thread and your strength for self-regulation is slowly running out.

Ellie looks up when you stop talking mid-sentence about the correct way to hold a lamb's throat during feeding and notices Joel in the doorway. You feel her eyes going from Joel to you and back to Joel, and the shame for having dragged a teenager to the barn with you in an attempt to keep yourself calm washes over you once more. Here you are, at thirty-six years old, reliant on the presence of a teenager to keep yourself together.

Pathetic.

Worse than that, you can't help but wonder if Joel approves of your decision. You took Ellie out of a safe place and dragged her into your mess - again.

Something close to pain must flicker across your eyes, because Joel finally abandons his position in the doorway and strolls into the barn with an exaggerated sense of ease. It looks almost comical, the way he's trying so hard to appear calm and you wonder who he's doing it for - you or Ellie? Perhaps both. Either way, he's not fooling either of you which becomes evident when Ellie just outright comments on his funny pace. "Your foot fall asleep or something?"

Joel shoots her a glare, but Ellie just snorts, and before you know it, you're cracking up too, surprising even yourself. Emotions can be such a strange thing.

"No, I think he's just trying to be very casual so I won't be set off and go crazy, not while you're around," you say with a smile when your own laughter has subsided.

“Ah.” Ellie nods knowingly while she strokes the back of the lamb in her lap. You see her looking at you out of the corner of your eye. “Is this where I find out why I’m currently getting a free-of-charge lesson in lamb-feeding?”

Ellie's casual tone matches yours, and you suddenly find your heart filling with love, out of all the things you could be feeling right now. But you can't help it. Here you are, in the midst of hay and sheep, with the two people that somehow took you in and made Jackson a home without you ever having to ask for it in the first place. You don't know how you can ever repay them - if you can ever repay them for what they've done.

The unexpected surge of love works like a sedative and you feel your limbs growing heavy as the adrenaline slowly ebbs away. You're not calm by any means, but it finally doesn't feel like there's electricity coursing through your entire body anymore. "Because, kiddo." You sink to the hay-covered floor besides Ellie with a deep sigh and run a tired hand over your face. "Jeff and your father figure here unknowingly brought a man into town this morning that's responsible for my worst nightmare."

Joel looks like he's in pain at your words and you’re quick to point a finger at him. "You. Uh-uh. None of that. You didn't know," you say, hoping to nip whatever guilt-ridden bud is trying to take root in his head.

You beckon Joel over with a flick of your head. “C��mon.” He hesitates at first, but then walks over and kneels in the hay opposite of you and Ellie. You hand him one of your prepped bottles, then motion for him to grab hold of one of the lambs beside him. They’re all baa-ing and bleh-ing around the three of you, scrambling over themselves to get to the priced bottles. A flicker of a smile dances across Joel’s mouth.

You’ve been here for more than an hour, but you took your time, purposefully slowing down your movements in the hopes of also slowing down your heart. As a result, the lambs, used to a quick feeding, are slowly going insane.

You show Joel how to hold the lamb he’s picked, how to hold the bottle at the correct angle so the little one doesn’t swallow too much air at the same time. Ellie proudly shows off what she’s learned in her time with you and for a little while, it’s just the three of you feeding lambs, like a little wholesome family moment.

Eventually though, you have to ask.

You've avoided thinking about him as much as you could, trying to keep it together, but now you need to know.

"So. D'you kill him?"

Joel doesn’t answer right away. You see Ellie looking at him expectantly, like she has no doubt Joel could’ve killed a man just an hour ago. The thought doesn’t seem to scare her in the least.

He finally shakes his head with a look of distaste on his face. "No. Maria wouldn't let me."

Ellie snorts in response. "What'd you expect?" An unexpected grin flickers across your lips. You nod in agreement with her. "Yeah. Figured as much."

Something tightens in your chest. He's still out there. Still alive. Still breathing.

And so is your daughter. At least according to him.

“Did he say? Where…” You have to collect yourself, take a deep breath to get the words out. Prepare yourself for a no, you tell yourself. Don’t get your hopes up. But you know it’s too late for that. “Did he say where she is?”

The bottle in your hand vibrates slightly from how you’re shaking. You take deep, calculated breaths to steady yourself. Keep calm. You’ve got this. You feel the urge to scream as loud as you can.

“He did.”

The bottle in your hand squeaks as you press down on it too harsh. Milk shoots out of the top and soils the hay underneath and you’re glad you didn’t have a little one attached to the tip of it. You can feel Joel’s eyes boring into you, seizing you up, gauging your reaction. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Your vision goes blurry.

“So she’s… alive?” There’s a deep humming sound in your ear. You’re straining to hear Joel over it.

“That’s what he said.”

You slump forward, curl in on yourself. The bottle falls from your hand, spilling milk on the floor, but you don’t care. You can’t breathe, can’t hear anything over the intense buzzing in your ears. Your hands are shaking so hard you have to press them to your stomach to stop them from shaking.

She’s alive. She’s alive. My babygirl is alive.

The bottle gets picked up and is set down out of your sight. A hand appears on the back of your shoulder, stroking in soft circles, then a smaller hand appears on your lower back, mimicking the same gesture.

You try to breathe, to force air into your lungs. Alive, alive, alive. The word pounds in your head like the gong of a church’s bell, deep and strong. The rubbing on your back continues, offering a soothing counter rhythm to your erratic breathing. Slowly, the buzzing in your ears subsides. A few faint baa-s and bleeh-s reach you. The smell of hay seeps into your nose, grounding you to the floor. The rubbing on your back never seizes.

Joel’s on your left, Ellie on your right. He keeps his hand on your shoulder when you finally straighten yourself again. Ellie’s hand slips to your thigh, resting there assuringly. You would cry about the silent love you’re receiving if your brain wasn’t so occupied in the moment.

You take a deep breath, then look at Joel. His brown eyes are fixed on you, brows furrowed in concern.

“Where?,” you ask.

“He couldn’t say for sure,” Joel starts and you huff and roll your eyes. “Of course he couldn’t, cause it’s not true-“

“He couldn’t say for sure,” Joel loudly talks over you, his hand squeezing your shoulder, “but he gave enough pointers ‘bout where we could find her.”

You gnaw on the inside of your lip. You want to believe him so badly, but you don’t know how to survive if it turns out to be a lie.

“Do you believe him?”

Joel’s expression hardens. “I made it very clear he wouldn’t survive it if he lied.“

“I’m coming with!”

“Like hell you are. You’re stayin’ here.”

“Joel-“

“I said no, Ellie!” He doesn’t like raising his voice at her, not anymore. Joel and Ellie rarely fight, and when they do, he hates every second of it.

“Are you fucking kidding me!”

That girl’s got a mouth on her like a sailor, he thinks to himself. Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows this argument is far from over, no matter how much he wishes she’d just listen to him and be done with it.

“Ellie, we ain’t got a clue 'bout what we’re walkin’ into. Hell, we got less of a clue than when I was takin’ you to the damn Fireflies,” he tries to reason with her. Can’t you see I’m trying to keep you safe?

“And that’s supposed to convince me to stay back? Just sit here and wait while you guys ride off into whatever danger? You can’t be serious.” Ellie’s got her arms crossed in that pissed-off stance she perfected over the years. It sometimes reminds Joel of the way Sarah would cross her arms at him. Always makes his heart ache, too.

“Babygirl, listen here, I just wanna-“ His warm approach is cut off when Ellie throws her hands in the air.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you wanna keep me safe. Don’t even start with that speech. I am not staying here. And asking me is downright cruel. I told you, I’d follow you wherever you wanna go. You’re my family. I’m not staying back.”

Joel doesn’t reply right away, just keeps firing clothes into his bag. He hates that she has a point.

“I’m coming with,” Ellie repeats.

Stubborn ass kid. Joel fires a pair of boxers into his backpack like they personally did him wrong and flicks his tongue. He knows asking her to stay behind while he rides out into danger is cruel, but what is he supposed to do? Chain her to the house?

“You know I’ll follow you either way. So just save all of us the trouble and take me with now.”

“You just know how to push my damn buttons, don’t cha,” Joel hisses.

“Course I do. All ninety-five of them. Now what’s it gonna be?” Ellie grins like she knows she has won. Of course she does.

“Alright, you listen to me.” Joel turns around with a sigh of defeat, a sour expression on his face. Damn that girl and her antics.

“Same rules as before. You listen to me, do as I say. No back talking, you hear me? I tell you to run, you run-“

“Yeah yeah.” She interrupts him with a smug grin. “I know. What you say goes. I know the drill.”

Joel flicks his tongue once more in annoyance. He sends her off to pack her things, then calls her back at the last second.

“One more thing.” Ellie lingers in his doorway, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“You run it by her. This is her mission. She wants you to come, you can come. It’s up to her.”

Joel's tossing and turning in his bed. He can't find a single comfortable position, and even if he could, sleep would likely evade him anyway.

His brain is working overtime, running a hundred miles an hour. He tries to quiet his mind, to catch a couple of hours of sleep before the three of you ride out in the morning. But it's fruitless. The second he manages to put a cap on one thought, the next pops up and demands his attention, like an annoying game of whac-a-mole.

Joel grunts in frustration and sits up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knows sleep isn't on his side tonight.

Joel swings his legs over the side of his bed. He can't keep laying down.

He checks on Ellie first, slowly creaking her door open to catch a glimpse of her sprawled out between her sheets. It's a habit he picked up when they moved to Jackson, an echo of how he used to check on Sarah. He couldn't trust the safety at first, had to make sure that Ellie was still in her room, unharmed. Every nightmare of the Fireflies brought him to her door, night after night, sometimes more than once. Now it's just a force of habit, something he does when he can't sleep. The sight of her relaxed body has a soothing effect on him.

Downstairs, he pours himself a glass of whiskey, a luxury he doesn't grant himself often. Tonight, though, he needs one. If only just to silence his thoughts.

Joel's worried. About you, about Ellie, about riding out into a situation based on information he has no way of knowing are reliable. He fears what they might find. What you'll do if she's alive. What you'll do if she's not. How you'll react if you won't find her.

Will you leave? Leave Jackson to go look for your daughter that you were certain was dead, but has now been revealed to still be alive?

He knows he would. If it was Sarah, if there was somehow a way that she was still alive - he'd go out of his way to find her, move mountains if necessary. Not a soul could stop him if there was a chance he could hold his babygirl in his arms again. Not you, not even Ellie.

He knows this, and yet he can't stop himself from thinking that he doesn't want you to leave. It's selfish, he knows that, doesn't need to be told how incredibly selfish of a man he is to want you to stay when there's a chance that your daughter is still out there. But he can't help it. You've brought something back into his life that he never thought he'd feel again, and it's awful and selfish of him, but he doesn't want to give it up. It's too good, too sweet. He's been devoid of that kind of love for so long that he's not sure he's able to let it go, now that he's found it.

But he also knows all of this thinking is futile. Nothing is set in stone yet. For all he knows, if all goes well, you could be reunited with your daughter in a week, maybe less, depending on how soon they find the settlement.

Then again, when have things ever gone 'well' in this shit-show of a world?

Joel downs his glass of whiskey and wanders back to his bed through the dark of the house.

Only time will tell what the future holds. He only hopes you'll be in his.

Maria and Tommy had come over to Joel's to inform you of the interrogation. Ever the proactive man that he was, Joel had all but insisted for you to come home with him and Ellie. You didn't object in the least - you didn't trust yourself to be alone either. Not yet.

Ellie was lurking in the kitchen doorway, clearly unsure of whether she was welcome or not. You left the decision up to Joel, and he reluctantly agreed. "Ain't gon' be pretty, just so you know." Ellie took a seat next to you, silently squeezing your hand. Your heart ached with the love you felt for her.

"We've spoken to William at length," Maria opened. You recognized her tone as neutral. She was all business. No wonder she is a council member, you thought. "I understand that time is a valuable factor here, but we have to get your side of things first before you ride out."

You nodded. It felt like you were sitting on a pile of ants, the way you were squirming in your chair. What did he say? Where is she?

"In the name of fairness, we'd like for you to retell your experience before we share what he has said with you." Maria kept her eyes trained on you, her face a blank mask of neutrality. Tommy, however, did not quite have the same pokerface. He was leaned back in his chair the way Joel often was too, the resemblance between the two siblings showing in his stance. His arms were crossed over his chest and his lips were in a tight line, eyes trained on the table.

You nodded again. It made sense, it did. But to tell it all again, to relive it all over again... Do it for her.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. Then you began to recount the worst day of your life.

It's raining. Not just raining, but pissing down, endless buckets of water being poured out over the QZ. Just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Rain, rain, and then some more rain, until half the QZ is practically swimming, brewing in a stew of piss, rubble and murky rain water that stands a couple inches tall in the streets, despite the day-workers doing their best to unclog all the drains. The pay has gone up too. You get one whole extra ration card per hour if you're willing to sift through the murky and stinking water while getting drenched from head to toe. You scoff when Hailey tells you. "Ain't that the finest deal I've ever heard of." Hailey giggles, and you ruffle through her hair affectionately.

Despite your sarcasm, you consider whether you should take up some street-work shifts. Lord knows you could use the extra rations, even if it's just six per day. You and Hailey try to live as frugal as you can, you make sure of that. Resources are limited. You know it, she knows it, everyone and their uncle knows it. Still, you try to make as much of it as you can, trading and haggling where you can to get a little something extra out of it for your little girl. Anything that you can to brighten her day, you do it. The smile on her face always pays for whatever you had to go through to get here.

Tonight is special. It's Hailey's fifteenth birthday. You've saved up for this day for weeks, traded one of your finer clothes and some ration cards for the little cupcake that you're now placing on the cracked plate in front of you. It cost about as much as three normal food rations, but you don't care. You can go hungry for a night or two if that means you get to make her birthday special.

Carefully, so as not to mess with the delicate frosting, you push a single candle into the sugary goodness. That one you didn't get through cards, nor through a trade of goods. Nope. Something as simple as this little birthday candle cost you a blowjob, of all things. Not your favorite by any means, but still bearable. At least Barry keeps himself washed, unlike some of the other FEDRA soldiers.

Hailey's eyes gleam as you bring in the lit cupcake, softly singing 'Happy Birthday'. Her smile is about as wide as her face will allow her to stretch, and she blows the candle out carefully so none of the wax drops onto the frosting.

"How'd you get this?" She looks at you in wonder, like you can do anything. Your heart swells with love and pride. "Pulled some strings," you reply with a wink and gently tug on one of her hair strands. She giggles like she's ten years younger, the sound warming your chest and erasing any memory of when you were on your knees, working hard for the birthday girl's candle. Worth it, you think. Always worth it.

The knock on the door comes late in the evening. You're laid up in bed, your daughter nestled against you as you read to her from the book you've borrowed. The words die out on your tongue as your door rattles, a fist pounding against it from the other side.

"FEDRA. Open up."

Hailey's eyes find yours in a panicked, silent question. What's happening? You run a quick hand over her hair and press a kiss to her forehead, easing her worries. "Don't worry," you mumble as the two of you scramble off of the worn out mattress on the ground. "Probably just a routine check-in," you assure her with a smile that carries more certainty than you feel on the inside.

The second you open the door boots stomp into your little safe haven. Decked out in typical FEDRA tactical wear, four men barge in, all carrying a sense of importance around them that they are known and feared for.

The QZ was supposed to be a safe haven, a shelter from the horrors of the infected and raiders. That's what it had been marketed as, a pillar of society in a now broken land. You had soon found out that it was anything but.

"Come on in, boys," you say through a smile that promises a willingness to cooperate that you do not feel. But this isn't a time to revolt. Not when Hailey is here.

One of the men grabs the door out of your hand and shuts it with force. So much for this being a quick thing, you think and your stomach thinks.

There are four armed men in your tiny apartment, along with yourself and your daughter. You will your heart to beat steadily as you cross the room to stand by her. "What can we do for you?"

"Heard a little fun fact today," one of the larger men drawls. You know him - of him, really - he's one of the leading men in charge. You don't have a clue what he's doing here, but whatever the reason, it can't be good. He takes a look around the room like he's seizing up your possessions, to see if there's anything of value around. You'd give them the shirt on your back if that meant they'd leave again peacefully.

"Yeah?" You force your voice to be calm, force the smile to remain on your face. "What's that?"

He saunters over and comes to a stop in front of Hailey. Your hand reaches for hers involuntarily. His eyes roam over her, slowly, drinking her in from top to bottom. You feel bile climbing up your throat.

The man clicks his tongue and then puts a finger under Hailey's chin, turning her face up to him. You feel her shivering beside you, squeezing your hand in a panic. Calm, you tell her in your mind. Stay calm. You yourself are anything but. You want to gauge his eyes out with the way they're roaming over your daughters face, but you keep yourself composed. Keep her safe. Keep Hailey safe. That's your only goal.

"Little birdie told me it's this pretty one's birthday today," the man drawls. Your eyes flicker over to the rest of his men and you find Barry among them, an apologetic look on his face. 'Sorry' he mouths at you and your blood runs cold in your veins. Next time you've got his dick in your mouth, you'll bite off a good chunk.

"Fifteen years old! Practically a young woman now," he coos and runs a finger over Hailey's cheek. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reaching out and smacking his hand away.

"Gotta start payin' her dues now, doesn't she."

...no. No.

"My daughter does afternoon shifts after school, just as is law," you're quick to say. "You can check, too. We've got all the paperwork." You're already scrambling to find the papers in the drawer behind you when you hear an amused chuckle.

"I'm sure everything's up to code here," the man smiles. "Ain't what we're here for, though. Pretty thing like this? She gotta pay extra. Special pretty tax we got. Ain't that right, boys?"

The men all mumble something in agreement, and anger boils in your stomach. You hate all of them, cowards that they are.

"And when I heard that we got a pretty bird turning fifteen... Well. Just had to come see it for myself. Ya sure didn't lie, Barry. She's a sight to behold." He tuts as he twirls Hailey's face from side to side, examining her like one would a piece of furniture at an auction. You look at Barry, but he avoids your gaze. You're dead, you think. You're fucking dead.

"About time you get broken in, don't you think? Hm?" You feel Hailey shaking with fear as the man lowers his face to hers. Your hand is gripping hers so hard your knuckles turn white.

"Take me."

His eyes slowly wander from Hailey's face to yours. "Take me," you repeat, the determination edged into your face. "Do with me whatever you want, but leave her out of it." Your voice has authority, but you can't deny the pleading edge in your tone. Please. Not her.

The man's lips purse like he's considering it for a moment, then claps his hands together. "Ha! Nice offer, hun, but that's just not gonna work. Now you see, young William over here-" He pulls forth the youngest of the men who stumbles forward, a shy expression on his face. He can't be much older than Hailey. "-young William here is overdue for his initiation. And nice as you may be, but you're just a bit old for the young boy here, ain't cha." The ugliest wink you ever did see is thrown your way and you feel like you might scream.

"Alright, then." The man claps his hands and all three of you flinch at the sound; you, Hailey and young William. "Let's get to it. William, show us what you got."

For a moment, time stands still as the words echo in your brain. Show us what you got. Then you're shoving Hailey behind yourself. "No. No. Take me. Not her. Take me. I'll do anything."

The man in charge flicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I heard you the first time. Pretty sure you heard me too. Ain't gonna do it. Now sit back and enjoy the show, unless you want me to put a bullet between your eyes."

The gun is pointed at you before you know it and Hailey screams behind you. "No!" She's fighting to get out from behind you, but you keep her locked in place. With a hard swallow, you pry your eyes away from the barrel of the gun and force yourself to look at the man who's pointing it at you.

"Please." Your voice wavers, thick with emotion. "Please. Don't do this. Please." You feel tears brimming in your eyes as you beg for your daughter to be spared. Not her. Not her.

You hear the cracking sound first before you feel the pain explode across your scalp. Your vision blurs for a moment and you slump forward, brought down by the force of the blow. A muffled groan presses out from between your lips as you fall to your hands and knees. There's a high pitched scream behind you, and then you're yanked forward, across the floor and onto your mattress.

The world spins as you try to straighten up. Your head feels warm and sticky where the pain is pulsating, and you see red smeared across your hand as you bring it from the top of your head to your eyes.

The screeches in front of you grow louder, calling your attention away from the blood on your hands. You narrow your eyes to see what's happening, and when your view finally sharpens again, you feel your entire body growing cold in seconds.

Hailey is being forced to bend over by Barry and the other man that you don't really know but you're sure you've seen before, her pants being pulled down towards her ankles. She's screaming, fighting, and each of her words pierce through your heart like an icy dagger. "No," you groan and crawl forward on your bed to get to her, only to be kicked back by a boot to the shoulder. You fly backwards and slam into the wall behind you, making you see stars as your head feels like it's being split open anew.

"No! No! Please! No!" Hailey's screams cut through your dazed state. You fumble to get onto your knees again, crawling forwards in what seems like slow motion. The world is still spinning and your arms threaten to give out, but you force yourself forward until you're suddenly yanked forward by your head.

"You're just dying for a front row seat, ain't ya," a voice hisses in your ear like an angry snake. You wince at the sound and try to rid yourself of the hold, but the large hands that hold your head hostage clamp down on you harsher, keeping you in place where you can only watch but not reach.

"That's right, open eyes, baby," you hear in your ear and you gag, both from the pain in your head and the sight you're being forced to watch.

With all the things you've seen, with all the things you've been through, everything shrinks in comparison to what you're seeing now. You feel like your heart is being torn apart, shredded into a million tiny pieces and you can only howl out in pain until a hand clamps down over your mouth. "Shut your damn mouth, whore."

You sob into the gloved hand as your daughters innocence is ripped from her on her fifteenth birthday. You watch and cry and wish it was you instead of her while you feel yourself dying on the inside.

Silence hung heavy in Joel's kitchen when you finished. Joel looked like he wanted to break something, whereas Ellie sat on the other side of you with a somber expression on her face. Tommy let out a breath and ran a hand over his mouth.

"Maria," he said and leaned forward til he leaned on his knees. His wife nodded, seemingly straining to keep her mask of neutrality intact. "Yeah," she replied lowly, then cleared her throat.

"N' you're telling me he's entitled to what. A fair treatment?" Joel spat the words out like they're too bitter to keep in his mouth. You could feel his eyes on you, running over your head like he was looking for the scar he now knew is hidden beneath your hair.

"He does." Maria inhaled deeply opposite you and brought order to the stack of papers she brought with her. "But fair doesn't mean unjust." Then her hand reached across the table and squeezed yours. "In light of your... experience, I would suggest to the council that we work with your testimony as I've written it down, so you don't gotta repeat yourself over and over. Would that be in your interest?"

You felt some of the tightness in your chest slowly releasing.

Maria nodded as you voiced your agreement. "Good. Please read this over to make sure I got the details right. It's important."

When Tommy and Maria were gone, Joel and Ellie sat with you as you read through your own testimony. You had to set the pages down a couple of times, and each time, they were there with hands on your back, on your thigh, intertwined with your own. They silently helped you relive your worst nightmare for the second time that night, and you didn't know how to give voice to your gratitude.

Joel protested when you got up some time after dinner and announced you'd be going home for the night. There was something wild in his eyes, worry mixed with something you couldn't quite place, and it warmed your heart to see him so worried for you. You had to assure him thrice with a hand on his cheek that you would be okay, that you would come and find him if it got too dark, and that you would be back first thing next morning.

"I'll break down your damn door if you ain't here at 6am sharp," he growled and you had no doubt that he meant it. "I know." You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Joel. I'll see you tomorrow. Night, Ellie." She waved you goodbye, and Joel brought you to his backdoor, his hand on the small of your back as he walked you there.

"You sure you'll be good by yourself," he asked again when you turned to leave. The smallest of smiles appeared on your lips.

"Yeah. I just... need some time to digest everything."

He looked at you for a moment before finally nodding. "Alright. G'night, sweetheart."

You knew he kept watching you as you walked through his backyard and then up the street, and you couldn't blame him. But you had meant what you said. You needed to be alone.

You needed the time to think about the fact that for the first time in two years, there was a chance your daughter was still alive.

"I'm coming for you, baby," you whispered to yourself as you slowly walked yourself home.

Tomorrow, you would ride out to find her. Tomorrow, you'd go and look for your babygirl.

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[st-eve-barnes]

It's not a good week for my anxiety.

This morning my husband's train was stopped because there was an "unruly" passenger on board and they brought in the police to get him off the train, their train stood still for about 15 minutes with that guy free to move around while they waited for the police to arrive. (With all the knife attacks on public transport here lately of course that stressed me the fuck out) He ended up going with the police without any issues, husband wasn't freaked out at all just extremely annoyed that his train got delayed by over 40 minutes.

Then last night I heard the news that someone from our con group had been diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. I don't know her very well, she's more a friend of a friend and we all follow each other on Insta and see each other at the cons, but somehow hearing that my anxiety really kicked in. She was fine last week, diagnosed on Friday and starting chemo today. I've read about survival chances online and I had to stop cause it wasn't good at all. Your life can fall apart so quickly and there's nothing you can do about it. And she's such a young girl as well, it's devastating and really made me so sad for her and then scared that anyone else in my close circle would get sick (it's one of my biggest fears) My aunt is currently in her final stages of a +5 year long battle against cancer that's metastasized pretty much everywhere in her body now, they're not expecting her to live through this year.

It's such a horrible, shit disease and we're still so helpless against it.

So yeah, I'm not in the best headspace right now, I just want to drown myself in Aemond fics and fandom and forget about this real world for a while and consider myself so lucky that I have the luxury to even be able to do that.

[sunnami]

❝like the grass wants to grow, i want to run anywhere that you go.❞

summary. 'a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today may lead to a devastating hurricane weeks from now.' or alternatively, it takes six lifetimes for you to find each other.

pairings. poly!marauders+lily x reader.

word count. 8.9k (i tried to keep it short. i really did T-T)

tags. hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, happy ending. reincarnated/regressor!reader. no specific gender described. not proofread, we die like lucerys velaryon.

cws. brief depictions of death and war, themes of mental health and trauma.

note: lmaoao, as per the poll, here is the time-traveler!reader fic! i didn't cry during the angsty parts so it's probably not that bad.

YOU WAKE UP to a familiar weathered stone ceiling, owls softly hooting beyond the curtained windows, sunken in the mattress of a canopy bed with low snoring on either side of you. There’s a wilting candle on your nightstand, alongside an unfastened leather journal—a whiff of spilt ink under your nose. In your limp embrace, is a plush capybara with a turtle attached to its head. The quilt blanket is entangled between your thighs, the early morning breeze flurrying past the exposed stretch of your belly where your oversized granny-square jumper has ridden up.

It’s only then, when you try curling your fingers and wiggling your toes, that you realize that your body feels as though it had been hit by a shrinking charm. 

You sit upright instantly, heart skipping a beat from fright.

No.

You can’t have.

You reach for your brass handheld mirror, tucked away in the bedside drawers. 

There is no way you are this unlucky.

Yet staring back at you, is your eleven-year-old self.

Naturally, you end up screaming in frustration—startling the robins idle on the windowsills and all but waking the entirety of the Gryffindor castle. Prefects burst inside the dormitory, wand at the ready and crust in their eyes, in search of a threat only to find you on the verge of hyperventilating.

Bloody hell. 

Not again! 

Merlin, Morgana and Arthur—you are not going through puberty a sixth time.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mumble defeatedly as you fall back onto the patchwork pillows. Your roommates are gawping at you in horror, the sound of heavy footfalls echoing in the halls outside. 

Months ago, you had heard about the gruesome passing of Dorcas Meadowes—you weren’t necessarily close friends with the girl, despite being sorted in the same House, but you would grieve where grief is due. 

YOUR FIRST LIFE came to an abrupt end at the age of nineteen, in a quaint coffeehouse where the owner knew your name and the baristas wore a sunlit grin everyday. That day, no one had expected for Death Eaters to wreak havoc in Diagon Alley—it could have been anticipated, if only the Ministry was competent during the onset of the war. But with the extensive list of Muggleborn and half-blood casualties after that incident,  Ministry officials had no choice but to restrict certain areas and propose the ‘lesser-breeds’ go into hiding for their safety. This alluded to many families; most condemned to be blood-traitors. 

(There had been fleeting whispers of her dying at the wand of Voldemort himself.) 

Then, you’d woken up in the four walls of your dormitory. The sensation of being ever-so cruelly struck by the killing curse burning in your chest—a scorching fire, yet bitterly cold all the same. You had sobbed wretchedly, curled up in a shuddering ball of tears until your roommates had called for the prefects. It got worse when they tried to console you—you felt everything still. The panicked cries and screams of the wounded ceaselessly echoing in your head.  You remembered the shards of glass sinking into your skin as you dove for cover, Unforgivables apathetically hurled in every direction. 

It was not until Madam Pomfrey administered a Calming Draught and an elixir for dreamless sleep that you finally went out like a light extinguished.

Your second life was relatively longer—you had spent it under the supervision of mind healers at St. Mungo’s, after all. For the next thirty years, you’d been confined to a ward on the fourth floor. (Later, you would share this space with a couple who went by the names of Alice and Frank Longbottom.) Regardless of the bleak walls, it was not so bad. The quilts were warm and the assigned matron, Madam Strout, was kind and fussed over you regularly. While the healers had done everything they could, you continued to struggle with discerning what appeared to be your ‘first life.’ (Which one was your true reality? The first? Or the second?) Eventually, all the poking and prodding wore you down. Your fingertips had bruised and brittled. You could not look over your shoulder in fear of finding a Death Eater staring back at you. Night terrors plagued your dreams. 

(Your parents who had always embraced you with loving arms—they could not look you in the eyes now.) 

Memories bled into newer memories as the days went by. You haunted the corridors with a plagued stare, quickly becoming a woeful canard amongst the residents of the hospital. ‘The hysteric fortune teller,’ they called you. You who spoke of wars and rebellion at the age of twelve—but whose words nobody cared for when Voldemort began rising to power. You who’d gone mad and overwrought. In the end, you believed everyone else. 

(See? It must have been all in your head—a wayward spell that unfortunately damaged your memories.)

You’re unsure of how you died, but perhaps, you were never even alive in the first place. There was only so much Draught of Peace you could take before you inevitably became a soulless, sleep-walking husk of a person.

You woke up in the Gryffindor tower once more—this time, you’re careful enough to smother your cries.   

If you flinched every time Marlene McKinnon coarsely bellowed Dorcas’s name in the middle of the school hallways, or if you averted your gaze at the sight of Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom’s intertwined hands—it was nobody’s business but your own. In this life, you kept your head down, breezing through your homework and exams—although you had seen no purpose in it, at this point. Each morning that you woke up, you wondered if this was a favor from the Gods, or a relentless hell so meticulously-crafted for you.  

(But what sins had you committed for them to spit on you as they had done? Surely, you would be granted peace after two deaths.)

You could not tell your family, nor could you ask anyone else in Hogwarts if they remembered fragments of their past lives—for the last time you had done that, you were met with vindictive laughter and cruel gazes. 

(At that moment, you had understood Xenophilius Lovegood a little bit more. You never knew how many sought to trample on the wallflowers of the castle.) 

And so, you’d kept your head down until the end of your time in the castle. You stayed away from Diagon Alley and surrounding areas, and you willed yourself to perfect the art of apparating—a skill you wished that you had learned earlier. 

On the first of November 1981, witches and wizards had come to celebrate the fall of Lord Voldemort—which ultimately meant the death of James and Lily Potter. (You could not come to their funeral the first time around, seeing as you were chained to your hospital mattress that day, inebriated on the third dreamless sleep potion administered to you.) 

Under the eyes of St. Jerome, you laid bouquets of white roses and dahlias on their tombstones. 

“Wherever your souls are now, I hope you find each other and unearth peace,” you whispered to the two names engraved on the slate, hands clasped together as you rested on the grass. The winds had been cold and biting, a testament to the looming winter that would sweep away the tears on their graves. Like Dorcas Meadows, you did not interact much with James and Lily—but more than anyone, you knew how death was no easy enemy to conquer.

(You hoped their orphaned son would live a life that would not take him too early.)

A few months later, you met your demise to a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback. 

As you bled out on the grassfields, you wished for Death to come and take you faster.

When you awakened, it was in the same bed and the same dusty ceiling. 

There was nothing you could do but go back to sleep this time around.

After dying pathetically for a third time, a stubborn part of you wanted to fight back—so you did. 

Unlike your previous lives, you joined the Dueling Club, supervised by Professor Flitwick himself. Your wand work was clumsy and you stumbled on your incantations. You could not lift your wand without remembering a coffee shop laid to ruin and wreckage or the hardened gaze of Greyback as he sank his teeth into your neck. The times were merciless, your dance with Death even more—but you would not die helplessly again. 

As you lay in your bed, muscles aching from dueling practice, you had realized one thing. 

You did not want to stain your hands with the blood of another—having grown tired of the Reaper and his antics. If the Gods would not let you rest, then you would not let them take anyone else. 

After all, you had the stubbornness of a Gryffindor lion. 

For the next six years or so, you devoured your textbooks on charms and healing spells, refining your spellwork until your tongue grew numb and your wrists became sore. When the time came, you followed James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, and many more, in joining the Order of the Phoenix. (Perhaps you should have realized earlier that you all were just wide-eyed children on both sides, forced to partake in a war that should have never been yours to fight.) 

The First Wizarding War transfigured the years into a blur of mourning, surviving, and fighting in alleys now-bloodied. Even the sun hid behind the clouds, for brothers began turning on one another. You could only find solace in the fact you had kept Dorcas away from Voldemort’s clutches, volunteering to go in her stead during incursions, and Marlene McKinnon alive for another day to see her family.

But for how long could you cheat fate? 

Hours before your death, you found yourself in a forest clearing. The campsite was filled with witches and wizards afflicted with severe hexes and curses—a few of Dumbledore’s best fighters screaming in agony from the Cruciatus. 

There you found Remus Lupin, bruised and worse for wear, attempting to wrap a bandage around his shoulders in an empty tent. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” you said in a soft greeting, stepping inside the tent with a forced smile, your collection of potions and jars of herbal pastes jostling in your leather satchel. 

Remus chuckled tiredly. “Haven’t we all?” 

You gently pried the bandage from his trembling hands and maneuvering yourself at his back. You stifled the urge to cry at the sight of his scars—so violently red against his pallid skin. Compared to your previous lives, you had developed a friendship with Remus and his group of bold marauders—a camaraderie as true as it could be in dire times. (And if providence had been kinder, you could have dared to want more than just friendship.) You poured drops of Dittany onto his shallower wounds, murmuring empty words of comfort as he flinched and hissed.

“It’s Peter,” he rasped, abruptly holding onto your wrist as you turned to leave. “He’s been missing for hours. Please. I don’t know what I’d. . . what I’d do if. . . if. . .”

You squeezed his hand. “I’ll find him, Remus. Don’t worry.”

True to your word, you had found Peter at sundown deep within the forest. There was an unsettling quietude that hung in the air as you trudged to his side. He was kneeling on the muddy ground, head hanging low. It’s only then that you noticed the body laying still in his arms. Violent chills slithered down your spine as you recognized the woman in his embrace. 

“Mary!” you cried out, hurrying to them as fast as you could. 

“What happened?” you asked frantically, hands in a desperate search for a pulse. When you were met with no answer, you pressed again more heatedly. “Peter! Look at me!” You gripped his chin, heart hammering in your chest. “You have to tell me what happened! I can’t. . . I can’t help her if I don’t know what hit her.” Droplets of tears fell from your eyes down to Mary’s pale cheeks. “I can’t. . . I need—please. . .”

Bloodshot eyes stared back at you. “I. . . I didn’t want to do it.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, burying his head into the crook of Mary’s neck. “I was so, so scared.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” You grimaced impatiently when Peter lifted his gaze—but he was not looking at you, rather behind you.

The answer to your question was a killing curse to the back.

An unseen rustle in the bushes that you should have paid attention to, a cloaked figure darker than any shadow; a Death Eater that’d come to ensnare you in a perfectly-laid trap. 

(Damn it!)

(Damn it all to Hell!)

You awoke to the sound of your screaming and your limbs thrashing in the bed you’ve grown to despise. There was nary a remorse in your body as your roommates wailed at the sight of your nails drawing blood from your arms. Later that morning, the common room would be filled with talks of your faraway gaze and your scratched-up flesh. 

You could not take it anymore.

In your fifth life, you had sought peace—or rather, the most beautiful mockery of it. 

You decided to give up your magic to chase a semblance of normalcy. No more wands, no more moving portraits, no more jinxes and pranks, no more owls and wizard robes. Most of all, no more war. (‘But it did not work like that’, Death laughed.) In this life, you wanted what was denied of you in the previous ones.

A family.

A happy ending.

Bitterly enough, the Gods saw fit to give you only one of the two. 

You married a Muggle, to your parents’ dismay. He was nice and compassionate—a distant contrast to the ongoing turmoil of the wizarding world. But you could not bring yourself to feel guilt. You had been stripped of everything, which included the privilege to die and lay your soul to rest in perpetuity. 

(Who were you, if not a dead man walking?)

Over the years, you would have three children with your husband—three beautiful children born from love, in a world that would not actively seek to take them from you. You raised them all to adulthood, hoping they would not fault you for finding relief at the lack of magic in their veins. Their names were Kinsley, Piper, and Avery—and you had adored every inch of them, from their striking eyes to the tips of their stubby fingers. 

On your deathbed, you were surrounded by your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. An image you held close to your heart as your vision began to deteriorate. 

Just this once, you prayed to all that would hear. 

Let me die surrounded by my family.

At the age of ninety-one, you drew your final breath.

And when you opened your eyes, you were back in Hogwarts for the sixth time.

TO SIRIUS BLACK, you are a curious little wallflower, albeit a withering one—you who blend among the crowd, with a sad gaze in your eyes and the fretful twisting of your fingers. He doesn’t know why he’s particularly drawn to you—but perhaps he understands, more than anyone, the hesitance of taking up space in fear of punishment for one wrong move. But you look so lost, meandering along the corridors like the ghosts of the castle—but even the spirits seem more alive and colorful than you. 

“What is it that they have taken from you?” Sirius wants to ask. 

(What judgment has fate placed upon you so—for you to cry each morning?) 

There is a raging urge in his veins to reach over and wipe your tears away, but what can he do as a stranger, if not watch powerlessly as you fade into the background? 

His fingers feel like they might fall off if they do not entwine with yours. He wants to offer up his shoulders to carry the burdens that weigh down on a creature as lovely as you. 

There are times when he and the other Gryffindors catch you crying at the long tables of the Great Hall. 

“O-Oh, was I?” Your reply is quiet. Resigned. Sirius has never felt his heart break more than in that moment. You move to weakly swipe at your tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .” 

“It’s alright, really,” Lily says, her voice strained, the words lodged in her throat. Under the table, she seeks James’s hand for comfort. (How can someone appear to be so lonely and defeated?) “We all have those days.”

“Yes.” You blink away the fresh tears pricking at your eyes, mindlessly pulling at the threads of your woven bandages, a weary chuckle falling from the cracked skin of your lips. “Except, it seems the days never end for me.”  

Lily stays silent. 

Sirius shares a look with Remus from across the table, an unspoken question hanging between the animagus and the werewolf.

How do their voices call out to the one who so faithfully believes that the world has abandoned them?

But Sirius Black is determined and unyielding—what good of a prankster would he be if he could not bring a smile upon your beautiful face? 

He gets his chance during Transfiguration class, when McGonagall instructs the class to pair-up for an activity in turning miniature statues into birds. Predictably, you don’t move a muscle, staring ever-so intently at the sights beyond the classroom windows that you don’t notice the professor observing you worriedly—her lips tightly pressed and her eyes wrinkled with concern. Sirius slams his buttocks onto the wooden chair next to you; the sound of chair legs screeching bounces off the cobblestone walls.

“Hullo, partner.” Sirius grins as he offers you an enthusiastic wave, his dark curls floundering with his energy. He feels the gazes of his best mates boring into his back, but decides to ignore it for now—Remus can live without him for one class. In his mind—a perfectly-reasonable logic for an eleven-year-old, mind you—he figures that you would find class more entertaining if you had the right company. And, Sirius is wonderful company. 

You stare at him with furrowed brows and Sirius wishes nothing more than to bring fire to your eyes. “Partner?” you repeat, a tinge of confusion in your voice—a deafening cadence to his ears, as for once, it is not desolation that laces your words. 

“Partner,” Sirius affirms with a nod of his head, barely paying heed to McGonagall’s directions at the front of the room—but noting the mention of a prize for the pair who would successfully cast the spell for longer than ten minutes. He takes your silence for uncertainty, and replies with a light-hearted scoff—finding the pout on your lips adorable. “I’ll have you know I’m a bloody master at Transfiguration. Not even James could match me in this class—okay, maybe he could, but that’s not important, is it? Point is, with me at your side, Minnie will have no choice but to give us a hundred points!” 

From the frown on your lips, Sirius gathers that you’re unimpressed by him—a first, but not a total setback. 

He seizes the small box of porcelain figurines before you can blink, a wry smile on his face as he wrangles a boastful laugh from his throat. “Ready to have your mind blown? I’ve been practicing this spell since last night. There’s no way I’m getting this wrong.” 

“Oh, I’m Sirius Black, by the way—at your service.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, wondering what your palm would feel like in his. Cold? Warm to touch? Or, perhaps, a perfect fit—just as Lily’s hand feels laced with his?

He doesn’t find the answer to his question. Instead, you draw your wand from your robe pocket, and point the tip of the wood at the earthenware at Sirius’s grasp. 

“Avifors,” you recite delicately—such a flawless incantation that Sirius hears Merlin himself weeping in the depths of his grave. 

The figurine grows feathers and a beak—Sirius and the rest of the students can only watch as the weebill flutters its wings and soars through the roof. 

He’s stupefied. Breathless, one might say. But not because of your little trick—rather, the growing smile on your lips as you watch the bird fly across the room. Your eyes flicker with mischief, and like a man on the edge of a cliff—what is Sirius Black to do, but fall? 

THE END OF YOUR first-year at Hogwarts draws near, and so does the springtime—a coveted season for lily flowers to bloom. The April winds find you out by the lake edge, swinging your legs idly on a marble stone bench where the cypress vines grow along the cracks. Songbirds fly overhead as the daylight glistens on the surface of the Black Lake, a beech tree in the near distance, butterflies dancing past the gnarled trunk. Pollen floats like dust in a cupboard under a staircase. Ducklings waddle after their mother as riverine rabbits scurry on into the tall, purple nettles. On days like this, you find it easier to settle into your new life—but, perhaps, you have your friends to thank for that. 

Yet, as you find yourself wanting to reach out to their outstretched hands, flashes of children with your hair, your eyes, cheekbones whittled to resemble your own, haunt you. Their pure and gentle temperaments, painfully akin to their father’s. You mourn them every day. Their names are forever inscribed in the locket of your soul. (You did not find it fair—you who live again, and they who disappear forever. An existence that would cease to be—all because you fear what awaits you in this life. Why must it be you who should walk this land with a body scarred by wounds no one else can see? Why must it be you who mourns the loss of your family, your friends, and all your loved ones—everyone murdered by the Gods who spit on the five graves with your name written on it? Why? Why?)

Do you dare to live a life without them? Is it fair to deprive them of a chance of being a family while you waste away on the Isles? You may have lived multiple lifetimes, but not once have you been given the answers you seek. 

You will not find happiness without them; it is as you deserve. 

(For why else would Death torment you so if you are seen as innocent in their eyes?)

“How did I know I’d find you here?” A sing-song voice emerges from the trees, and you’ve no need to turn your head—the sound of Lily’s bright cadence is one you’re familiar with. But, somehow, you’ve grown fond of her voice, more acquainted with her smile and laugh than you’ve ever been in the last five lives. (You have to wonder if this friendship is one you’re permitted to enjoy.) Her grin is blinding, more so than the afternoon sun behind her. Lily’s wavy hair falls over her shoulder as she plops down on the empty space beside you. “We didn’t see you at lunch today,” she says, looking ahead, the warmth of her hand inching closer to your own. “I figured you didn’t want a bunch of whiffy boys around.”

Then, she looks around, searching for any prying ears, a stream of giggles falling from her lips. “Although, I must warn you—their pockets are loaded with food stolen from the hall, saying they’d give it to you when you returned to the tower. But I think Minnie caught onto them.” She chortles, a fond gaze in her eyes. 

You hum in thought, a smile unknowingly pulling at your lips. “Thank you, Lily. It’s sweet of you to come and find me.” 

She harrumphs light-heartedly, snootily lifting up her nose. “Don’t get too used to it. We’re only just best friends, after all.”

A silence encompasses the two of you, sitting under the shade, pink fingers shyly intertwined. Lily allows the minutes to flow by like a breeze on the waters, until she stares at you with thick emotions flickering in her emerald eyes. She nibbles on her bottom lip, long lashes kissing her eyelids. “Are. . . Are you alright? Is it one of those days again?”

You grin at her question, impishly nudging her legs with yours. It’s a gesture you deeply appreciate—befriending you and growing closer to you in ways you imagine are never in your cards. But Lily is only eleven, and you will not act upon your selfishness. (But, maybe—just maybe—you are allowed to relish in their company until you are called once again to your deathbed. In the next life, they might not know your name as they do now, and the revelation frightens you immensely.)

“I’m okay,” you say, a gnawing lie that sounds unconvincing to even your own ears. You stare at the flock of swans diving in the lake. “I was just missing a few friends back home.” You remember the toddlers that you used to call your own—their spittled possessiveness toward anyone who dared to snatch your attention away from them. “I don’t know if they would be happy with me going off on my own adventure,” you say, sparing Lily a knowing look. “They are—erm—Muggles.” 

“Oh.” Lily nods, mulling over your words. “Tuney. . . my sister. She sort of resents me ever since I left for Hogwarts. We live a world apart, and it barely helps that she ignores me during the holidays.” She sighs, averting her gaze elsewhere, a grimace pulling at her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this was never meant for me. That I was just a fluke. Why do I have magic and not her? Any day now, I expect for McGonagall to come and ask me to pack my bags and head straight home.” 

“But,” says Lily, her eyes resolute and her fire unwavering, “until that day comes, I will enjoy every bit of this world as I can. Tuney will just have to deal with that.” She offers you a mellow smile—a likeness to a kind husband that you had once in a past lifetime. “Besides, I think those who truly love us will understand the paths we must take. Even if it means parting ways for a long time. Your friends will not blame you; they’ll want you to live truly and freely.” 

Her words sink deep into your bones, and you can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. You simper at the confused tilt of her head. “Wise words, Lily Marie Evans. Are you sure you’re only twelve?” 

Lily beams. “Mum likes to tune into the Sunday motivational-talk channels.”

(“The ones we love never really leave us, do they?” Sirius Black will tell you one day, when you’ve bared to him the truth of your lives, and he looks at you no differently than he has before—with all the adoration and fondness of his heart.)

Later, before you and Lily make your way back to the castle, you pick three flowers among the chicory weeds. She stays behind as you kneel by the riverside. For the children you have loved, and will continue to love for eternity. Droplets of tears fall onto the water, joining the floating blue petals. “I’m sorry that I cannot find you as you are,” you whisper, a heavy weight lifting from your shoulders. “But I hope that we meet again in this life, whichever names you may take.” 

(After all, what love is stronger than one that perseveres across endless lifetimes?)

You carry them in your heart—letting cherished memories remain as such. Otherwise, you’ll be chasing what can never be again. It would be an injustice to their names to try and replicate a shallow imitation of them. They deserve more than that—to be treated like a pawn in Death’s game. They were alive and you will honor them befittingly.

You bid them goodbye and allow the tethers of their soul to untangle from your grasp. 

It is the most difficult farewell—and yet, the easiest act of mercy you have ever carried out.

‘THE FLAP OF a butterfly’s wings can evoke a hurricane in the next world over.’ 

This is a phrase you’ve come to be familiar with over the span of your numerous lives. It has never been truer than the moment you step outside the infirmary to find a group of mismatched Gryffindors waiting for you in the halls. Their heads snap in attention at the sound of your footfalls. In an instant, you’re crowded with their questions and worries—but you find it endearing, the way your friends fuss over you. It’s certainly a welcome change from a past spent by your lonesome in the castle. (You only wonder what makes this life so different from the rest? Why is everything changing without you noticing? What will be taken from you for this deviation in time?) 

“How did it go?” James asks, now seventeen and captain of the Quidditch team, wavy tendrils of brown hair swooping over his round glasses. The broad of his chest fills out his red and yellow jumper, crocheted by Lily over the yule break—the five of you, including Peter, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas, have matching sweaters as well. 

Except, you like to tease them with a jest that Lily made yours with the most love—as no one else had the pattern of a capybara with an apple on its head. 

“Well enough,” you answer, patting his shoulder with a tired smile that reaches your eyes—for how could one not cheer up in the face of James Fleamont Potter? That would be saying the skies do not brighten in the company of the sun. 

By incontestable decree of Poppy Pomfrey, the headstrong matron of the castle, you are required to meet with a mediwitch from St. Mungo’s twice a week, since the start of your fifth-year. Healer Robbins floos to Hogwarts on Wednesdays and Saturdays to check up on your health, physically and mentally. Of course, you don’t divulge anything about your time-traveling dilemmas, lest you end up confined to a hospital ward again for the rest of your years. But you do end up addressing—albeit, begrudgingly—the dried tear stains on your pillowcase every morning, your wayward habit of purposefully missing meals, or your tendency to withdraw yourself from your peers on certain days—which coincidentally happen to be the anniversary dates of your deaths. (If no one would grieve for you, then you’d do it alone.) 

Who’d have thought that healing would be much more tortuous than hurting in the quietude of your room?

But one thing is for certain—this is a suffering you will endure with greed and hunger. 

For today’s session, Healer Robbins suggests you proactively live in the present more—which is easier said than done. 

“Although, she did tell me to stop slouching all the time,” you inform James, scrunching your nose in feigned offense, to which he replies with a hearty chuckle, pulling you into his embrace for a side hug. You burrow your nose in his scent of oakmoss and orris root, a lingering touch of broom polish as well—you feel the warmth of his hand splayed out on your back, and hide your grin into his chest. 

“Well, someone had to tell you,” says Regulus Black with a scoff, arms crossed over his chest, yet no genuine heat in his trenchant eyes. He looks pleased that you return unharmed from your meeting with Healer Robbins. Funnily enough, you’ve no doubt that the famed Black temper would emerge should you utter so much as a single word against the mediwitch. (You like her, though. Some days, Robbins lovingly spiels about her clumsy-footed wife—and in return, you talk about your sad feelings. Eurgh. Talk about a fair exchange.)

Among the many divergences in this life, one of them is the unforeseen friendship you have forged with Regulus Arcturus Black. But that story begins with Xenophilius Lovegood, when you stumble upon him in the Forbidden Forest chasing after a family of bowtruckles with a fervid expression and a journal in one hand. You protect him from foul-mouthed Ravenclaws, and he allows you to tag along in his woodland escapades—including a lifelong access to the kitchens beyond curfew. His lack of regard for personal safety is both endearing and maddening, you realize early on. One stormy night, you chase Xenophilius into the forest—he is barefoot, following the Mooncalf hoofprints, as you spit out strings of expletives and mouthfuls of rain. That is where you find Regulus, groaning in pain and carrying a burden that is much too heavy for a fifteen-year-old. 

Then, a year later, they decide to give you a heart-attack when you discover that Pandora and Xenophilius have taken Regulus under their wing—figuratively and literally. And, most of all, romantically.

You’re more speechless than Sirius had been when you catch him one fateful evening.

(“Don’t do it, Sirius Black,” you greet, startling the ebony-haired boy as you step out from the shadows. The common room is silent, save for the crackling embers in the fireplace. You stare at the sixteen-year-old with a vehement resolve, your hands curled into fists. If there is one fixed event you had to live through over and over again, it is the news of Severus Snape being nearly mauled to death by a creature so feared and gruesome. You will not let it happen in this life. His eyes flicker with shame amongst a sea of gray, and he knows that you know about his abhorrent idea of a ‘prank.’ 

You sigh, taking another step forward, hand coming to rest on his tense shoulder. “Let it go, Sirius. It’s not worth it. Bringing someone to harm is never worth it. If he dies, his blood will be on your hands—and you don’t want that, trust me. Be kind to him, Sirius—and even kinder to your brother. The two of you are all each other has.”

“Not true,” Sirius whispers back, almost afraid, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheeks. “I have you, Prongs, Lily, and Rem.”

“And Remus is exactly who we should be with right now,” you reply with a harsh glare. “Not in the common rooms trying to one-up Snape because of some childish rivalry.” With a long sigh and a shake of your head, you push back the dark curls from his face. “The times are cruel, Sirius. We must hold onto what we can.”

His forehead will fall onto your shoulder, and your shirt will be soaked with his tears, but you realize that you will hold him, and all those who’ve captured your heart, until Death himself pries you away from their embrace.) 

But, it all pales in comparison to the horror in Sirius’s eyes when you point at Regulus and Peter, as you utter with absolute conviction, “They are my dearest friends.”

While Peter may have been a traitor in another life, a murderer with blood and guilt staining his hands—he is only a skittish boy in this one. A timid student who hides behind the shadows of his friends. You will not let him go down that path again. The Peter Pettigrew you currently know is a mousy little thing, pun intended, who sneaks in a pouch of sugared jelly worms in the library for you and him to enjoy whilst copying off each other’s Arithmancy homework—you two automatically get perfect marks, seeing as you’ve went through school multiple lifetimes already. Truthfully, when you see him tongue-tied before Mary Macdonald, you can’t envision anything else than a lifeless body and a man apologizing for his sins. But it is hardly fair to condemn Peter for the sins of a life he has not lived—and will never live through, if you have anything to say about. 

A lion protects their pride, and that is what you shall do. Even if it tears you apart in the process. (Healer Robbins won’t be so pleased about that, though.) 

But, perhaps, the most unexpected surprise you’ve received this year is—shockingly—not the news of Dorcas and Marlene dating, and neither is Alice and Frank’s relationship as you have already known that since your first life. It is James, Remus, Lily, and Sirius announcing to the world, with a poorly-written poem for a gnome to recite on Valentine’s Day—courtesy of James Potter himself—that the four of them are in love. In all five lives, that has never happened. Not even Lucius Malfoy can call into question the genuineness of their devotion to one another—and he will not dare to do so in your presence, otherwise he’d find himself at the mercy of you and Narcissa Black.

The four of them are happy as one, and you would die to ensure they stay together until the end of their time. Dark lords be damned. 

An even bigger shock comes when their affection for each other unspokenly extends to you. Not in a manner that equals their rambunctious gestures—because the Marauders don’t do anything half-arsed. (And if they fall in love, they fall without fear.) But in a way that is quiet yet intense, ever-so mindful of your walls—with an intention to break them down slowly and only with your utmost permission. They leave you confused with each day that passes. (You fear that they think you pitiful for having not found a significant other.)

(For months now, your heart is set aflutter just by the sound of their voices—if they look at you as a token charity case, it would tear you apart.) 

Forehead kisses, hand-holding in the corridors, late nights in the kitchen—tipsy on gillywater and the scathe of each other’s touch. Picnics by the lake, bodies intertwined where no one knows where they begin or end. Ventures in the library where not a soul is paying attention to the passages of their textbooks—hushed giggles turning into unrestrained laughter until Madam Pince rounds the corner and has you all thrown out. (How long has it been since you felt so free?) It’s the little things, like your fingers brushing against theirs as you walk side-by-side, or the soft glint in their eyes as they stare at you from across the room—as though you are a jewel to behold. 

It is one thing to know that you are living a life after life—but it is another thing entirely to feel alive when they are nearby. 

You are alive when Remus relaxes on the carpeted floor of the Gryffindor tower, and as you lay on the velvet couch, he draws protection runes on your palm with his finger. When he thinks you’re asleep, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. When the nights are unbearably long and you find a safe haven in his embrace, and he in yours.

You are alive when James cages you in a bear hug after an intense Quidditch match against Slytherin, limp tendrils of hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, pressing a series of fervent kisses to the side of your head until his voice is louder than the cries of victory coming from the cheering stands. 

(“Lay back down, James Fleamont Potter,” you command tersely as you push him onto the infirmary bed. You narrow your eyes at the bandages wrapped around his arms and neck, as though it’d personally wronged you. “Don’t even think about getting up,” you quickly add when you notice his droopy eyes staring at the doors—where Sirius, Remus, and Peter have gone off for a night of mischief. With an exaggerated sigh, James will roll his eyes before pulling you into the bed with him.) 

You are alive when Lily scours the Great Hall in the mornings, hair fussed from sleep and her face bare, and when her eyes finally land on you—none misses the way she lights up blindingly, as if she were a poppy flower emerging from the forest floors and all her petals are curling towards the sun. She bounds over to you with a smile that draws everyone in the room to her. And your heart will have no choice but to swell three times its size when Lily falls asleep mid-meal, snoring with her neck bent and a spoon dangling from her mouth. 

You are alive when Sirius dashes across the room to claim you as his Potions partner. He’ll spend the rest of the class with a triumphant grin on his face—sitting on a rickety chair as he lazily admires the view of your backside. And may the Gods help the poor soul who dares to question your work. 

(“See that lovely creature over there?” Sirius will say with a dangerous lilt to his voice, pointing to you who’s quite busy squabbling with Severus and Barty Jr. over frog legs. “They will be the greatest apothecary to ever walk the wizarding world—so watch your tongue, mate.”) 

They are your limbs, the blood in your veins—the ache in your heart. The fires of your soul. And when they are near, you are finally whole. (Healer Robbins certainly won’t like that, either—but this is a thought you shall selfishly keep for yourself.) 

That is why you had come to a decision at the beginning of the year.

“I need to tell you all something,” you say, breaking out of your stupor and finally meeting everyone’s eyes. You meet Sirius’s gaze from where he leans against the wall, his attention on you—and only you. You reckon he notices the way you’re fidgeting nervously with your fingers, gnawing on your lip as you suck in a deep breath. It’s similar to the way he acted when he first told the group about his intentions to run away from his mother. Healer Robbins told you earlier to not dwell on the past—it’s only a thing that time-travelers do, she had said. You suppose there’s no better way to exercise honesty than to tell your loved ones about the secret you have been keeping for the last five lifetimes. You just hope they won’t look at you differently when all is said and done. 

Marlene’s gaze worriedly flickers from you and to the infirmary doors. “Has the mediwitch said something?” 

You shake your head. “There’s something you should know about me.”

Like a badly-written joke, a pack of lions, a snake, and a badger follows you into an empty classroom. They watch with furrowed brows as you cast a silencing charm over the room. You feel the weight of their curiosity as you take a seat in the center, drumming your nails on your lap as everyone moves to do the same. Remus wordlessly takes the seat next to you, as though being by your side is a natural phenomenon—like the shores never straying from the sand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you return his kindness with a weary smile. You look at the protective circle that’s somehow formed around you. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Xenophilius, Regulus, Lily and the Marauders. (Since when did you gain a family like this in such a short time?) 

“Where do I even begin?” you ask with a shuddery breath. “It might get a bit intense. . . and sad, and I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. So it’s okay if you aren’t prepared to take this all in yet. I’d understand.” 

“What one of us goes through, we all go through together,” Dorcas vows with her head high. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this, love,” she says, looking at everyone else in the room. “We’re here for you. Always have been. It’s what friends are for, aren’t they? You taught us that. Let us return the favor now.” 

You laugh wetly, eyes crinkling with gratitude. “I suppose you’re right.” 

There is no time like the present.

And if all goes awry, you probably might just jump out of a window and reset everything. (You wouldn’t, really. This life is precious to you more than anything in the world.)

You close your eyes and draw air into your lungs.

No time like the present.

“When I first died, I was only nineteen.” Despite the pinched expressions and soft gasps, you force the words out. You have to. Otherwise, the tale of your lives will be buried with you forever. This is the first time you have ever said the words aloud. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. “Death Eaters came to Diagon Alley. It all happened so fast, next thing I knew the killing curse was cast straight at me.” 

Regulus flinches, and you offer him an apologetic grimace. 

“But that wasn’t the end,” you continue amidst their horrified wide-eyes—feeling Remus tighten his hold on your hand. You chuckle bitterly. “If it had been, maybe it all would’ve hurt less. When I woke up, I was back in the Gryffindor tower.” 

“What?” Lily frowns as a shadow is cast over her eyes. “But how?” 

“I wish I knew,” you reply with a lodge in your throat, eyes thick with incoming tears. “I really wish I knew. But I woke up back in Hogwarts. I was alive again. Somehow, someway, I was alive. But I was dying.” You shut your eyes, head craning to the ceilings as you swallow back a sob. “Have you felt what it’s like to be burnt alive? That’s what the killing curse is like. And I feel it everyday. When I told the nurses this, I was sent straight to St. Mungo’s. They could not heal what was not found in my body. They called me mad. And there was nothing I could do but believe them. It was like that until I died on an infirmary bed, leather straps around my wrists and legs, forbidden to leave the ward and feel even the sunlight on my face. I was deemed a threat to the others and myself.” 

Lily beats you to the punch and cries into her hands—the harrowing sound torn from her throat. Mary, with her own stream of tears, pulls Lily into a hug. 

“I-I told you it was ugly,” you say timidly, averting your gaze out of remorse. “We can stop here if you’d like.”

“We’re staying,” says Lily with a guttural edge to her words, eyes quickly growing red. 

“Then, in my third life, I died by a. . . Greyback—it was Greyback who killed me.” You intertwine your fingers with Remus’s, who’s gone ashen from the reveal. “It’s alright.”

“The bloody hell do you mean it’s alright?” James bellows, running a hand through his hair as he tears himself from his seat, chest heaving up and down. “None of this is alright! How could you say that? We. . .We should tell Dumbledore or something—or anyone! This shouldn’t have happened to you—it’s just too cruel. . .” 

“I know,” you acquiesce with a low hang of your head. “I know.”

Sirius exhales jaggedly. “Was that the last of it? Of your. . . your deaths?”

“No.” You stare at him with regret. “In my fourth life, I died in a Death Eater ambush.” 

Xenophilius looks like he might faint any second. 

“But in my fifth life, I met some people in the Muggle world,” you explain, remembering kind eyes and wide smiles, a family made in a home far away from magic and wars. “I loved them dearly. When I thought I was being punished by Gods, they gave me peace. They taught me unconditional love and I. . .” You let the tears drip onto your skirt. “I might never find them again, but I’ll never forget them for as long as I live. It was the only death given to me without pain.”

You watch as Lily’s doe-eyes flicker with realization. Three flowers in a watery grave. 

“And here I am now. The end,” you say, forcing a crooked grin as you brush the dust off your school robes. 

No one moves a muscle for the next few minutes. 

You freeze in fear. 

(Have you upset them? Do they see only a talking corpse now?)

The room is suffocatingly quiet and you can’t bear to see the pity or judgment in their eyes—so you run out of the room as though Death himself was hot on your heels. 

They are right behind you—of course, they are. (Where a part of their soul goes, they will follow.)

“Are you angry?” You quietly ask, wrapping your arms around your waist—afraid to turn around and face them. “I would not blame you if you are.” 

“No, not mad. Never.” Lily falls into place by your side, hovering but never stepping past your erected borders. “Maybe at the circumstances. It’s all so unfair. I’m. . . We’re just upset that you had to live through that all alone. To die over and over. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt each time.” 

You nod, swallowing the urge to crumble on the floor. “Then you’ll understand why. . . why you and I—all of us—I can’t be with you.”

Remus frowns, stepping forward to reach out to you. “What?” 

“Don’t make this any harder than this has to be, please,” you beg, voice hoarse and hands trembling. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius presses further, a bitter acid to his words. He looks frightened, almost—guilt instantly pools in your stomach.  

“Don’t you see? Everything is changing!” You exclaim, grateful that you’ve chosen the abandoned corridors of the castle where no one dares to venture on a sunny day. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s to happen next! I’d rather die again than let any of you get hurt.”

“Then don’t!” shouts James, veins straining against his neck, tears of his own glistening within his hazel eyes. “I would rather die than pretend none of what I feel—what we feel—for you isn’t real.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, James,” you retort with a sharp scoff. “I’ve no need for a relationship that’s borne from pity or charity.” 

“Pity?” Lily echoes incredulously. “You think I’ve confused love for pity? Is that how low you think of us? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Are you stupid?” Sirius bites back. 

“Excuse me?” you shriek. “Must I spell it out for you? I’m trying to protect you! I am cursed!”

“Not anymore than I am!” Remus bellows with his fists tightly clenched, his canines laid bare and his cheeks lit ablaze. “If you’re cursed, I must be damned. Why can’t you allow yourself the same grace that you’ve given us?” 

You wilt. “I can’t do it, Remus. I just can’t. If I die again, and everything resets—don’t you know how much it will kill me if we start as strangers again?” 

Remus encases you in his warmth, an embrace that promises to keep you safe from all harm. (What good of a monster would he be if he can’t rip apart your fears for you?) “Then we will find you in that life. And every life after that. We’ll use a pensieve, or anything at all—just so we don’t forget.”

You melt in his arms, bathing in his scent of caraway and bergamot. You feel Remus placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “All these things I know. All these lives I’ve lived through. What if I ruin everything in this life?” 

“Then do it,” Lily provokes stubbornly. 

“Ruin me,” James pleads raspingly—a falter in his steps as though he’d get on his knees and beg in an instant just for you to stay with them. “Ruin me as much as you’d like. You would be the most beautiful devastation of my life.” 

And so, you choose them. 

For there was never any other option from the start.

YOU WAKE UP in the dead of the night, sunken in a mattress that is one too small for five people to fit in, leafy vines and fairy lights wrapped around the posters of the bed. Sometime during the night, Lily had thieved the wool blanket for herself. You rest in between her and Sirius, their snores echoing into your ears as the grasshoppers chirp outside. The potted plants will swing from the ceiling as the evening breeze passes by. (You’ll scold James in the morning for leaving the windows open again.) By your feet, is a fat Tabby cat with one eye named Tuna. (Full name: Tuna Belly.) There are moving pictures on the flower-plastered wall, a testament to the life you share—and the life you have fought hard for. Ruffled pillows are strewn across the carpeted floor. Parchments and notes lay askew on the desk table across the room—Remus’s jittery preparation for his first day next week as Hogwarts’s newest professor. 

Remus will catch you wide awake and tuck you into his chest, murmuring, “Rest now. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow for Wormy’s wedding.” 

You’ll hum and relinquish your thoughts for the night, holding onto James hand over Remus’s belly. “I love you,” you’ll whisper. 

Remus will say it back without hesitation—and you know the others feel exactly the same. 

Minutes later, the door will creak open and a tiny shadow will come crawling into the bed, knocking into everyone’s knees and stomach. It’s a little Harry who’s three years old now. He curls under your neck and you will hold him with all the love that six lifetimes can offer and more. 

When you close your eyes, it is a comforting darkness that envelopes you.

(Somewhere in a castle beyond valleys and lakes, locked away in the dusty shelves of Dumbledore’s cupboards, sits a broken Time-Turner that finally stops ticking.)

a/n: i wrote the last 2k words like a woman posessed! LMAO. i have to be at training in 2 hours and i haven't prepared yet. tell me what you thought aaaaa!!!! and yes, your sixth life is your last life so u die happily and in peace mwah mwah. might continue this universe with drabbles, idk. if u spot any mistakes.. ignore it for a bit LMAO, i'll proofread this soon.

[sidsinning]

To expand on Lucifer's neglect more

Yes he loves Charlie dearly, yes he showers her with his love and affection and semi-approval ("it's uh...got a lot of character!") when he sees her after all these years for the first time, yes he is desperately trying to switch back her reliance on Alastor to reliance on him- all these feelings are real and strong when she's right in front of him

-but when she isn't he is back in his own little world and rubber ducks. When he doesn't see Charlie in person she becomes white noise to him besides fleeting moments of courage and pining he gets to try and connect with her again. These are the moments where he regains a bit of clarity on just how fucked his family situation is.

He knows he has to maintain his connection with her somehow while also battling his own depression and urge to isolate and block off the rest of the world. They're in limbo of whether or not their relationship will finally be unrepairable, also expressed in how him and Lilith are not fully divorced, but still separated, with him still clearly loving her bc he still wears his wedding ring.

I love him, I think his love for Charlie is stronger than anything in his life, and I know he'd do anything he could for her (besides the one thing she asked which is very unluckily directly connected to his trauma)

But it's true that he doesn't listen to her, doesn't keep up with how her life is going, and has remained estranged from her as a child through her adult life for years for whatever reason (smtg implied through this flashback we don't understand yet, and/or his mental health issues)

For Charlie at this point, she's not a kid anymore, so just getting a call from him once in awhile is not enough if he still isn't addressing any of the issues that have built up between them, which has made her susceptible to being tricked by Alastor's empty words of praise and bonding

During Hell's Greatest Dad he isn't trying to address anything she's told him to, just trying to fix the surface level physical issues with the hotel to satisfy her- she looks uncomfortable the whole time he's trying to give her a sales pitch while smiling at everything Alastor says bc he is getting to her emotional needs, bc the bastard sees right through the father-daughter pair's issues

"I have angel powers! I can give you mountains of expensive things!"

"I'm always here for you! I'm so proud of you and all you've accomplished! We've grown so close bc I've always been by your side (unlike a certain someone 😇🐍🍎)"

He's excited when she asks him to come over, and we're excited for him to finally see his daughter he seems to love so much who doesn't talk to him, but from their conversation it is very much shown that Charlie is the one who has been more desperate to remain connected to him. She always updates him on her life when she can and asks him if he's paying attention to her- which he doesn't. Leading to her disappointment and/or annoyance with only jobs for her or random calls where he talks about smtg irrelevant.

I am a Lucifer stan through and through, but it is undeniable that he has not been a good dad despite being a good person. Now he's stepping up and reconnecting to Charlie again as she's fully accepting of him which is sweet.

It's also nice to see that helping Charlie and reconnecting with her is what brings him true happiness in life- bc of his anxiety and trauma he avoids the thing he knows deep down is the underlying cause of his unhappiness- his distant family and confronting their fractured relationship

So now that he's addressed a major part of the root of his depression, he stopped isolating himself, is being active, and given himself smtg productive to do, so his anxiety is down :)

Helping Charlie addressed how broken hearted he was over his family splitting, and restored the faith in humanity and good he lost after he was banished from Heaven and failed to redeem sinners when he tried

Shshsjdjdkfk I just love the characterization we get in just 2 23 minute episodes, even though the pacing is undeniably insanely fast and I would have preferred more time to marinate in it- but what can you do about capitalism vs. artistic freedom

[qiwoomi]

officially yours (his)

gojo satoru x fem! reader

fluff, established relationship, marriage, modern au, slightly suggestive in the end

a/n: idk how long it's been, almost about a year but I'm back again. this time school isn't an obstacle anymore :] wrote this while seasons - wave to earth is playing in the background

If years ago you're telling the Gojo Satoru you would marry him, he would tell you it would be a dream out of reach. Because back then, he's not confident in himself to make someone as beautiful- inside and out as you happy. It might be because of his rough past, and he didn't want to risk you going through it as he doesn't want you to get hurt.

You are too delicate, too fragile that he's sure that he doesn't deserve you. Hell, he would even risk letting someone else have you if it meant you don't have to go through a single trouble that he always endures. Though he's used to it by now, but you don't.

So how is it possible that here he is, standing on the shoreline of the vast ocean of your dreams, his shoes a little drenched and stained with sand. But never mind all that. His eyes are on you, teary and red though it won't fall. His lips are trembling, he wants to say something, but he knew that he would be sobbing and he promised himself that he won't ruin the ceremony that unite both of you in sickness and health.

There you are in your white wedding dress, your dream wedding dress, as you held the bouquet of flowers in your hand, keeping up a smile even though you're also on the verge of tears. Your eyes are blurry, but your father guided you to him, letting go of you as you're now standing in front of each other.

You allowed yourself to sniffle. Geto then starts doing the speech and declaration to officiate both of you in your wedding day, Satoru's eyes never fell from yours.

It's time to declare each other's wedding vows, which you anticipate. Satoru fixed his bow tie nervously, as you smiled.

"[Name], my love, my heart, my life, my everything." He starts, and his voice already cracked which earned a few laughs from your families and friends. He was full on sniffling, nose red as the first drop of tears stained his cheek. "First of all, I want to thank you a lot for everything you've done for me. Taking care of me even when I'm whiny and clingy, even though I stained your shirt with my snot as you patted me to sleep. Always being there to comfort me because you know that I'm not fine, even though I insist I am. You always knew before me, and this is one of the reasons why I fall in love with you." He manage to make through the first paragraphs, as onslaught of tears stained his cheeks again.

"Oh my god, I'm crying." He accidentally slipped into the mic, as chuckles are heard again. He's trying to wipe them off with his sleeves now. "Does anyone have a tissue?" He sniffled, as Geto handed him a q-tip. He tried wiping his tears with them, as it didn't do as much. "What does a q-tip gonna do? I need a tissue." He sniffled again, only realising the tissue in his breast pocket when you pointed them out.

"Ah, thank god." He sniffled, as he tried to compose himself while wiping his tears. Now the audiences were laughing, which makes you laugh too even though you're also about to drown in tears. "Okay." He cleared his throat, lifting up the paper in his view which is stained by droplets of tears.

"I'm sure that even if I continue listing them down, words wouldn't be enough to express my love to you- because it runs deep. And it is dangerous, at least this is what I thought when I was so young and naive, still learning what real love means." He sniffled. "But I got addicted to it, you're too addictive that I'm sure the thought of you will never go away. Everyday I wake up, I'm thankful that I even get the chance to be with you. And I try to make it last, even though temporary, these fleeting moments is my motivator."

He inhaled, before reading the next last paragraph. "My love, I want you to know that this has been my dream for the longest time. And to see and experience myself to be officially yours is a dream come true. I'm yours, always yours from the start and eternally. I promise myself from the start, and I want you to know that I'll always be with you no matter in sickness or in health, in the hardest days of your life or the easiest. I love you wholeheartedly in all versions of yourself. My heart, I have devoted myself to you, and should you think that I'm not, I'll always remind you through my actions. I love you, my [Name], my wife now and forever."

Gojo Satoru managed to finish, his tears are now at bay only for it to stream continously again when it's your turn to recite your wedding vows. It is safe to say that Gojo Satoru cried more than you, and he took 1 to 2 business days to process your marriage before finally going back to his 'normal' safe. And you love him all the same.

bonus:

It was late on your wedding night, after making love with him. You laid on his chest, catching your breath as he caressed your hair, his eyes on the ceiling as if lost in thought. It was quiet, but you love it.

"My love?" He starts, his eyes now on you, admiring your features. His hand on your hair is so comforting, that it took you a second to answer him. "Mhm? What is it baby?" You asked, looking up at him with sincereness and love in your eyes.

He pouted, frowning a little. Whatever it is that's weighing on his mind, you want to make it go away. "I'm sorry for ruining our wedding. I just can't hold it- you know. I never thought we would go this far." He mumbled, as you now start cupping his face, making him look into your eyes.

"Hey, it's fine. You know, I love that you're not afraid to show your true self. I love you. You make the wedding more memorable." I reassured him, speaking softly that he might even fall asleep to my voice.

Satoru didn't answer, though it's evident he's happy to know your thoughts now that his frowns and pout go away. "I love you too. You know, we're not even done for the night." He teased, now going back to his 'normal' self.

You slapped his chest playfully, though there's no denying it when your cheeks are flushed.

a/n: this is inspired from one of the videos I came across on ig (iykyk) I wish I copied the link but I lost it ☹️ the video literally screams satoru and you can't fight me.

EDIT: HERE'S THE LINK GUYS!!!

© @qiwoomi

est. 250324

do not copy, translate or repost my work.

[luvvictoria]

Not the time to think about it

( ♡ ) pairing : Basketball player! Ryomen Sukunax fem!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, smoking, 4 years age gap, kinda sad , idk bro

( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ : HELP I LOVE BASKETBALL AU SUKUNA 💔

The Beginning of the End

Sukuna Ryomen had always been the center of attention. At 22, he was already a rising star in professional basketball. His towering frame, undeniable skill, and bad-boy charm made him irresistible to fans and especially women. With his broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, and eyes that always seemed to carry a hint of danger, Sukuna had left behind a trail of broken hearts. To him, relationships were fleeting; love, a momentary distraction. He had never met anyone who could hold his interest for more than a night, let alone a lifetime.

Enter [name].

You were 18, and unlike anyone Sukuna had ever encountered. You were a quiet, studious girl, majoring in pharmaceutical health at the university. Your figure caught the eye of many, but it was your gentle nature that made you stand out. With [color] eyes that always seemed to radiate kindness, you were the opposite of the women who usually crowded Sukuna’s life.

You met by chance at a university charity event where Sukuna had been invited as a guest. You were there volunteering, organizing medical booths and speaking about health awareness. Sukuna, uninterested in the event itself, was walking aimlessly when his eyes landed on you. You stood out in the sea of faces, your simple beauty, combined with an aura of genuine warmth, drawing him in.

He approached you with his usual swagger, expecting to win you over with little effort.

“Do you follow basketball?” he asked, flashing his signature smirk.

You looked up at him, blinking in confusion. “Not really. I’m more into medicine.”

Your response took him by surprise. You didn’t fawn over him like most girls did, and that piqued his interest.

“I’m Sukuna,” he said, as if that name alone would be enough.

You smiled politely “I’m [name] . Nice to meet you.”

A Dangerous Game

From that moment, Sukuna found himself drawn to you. You were kind and unaffected by his fame, which only intrigued him further. He began pursuing you, using every trick in the book—late-night texts, surprise visits to your campus, even bringing you small gifts. At first, you kept your distance, wary of his reputation as a “player.”

But Sukuna was persistent. His charm, coupled with his unexpected vulnerability when he was with you, slowly wore down your walls. You began to see glimpses of a man behind the star athlete—a man who was lonely, who craved more than just the superficial adoration that surrounded him.

As weeks turned into months, you fell for him. You saw beyond his cocky exterior, discovering a man capable of deep passion, but also burdened with emotional scars. Sukuna, in turn, found himself caring for you more than he had ever cared for anyone. You brought a sense of calm to his chaotic life, and he often found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, you were different.

However, no matter how much he tried to change, the nature of his world—of fleeting encounters and transient affections—kept pulling him back. Sukuna was like a moth drawn to the flame of his old habits, unable to break free entirely.

The Collapse

For you, being with Sukuna was like living in a dream. He was everything you had never expected to fall for—dangerous, exciting, unpredictable. Yet, there was a darkness beneath the surface. You knew he had a history, that he had hurt women before, but you believed that you could be the one to change him.

But old habits die hard.

Sukuna’s world remained one of temptation. After a game one night, Sukuna found himself surrounded by fans, women who threw themselves at him, reminding him of how easy things used to be before you. He didn’t mean to betray you, but one night after an away game, fueled by alcohol and the excitement of a win, Sukuna ended up spending the night with someone else.

It was a mistake, and the guilt hit him hard. He wanted to tell you, but the thought of hurting her tore him apart.

You , however, weren’t naive. You could sense something had changed. Sukuna was distant, more withdrawn, and you knew, deep down, what had happened without needing to hear the words. One night, after days of silence between them, she confronted him.

“Did you… cheat on me?” You asked, your voice trembling but your eyes steady.

Sukuna looked at you, torn between wanting to protect you and the overwhelming guilt. He didn’t say anything, but his silence was answer enough.

And at that exact moment your heart shattered. You had given him everything, hoping against hope that he could be different, that he could change. But now, all those hopes felt like they were crumbling beneath your feet.

The Last Night of Love

That night, you sat together in silence, neither knowing what to say. Sukuna, for the first time in his life, realized he had something to lose. And it terrified him. He reached for you, but you pulled away, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this, Sukuna,” you whispered. “I thought we had something real, but I can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Sukuna had no words. For all his bravado and charm, he had never been good with emotions, never learned how to handle love. He had played with fire for so long that he never expected to get burned.

As the night wore on, you both knew it was your last night together. It was a bitter, heartbreaking farewell, filled with regret, longing, and the aching realization that love, no matter how intense, sometimes wasn’t enough to fix everything.

Aftermath

You walked away from Sukuna that night, your heart heavy with sorrow. You knew you had to let go, even though you still loved him. You focused on your studies, diving deeper into your passion for pharmaceutical health, using your pain as fuel to succeed.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was left to reflect on his choices. For the first time, he regretted not just his actions, but the man he had become. The weight of losing you haunted him, your absence leaving a void he couldn’t fill with fame or fleeting affection.

They both moved on, but that night—their last night of love—would always linger in your memories, a reminder of what could have been, and what was lost.

[thewickedjazzy]

“Stay with me, milaya”

➵Pairing: fyodor x afab! reader

➵Summary: fyodor searches for you across countless lifetimes, witnessing you die in his arms again and again. Yet, fate continuously brings you both back together with each of your rebirths.

➵Tags and word count: 5.3k words. sfw, angst to comfort, slight fluff, hallucinations, vivid memories, delusions, shifting scenes, mental health struggles, dissociation.

➵want to read more of fyodor ?

"There is a cruel irony in the fact that you are bound to return to this world, only to be torn away from it time and again. Seven lifetimes, each one a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time. But even as you are reborn, your fate is always the same—a life cut short, a soul never allowed to rest."

The sky is a deep, unforgiving gray, the snow falling gently around him. He stands alone in the desolate landscape, a faint figure against the blanket of white. His breath is visible in the frigid air as he stares down at the burnt-out edges of an old photograph clutched between his slender fingers. The image, though charred, still reveals traces of a face—your face, the one he’s sought in every life.

"Milaya... even now, your features begin to fade from memory, like everything else in this world. But I will not allow time to erase you completely—not when I am so close to finding you again."

His whispers drift on the wind, barely audible but there is an unwavering resolve in his eyes. He carefully traces the faint outlines of your face with his thumb, trying to capture every detail, every curve, every hint of the life that once was. Yet, he knows the futility of it—each reincarnation is a shift in memory, altering your essence just enough to make you a stranger once more.

"This time, my dear," he murmurs to himself, "I will not let you slip through my fingers. I have searched for you across centuries, manipulated the lives of others, all to find you. I will not be denied, not by destiny, not by anything."

Fyodor tucks the burnt photograph back into his coat, his expression stoic as he surveys the snow-covered ground. He is nonchalant, almost detached, but beneath the surface lies a storm—a desperation that he cannot fully suppress.

He begins to walk, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he heads toward the place where he knows you must be. His heart, though often cold, beats a little faster at the thought of seeing you again, of hearing your voice, even if you do not remember him. But he is nothing if not persistent. He will make you remember, one way or another.

Yet there you are, gazing at the sky above you as it transforms into a canvas of burnt orange and fading blue, cinnabar streaks bleeding through the clouds like a watercolor painting. Your thoughts drifted back to a time you thought you'd forgotten—a memory of the day you first met him. It felt distant now, yet the details were so vivid.

He had been unlike anyone you'd ever known. some how he stood out in ways most people didn’t. His features were strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just his looks that caught your attention—it was the quiet mystery that followed him wherever he went. His pale skin, almost alabaster, contrasted sharply with his dark clothing, and his eyes—those glowing, enigmatic violet eyes—held depths you couldn’t quite reach. There was often a flicker of pain in them, so subtle it disappeared as soon as it surfaced, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it.

Which makes total sense. His father 'Mikhail Dostoevsky' was well-known for his austere and viciousness—well after he was granted a nobleman's rank of course— contrariwise, Fyodor was something of a benevolent despot.

The gardens of the palace stretched out before you, a haven full of flowering fragrances, nooks, and crannies of sheer delight.

You caught sight of him standing beneath the glow of the moon, his posture composed as he conversed with his elder sibling. The moonlight cast a soft halo around his figure, making him appear almost ethereal. He seemed unbothered by the festivities around him, his attention focused solely on the conversation. Even in this elegant setting, he exuded a calm detachment, as though the world itself was just an intricate game he was patiently observing.

The path before you was lined with gravel, your footsteps muted by the soft crunch beneath your heels as you made your way through the evening’s parade of guests.

Delicate fairy lights hung in the trees, casting vibrant hues that danced across the faces of those gathered. There was laughter, the clink of glasses, and the hum of casual conversation, but your attention never wavered from him.

As if sensing your gaze, Fyodor glanced your way. His eyes met yours across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the lights, the music, the crowd. There was something paranormal in the way he looked at you. His lips curved ever so slightly into a familiar smile, one that seemed to say he had already anticipated your approach long before you had made up your mind.

Without thinking, you moved toward him. The space between you disappeared as you stepped into his world, where time seemed to slow. He turned to face you fully, his elder sibling excusing themselves from the conversation as you approached.

“Good evening,” his voice was smooth, a touch of amusement hidden in the depths. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

You hesitated, momentarily taken aback. “You knew?”

“Of course,” he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve been watching me for some time now.”

His words made your heart skip, but you steadied yourself. There was always something about him that made you feel as though you were always a step behind, as though he had already calculated every move before you even realized it.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, finding your voice again. “You stand out, even in a crowd like this.”

His smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes. “Perhaps, but it’s not the crowd I’m interested in.”

There it was again—that flicker of something deeper, something unreadable. You could sense the burden he carried, a burden of his past, his family’s legacy, and the expectations placed upon him. But beneath all of that, there was something else, something that drew you in even as it warned you to stay away.

“Shall we walk?” he offered, extending his arm toward the gardens.

You nodded, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm as you both began to stroll along the moonlit path. The evening air was cool, and the soft glow of the fairy lights seemed to follow your every step.

“What do you think of all this?” you asked, gesturing to the grand event taking place around you, the celebration, the laughter, the excess.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It’s fleeting. Moments like these… they’re beautiful, yes. But they fade, just like everything else.”

“But not everything fades,” you ventured softly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully once more. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, reading your thoughts before you could speak them. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but the way he just stood there gazing at you said everything.

“Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice low, “but that’s what makes it dangerous, am I right?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the night, about the fleeting beauty of the moment, or about something else entirely. But in that instant, you realized that with Fyodor, nothing was ever simple. He was a puzzle, a mystery, one that you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to solve, but one that you found yourself wanting to.

As you walked beside him, the moonlit scenery unfolding before you, his appreciation for beauty became evident. He had always been drawn to those who possessed a rare allure, and tonight, it was clear that you were his focal point. You were a vision of rare beauty, a one-of-a-kind presence in a world of fleeting appearances.

The scene before you blurs, in an instant, it felt as though time had slowed, and a piercing ringing filled your ears, making you gasp, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of memories.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” he murmured as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze.

Wait.. when did you get here? Where do these memories come from, and why do they haunt you so persistently?

“I’m just following orders,” you replied slowly, bringing your eyebrows together in a slight frown.

“Stay away from this,” he imploded, sighing. “Please, lyubov.” He places a tender kiss on your forehead.

“But fedya...why now? We’re on the brink of ending your father’s relentless corruption,” you argued. “Why give up now?”

But you knew... you know he wants to protect you from the malignant influences of his father’s world. Yet, the very opportunity to dismantle the chains binding him to this sinister system was slipping away. His father’s grip was a malignancy that threatened to stifle all hope.

“Close but no cigar,” he murmured, his chin resting on your head as he inhales your fresh scent.

But he was right. You should've stayed away from those morons ages ago. You made a mistake and paid dearly for it.

In that moment, the same familiar searing ringing in your ears swept across you, pulling you from the depths of your reverie.. it's happening again.

"Fuck, I am such an imbecile." blood spilled from your abdomen, splattering across your trembling hands as you pulled the dagger free. Your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, every inch of movement sending sharp, jagged pain rippling through your body. And slowly but surely, all you can see is the orange sky getting fuzzier and fuzzier as the pain intensifies.

You reached out with a shaking hand, desperately trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, but your limbs refused to obey. Instead of crying out for help, all that escaped your lips is the metallic taste of blood.

“Ah...fuck, not now…” you gasped, the light behind the man standing in the distance, widened with each passing moment. Is this it? Is this how it all ends for you?

You blink, once, twice, trying to focus as everything around you darkens, and just as quickly as you are pulled into this chain of nightmares, you find yourself back in the present as the persistent ringing stops.

Gasping, you sit at your desk, drenched in cold sweat. Your fingers instinctively press against your abdomen, but there’s no blood. No wound. The dagger, the pain, it’s all gone, as if it never existed.

You press harder against your stomach, feeling for any injury, but your skin remains unscathed.

"I need a mirror," you mutter, voice trembling as you push away from the desk and hurry toward the mirror in the entrance. Your reflection stares back at you, eyes wide with panic, face pale, but undeniably yours.

“It’s me,” you whisper in relief, leaning closer, bracing yourself against the cool surface. You reach for the pill bottle on the nearby shelf, your fingers fumbling with the cap as you swallow a dose, desperate to calm the storm inside your mind.

You sit back at your desk again, hands still shaking as you breathe deeply. "It’s fine. I'm okay. It’s all delusions," you whisper, trying to convince yourself.

But you somehow memorise all of these memories like the back of my hand. You call them memories, despite knowing you never actually lived through them, yet they always feel so incredibly real.

They never really leave, do they?

Even now, the phantom ache in your abdomen remains, a cruel reminder of something you’ve never lived through but can feel so vividly. The sky outside your window returns to its soft twilight hues, but you can’t shake the feeling that reality itself unravels around you. Each time you are pulled into those visions, it becomes harder to tell what is real and what is imagined.

While you're sitting there, managing to steady your breath, you wonder—how much longer can you hold on to what’s real when your mind keeps dragging you into a world that feels just as tangible?

You exhale a long, relieved sigh finally calming down as you try to regain your focus. What were you doing again? Ah, yes... finishing your new book.

You type the final words of the epilogue, fingers hovering above the keyboard for just a second longer. The ending comes together, but still, something doesn’t sit right with you... the title. The book is finished, but how can it be complete without the right name? You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, eyes scanning the screen with tired satisfaction.

You aren’t just any writer, though. Hidden behind your pen name, you’ve become a literary sensation, with fans desperate for even a glimpse of who you really are. But anonymity suits you; fame has never been the goal. The words are the only thing that matter, and the world you’ve built between the pages feels more real than anything else—maybe too real?

Despite finishing the epilogue, something feels unresolved. Titles usually come easily to you, but this one, this book demands something special. Inspiration eludes you. You need a change of scenery... somewhere that can kickstart the creative process again.

With a resigned sigh, you dress quickly, grab your notebook, and head to one of the few places that has become your sanctuary when ideas won’t come: your favourite café.

The café sits nestled on a quiet street, its warm glow inviting you in like your old home. There’s something about the atmosphere, the soft hum of conversation usuallybetween elder people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the soft clink of cups against saucers—that always seems to loosen the knots in your mind. You order your usual, find a quiet table in the corner, and set your notebook down, flipping it open to a fresh page.

"The War of Sakura," you scribble, only to strike it out immediately. "No, no, that’s terrible!! Ugh," you mutter to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips in frustration.

You take a sip of your coffee, leaning back in your seat as you stare out the window, hoping for some stroke of genius. Come on, Kurasu Café, work your magic. But the more you stare at the page, the more the words seem to evade you.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice someone sitting down across from you until you catch movement in your peripheral vision. Startled, you blink and look up, eyes widening as they land on the man before you.

It’s him.

For a moment, you’re convinced your mind is playing tricks on you again. The man in front of you has the same striking features, the same quiet mystery, the same piercing gaze that seems to see right through you.

The same man from your memories—the one you’re certain is nothing more than a figment of your imagination, or perhaps a character you’ve written into being.

But no. He’s here, in the flesh, sitting across from you in Kurasu Café.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly blink, half-expecting him to disappear like a mirage. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, as though he can read every thought running through your mind.

“Excuse me…?”

He tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You looked like you could use some company,” he says with the same silky smooth voice."You seemed… preoccupied."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, still trying to reconcile the fact that he’s real. The man in front of you is every bit as captivating as the one from your memories, as though he’s stepped right out of the story you’ve been crafting in your mind.

“I—uh,” you stammer, your fingers tightening around your pen as though it can somehow anchor you to reality. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

His smile deepens the same one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he says simply,“but I know you.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. How can he know you? And why does it feel like he’s not just referring to surface-level details of your life, but something deeper, something far more intimate?

You glance at your notebook, half-expecting to see the story you’ve just finished reflected back at you, as though it’s somehow come to life.

He leans forward slightly, folding his hands on the table between you. “You’re searching for something, right?”

You narrow your eyes, “And what makes you think that?”

He shrugs, a graceful gesture that seems too perfect, too practiced. “I can always read your eyes, my dear” he replies. “You’re chasing after a truth that eludes you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There’s something about the way he speaks, the way he seems to know things about you that you haven’t even told yourself. You should feel unnerved, but instead, you feel drawn to him—just like in those memories, you can’t escape.

“Who are you?” you finally ask, hoping it's not one of your delusions playing tricks on you.

His smile softens, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, it's the same flicker of pain that's so fleeting you almost miss it. He stands smoothly as he places a card on the table.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop running from your life,” he says, turning to leave.

You watch him go, your mind racing as you stare at the card he’s left behind. No name. No details. Just a single word, embossed in gold.

"Remember."

The café around you blurs, the noise fading into the background as you stare at the word on the card, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

And in that moment, you know—this isn’t over. The story isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

It's now 1:25 am as you sit at your desk, the dim light of the lamp doing little to coax you into sleep. Your eyes fixate on the card that lies on the desk, the single word "Remember" still taunting you. It feels surreal, like the whole encounter earlier today had slipped from reality into something else entirely. Your fingers brush over the card, tracing the embossed letters, as your mind races to make sense of what happened.

Should you call him?

You hesitate, holding the card between your fingers. Who was he? Could he really know you, or was he just one of your creepy fans, trying to unnerve you by dressing up like the protagonist of your story? You’ve heard of fanatics going to great lengths to mimic characters, but this felt different. Something about the encounter stayed with you, gnawing at the back of your mind.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it. Maybe it was just an elaborate prank, you think. Maybe he was just trying to scare you. Or worse, trying to manipulate you into thinking your own creations are coming to life.

But even as you try to convince yourself, it doesn’t sit right. No fan, no matter how obsessed, could have pulled off what you experienced earlier. The way he looked at you, as if he had known you forever, made your skin prickle. His words had hit too close to home, and the feeling that he understood something about you—something you barely understood yourself—makes it impossible to shake off the encounter.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you finally make up your mind. Your fingers hover over your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. You type in the number from the card, each digit sending a shiver of doubt through your body.

Placing the phone to your ear, you close your eyes as the ringing begins. Once. Twice. Your heart pounds in your chest, every nerve alive with anticipation. What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

Just as the ringing starts to stretch into a third tone, there’s a faint click. You hold your breath.

“Hello?”

His voice is calm, like the same smooth, familiar tone from the café.

You pause, unsure of what to say, gripping the phone tighter. “It’s me,” you finally manage to say.

He chuckles softly, as though he expected your call all along. “Ahh my dear...I was wondering when you’d call,” he says, his voice oh god his voice is so soft. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Your heart races. “Figure what out? What’s going on?” you ask confused. “Who are you?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he’ll answer at all. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. “You already know who I am,” he says. “You’ve always known, milaya.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The room seems to close in around you, the silence pressing down as you try to piece together the meaning behind his words. You want to argue, to demand answers, but something stops you. It’s as though the truth is right there, just beyond your reach, but you’re too afraid to grasp it.

He continues, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “There are no coincidences. I didn’t come to you by chance. I came to you because we both have known each other for way too long.”

Your head spins. What does that even mean? You glance at your manuscript, the story that had felt so real, so vivid—too vivid. The lines between fiction and reality begin to blur, and the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to separate the two.

“What do you mean we know each other?” You whisper, voice trembling.

On the other end, he chuckles softly, a sound that’s too familiar, as if you've heard it a thousand times before in some forgotten dream. The sound pulls you out of your racing thoughts and back into the moment, grounding you in an unsettling way.

"You’ll understand soon," his voice is calm, though it does nothing to ease the knot forming in your chest.

Before you can protest or demand more answers, he continues, "I’ll come to your place, darling. We can talk then."

Panic flares inside you. Your eyes widen as you shoot up from your chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “What? How do you—” you begin to ask, but before you can finish, his voice cuts through.

“I know where you live,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “What… are you a stalker or something?” The question tumbles out, half-accusation, half-fear.

But his response is immediate, eerily calm, “No,” he says. “I’m no stalker. I know because no matter how many things change, no matter how the world twists and turns… the place you live, it always remains the same.”

Your heart races, your mind scrambling to process his words. The place you live… always the same? How could he know that? Why does it feel like he’s speaking of something far deeper than just the physical space around you?

“Please, my dear don’t worry about the details right now,” he interrupts your thoughts. “Just know that I’ll be there soon. And when I arrive, we can talk more about what’s really going on.”

The line goes dead before you can respond. You stare at the phone in disbelief the world around you seems to tilt on its axis, and the comforting normalcy of your room suddenly feels alien. You sit in silence, the unanswered questions swirling in your mind as you hear a soft knock on your door.

You rise from your chair with trembling hands, each step towards the door feeling heavier than the last. When you open it, he stands there—just as enigmatic as before, with that same stoic, detached expression.

He smiles when he sees you, and the smile feels almost out of place with his otherwise stoic demeanor. In his hand, he holds a bouquet of red roses. “Good evening, Malyshka,” he says smoothly. “I thought these might brighten your night.”

Confusion knots in your stomach, but you take the bouquet from him, stepping aside to let him in. The roses are fresh, their scent a heady mix of sweetness and subtle spice. “Thank you,” you manage to say, “Please, come in.”

He moves past you slowly, navigating the living room with the familiarity of someone who’s been there more than a few times.

“I didn’t expect you to show up so soon,” you say, trying to steady your voice. “How did you find my place so quickly?”

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar look. “As I mentioned earlier, some things remain constant, no matter how much else changes. I’ve always known where to find you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice steady.

He sits on your couch, smiling softly “I want to help you understand the connection we've always shared,” he says. “There’s much to discuss, and I believe it’s time we begin.”

You nod, slightly anxious of what he's about to reveal, “Alright. I’m listening.”

He relaxes his posture, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s start with the basics,” he begins. “You’ve been searching for answers, and I’m here to provide them. But first, you need to accept that the boundaries between a life and another are not as rigid as they seem.”

With a deep breath, you take a seat across from him silently waiting for him to continue.

“This is probably the sixth time I’ve been through this,” he continues. “my dear...you have an ability—one that makes you reincarnate. It happens every seven lifetimes, and this one is the seventh and final life.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of his words. “Reincarnation?” you echo, incredulous.

He nods, “Yes. I’ve witnessed you die in my arms time and again. Each time, you lose your memories, and I find you again. No matter how many lifetimes pass, I have always been there. In every life, I have been your one and only—your husband.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks. “But… but how? I’ve been experiencing delusions lately, slowly disconnecting from reality. I- I even went to a therapist, thinking I was going insane, but…”

“But what?” he prompts gently.

“But now I’m starting to think those memories were real,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought maybe the writing affected me, that I was imagining things. But if what you’re saying is true… I’ve been recalling memories from past lives?”

He nods, his gaze compassionate yet firm. “Those fragments were memories from your past lives. The feelings of detachment, the disconnection from reality—it’s all part of your ability’s process. Each lifetime, you’ve struggled with this, but you’ve always managed to find your way back to me.”

You sit back, feeling overwhelmed. “So, all this time, I’ve been recalling memories from past lives? And that’s why I felt so disconnected and unsettled?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s why you’ve felt like something was missing, even when everything else seemed to be in place. Your soul remembers our connection, but the details slip away with each new life.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to find the truth in his words. “Are..are you immortal?”

He sighs softly, a look of resignation crossing his face. “Something like that,” he admits. “I’m not exactly immortal, but I endure through each lifetime. It’s not without its own pain.”

He stands and moves closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His touch so tender making your heart flatter subconsciously leaning into it, his eyes filled with profound...it's heartbreaking. “You have no idea how much I miss you, milaya,” he says quietly. “How much it hurts me to see you slip away from my arms each time. Every time, you’re taken from me by an ability user. The first time, it was my cruel father who killed you. The second time, it was an assassin with an ability. And so it went, one after another.”

His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “But this time? I will never let you go, moya lyubov. I won’t let anything take you from me again.”

Slowly, he leans in, and you find yourself lost in his half-lidded amethyst gaze, the slight glance of pain in his eyes is now gone. You brush a strand of his slightly long hair behind his ear, your knuckles grazing his cheekbones.

"Milaya," he whispers, closing the distance between you, his cold lips gently brush against yours, The moment your lips touch, a warm, relaxing spark ignites deep within you, spreading a soothing glow through your entire body. It’s a kiss that feels like coming home, like finding the missing piece of your heart.

Your body reacts instinctively. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He lifts you gently, your feet barely touching the ground, as he holds you close. His hands rest on your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as his kisses start to get sloppier with a sweet, heartfelt heat. It’s as if he’s trying to savor every moment, every touch, to make up for all the years apart.

He gently pulls away, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs, “You should get some rest, darling,” His words are a tender reminder, and his touch lingers as he softly caresses your cheeks, jaw and chin.

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck, “Please don't leave.”

The Russian man, ever devoted, cannot bear the thought of leaving your side now that you are once again in his arms. With a serene nod and a tender, otherworldly smile, he whispers,

"I will forever be by your side, moya milaya."

A/N: I know this isn’t my best work—I've been dealing with writer’s block lately, especially after spending the last few days working on Kinktober fics. Apologies if any part feels rushed. I also made sure to use past tense for the memories and present tense for the current events, in case you noticed that. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this!

[deathbxnny]

Anything for Natlan. Everything for Natlan. (Mavuika x GN!Reader)

A/N: As promised, here is the one-shot I spoke about! My health is unfortunately still very bad, but I'm desperate to write something and therefore hope you'll like this guys!<33

Content: Heavy angst, spoilers for the Natlan quest!, vague death of reader, hurt/no comfort, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

"So this is it? That's all you have to say?!" You stand on the steps to your once shared home, body trembling from the anger that coursed through you. The moon was high in the stary night sky, which reflected in your tearful eyes Mavuika had to turn away from. She was at a loss for words, unsure if there was even anything more to say. Because there truthfully wasn't. She had made up her mind whether you liked it or not.

"All these years we've spent together, all the promises we've made, this ring-" You held your hand out towards her, and you knew she could imagine it glinting in the moonlight beautifully as it always did. "-did it mean nothing to you? Nothing at all?" She didn't necessarily ever expect you to understand. If anything, she was glad that you were so angry, so enraged. It made things easier.

It made the reality of your situation easier.

She was leaving, planning to reincarnate in about 500 years to save your home from its demise. It was a hard feat, and it didn't mean that it could work out in the end. The world could still end, and the Abyss could still take over Natlan. Everything could have just been for nothing. But she needed to proceed with the plan anyway. It was a risk she was more than ready to take.

But you both knew that by the time she returned, you would be dead. Just like the rest of her family and friends here.

Mortality was beyond her now. She had found a way to cheat death and bring back hope to everyone. Except for you. It would be selfish of her to ask for you to understand, right? You wouldn't, and you couldn't, bare to let her go. You didn't care about tomorrow or the day after it if she wasn't there with you. And what would you do in her absence?

She imagined you slowly withering away as the years went by, sitting on the steps leading to your house whilst you wait for her return. Once you die, you'll search for her in the afterlife, only to realise that she had never even entered it. Would you feel betrayed then, too? You didn't know the extent of her plans. You were no warrior. You were a fleeting simplicity she deeply yearned for but knew she could never have as Natlan's Archon. You were her ultimate sacrifice. The one thing that tethered her to what she once was, to who she once was. To the mortal you married.

When did things go wrong? Why did she have to be the one to take on the burden of an unstoppable war? Why did she have to give up everything so that her friends could continue living their life's with their families? Why couldn't she do the same?

Hanging her head in shame, she heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breath short and unsteady as the doubts crept in. "I'm sorry. I don't expect you to understand." She finally said, and silence followed. It wasn't good enough. Nothing she told you now would be good enough. "You... mean the world to me." She still didn't turn around. Her heart couldn't let her do so. She'd never leave if she did. "And for that reason, I need to make this sacrifice. Natlan will never be free otherwise... and I'm sure we will meet again one day. Under the stary night, just like the first day we met."

"Many hardships await us from here. But I know you'll make it. You're strong, far stronger than I." She straightened up again, a deep, shaky breath leaving her lips. It was time. "Mavuika! Don't you dare leave me, I can't - " The woman began walking away calmly, her face devoid of any emotion but determination as she relished in the last remnants of your voice. "-I can't live in this world without you, I beg of you to stay damnit! Please don't leave me! Mavuika!" And yet, for some reason, you didn't chase her down. You didn't stop her from leaving. Deep down, you ultimately understood what she was doing. You were always so intelligent, so smart. You were the only one to truly get her. But even that wasn't enough. Your heart belonged to her, and she was willing to toss it in the flames, too.

Mavuika never turned around to face you that night, and you never stopped her either. You were the last person she said her goodbye's too before proceeding with her plans. Her heart wavered for a split moment, but she knew that this was fate calling out to her. This is life. Complex and ruthless as ever. Her emotions and past didn't matter, only what she was willing to sacrifice did.

Centuries later, she found herself beginning to hate hearing that word.

"Oh! We get it... so who is that?" Paimon's voice rang out, cutting through her mind as they stared at a picture of you and her family together, smiles bright and happy, unaware of the doom that would follow you soon. She chuckled at the question, eyes trailing over your face for what felt like the millionth time, and yet she could never get bored of it. If only she could remember what you sounded like...

"That... was my lover. I don't really know what happened to them after I left... but I believe they became a writer." Or at least, that's what she could gather from the small records that were left of you from 500 years ago. You had left your tribe and traveled all over Natlan. Your records and stories were still used by historians and tribesmen alike for retellings. But the only book she was able to get her hands on that proved all of this was the final book you wrote after having returned to your old home.

Paimon and the traveler glanced at each other with a solemn look, not knowing what else to say. The Archon's way to glory was tragic and painful. It was beyond them how someone could give up everything so willingly. And yet they had no time to ponder, as the next part of their to save Kichina plans came up.

Mavuika stayed behind, her hand carefully brushing against the worn-out book, which rested next to picture frame, not needing to open it to read it. She had memorized every sentence, every word, every letter. Sighing to herself, she knew that she'd have to sacrifice the last of you with it. This was all she had left.

But even you, once you reached your late 70s and settled down once more after years of travel, understood the meaning of her sacrifice at last. Walking away from the book and the picture frame, she recited the last paragraph in you ever wrote, deciding to leave her past at that. Guided through your own final words.

"And if Natlan one day can bathe in the scorching sun undisturbed and free from the hate of the Abyss, then I'd say my pain was worth something after all at last. I wasted decades looking for an answer to why you did it, Mavuika, and even now, my heart struggles to understand its loss. But one thing is clear now. One thing that we both knew from the start:

Anything for Natlan.

Everything for Natlan.

And may that never change until the last flickers of the sacred flames burn your heart and warm your face, just like I once did."

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 1

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Chapter Playlist:

Chapter 1: Rolling Stone

The blaring of the alarm cuts through the dim haze of the bar like a knife. I squint at the glowing screen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My shift is over, but it feels like the world is just beginning again. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses fade into the background as I gather my things, the weight of another night spent pouring drinks and avoiding questions heavier than the bottles I’ve been slinging.

What the hell am I doing here?

I didn't need this job—my grandfather left a decent savings, more than enough to keep Choso and Yuuji set for college. But I can't touch it. Not yet. The thought of dipping into that fund makes my stomach twist. It's for them.

It’s always been for them.

So, I picked up this stupid job I hate, slinging drinks for people who don’t care about anything but getting wasted.

“Another night, another dollar,” I mutter to myself, a bitter grin creeping onto my face.

The familiar faces of patrons blur as I head to the door, but the fleeting laughter and boisterous conversations wrap around me, a reminder of the normalcy I’m missing. I should be out there, living it up, but instead, I’m trapped in this monotonous cycle of work and regret.

It’s been eighteen months since Jin died, and three weeks since I lost Grandpa. Shouldn’t I be over this by now?

“Just need to keep my head down,” I say aloud, shaking my head. “Keep the money coming. They depend on you, Sukuna.”

I step outside into the night, the cool air hitting my face like a splash of cold water. The streets are alive with the sounds of nightlife, but they feel like a distant echo, a life I no longer belong to. I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs, trying to drown out the nagging thoughts in my head.

Y/N…

She’s been my anchor since my world turned upside down. I think about the year we’ve spent together, how she’s become the one bright spot in my otherwise dreary existence. But there’s a heaviness between us that I can’t shake. I haven’t been fully present, and I know it.

“I’m trying, dammit,” I whisper, the words almost lost in the rustle of the wind. “But how do I explain this?”

What if I lose her too?

My thoughts spiral. I’ve built walls so high, convinced that keeping her at a distance will spare her from the wreckage I’ve become. But every time I see her smile, it’s like a reminder of everything I’m not—of the light I can’t give her because I’m too busy drowning in my own sorrow.

You’ve done enough of this pity party, Sukuna. Just let her in. She wants to help. You can’t keep pushing her away.

But it’s easier said than done. Every time I think about opening up, about letting her see the raw mess I am, a voice in the back of my head reminds me of the risk. “What if she can’t handle it?��

What if she leaves?

With a heavy heart, I crush the cigarette butt under my boot and head toward my apartment. I can’t let her see how much I’m struggling. I won’t burden her with my pain. But the truth is, I don’t want to be alone anymore. I’m tired of pretending everything is okay when it’s not. I just want to talk to her, to feel that warmth radiating from her, even if it’s just for a moment.

As I approach my front door, I can see the lights flickering inside. Yuuji and Choso are likely glued to some video game, oblivious to the world outside. I shove the door open, the familiar creak echoing in the silence.

“Hey, I’m back,” I call out, forcing a casualness into my voice I don’t feel.

“Finally! We thought you fell in,” Yuuji replies, his voice full of that youthful energy that’s both infectious and exhausting.

“Yeah, as if. Just needed to pay the bills,” I respond, but my heart isn’t in it. I head to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water, chugging it down like it’s the last drop of sanity I’ll ever have.

I should call her. Just see how she’s doing. She’s been so patient with me, even when I’ve been a complete jerk.

I pull out my phone, the screen lighting up with her contact name. My finger hovers over the call button, hesitation creeping in.

What if she’s busy? What if she thinks I’m pathetic for calling her now?

“Just do it,” I whisper to myself, the words barely escaping my lips. “You can’t keep hiding.”

With a deep breath, I press the button, and the phone rings. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait, hoping she picks up, praying she won’t judge me for the mess I’ve made of everything.

“C’mon, Y/N. Pick up.”

After a few rings, her voice breaks through, warm and inviting. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” I say, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly at the sound of her voice.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?” she asks, concern lacing her tone.

“Yeah, just finished work. Thought I’d check in on you,” I reply, keeping it casual, though the truth feels heavier than I can articulate.

“Just hanging out. You sound tired,” she notes, and I can almost picture the way she frowns when she’s worried.

Always so damn perceptive.

“Yeah, long night,” I admit. “How about you? You doing okay?”

“Better now that you called,” she replies, her words wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

I need this. I need her.

“Maybe I’ll come over. I could use some company,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my heart races at the thought.

“I’d like that. Just… come over when you can,” she responds, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” I say, ending the call.

As I toss my phone onto the couch and lean back, I realize how much I’ve needed this connection. For all my reckless decisions and the way I’ve pushed her away, there’s something about her presence that makes the world feel less heavy.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can let her in.

I head to the bathroom to shower then to my room to change, scrolling through my phone I scrolled through spotify and played P5hng Me A*wy/Mike Shinoda and Linkin Park. I pulled out an old band tee from Bring me to the horizon and some ripped jeans. In the back of my draw I see some Xanax in a baggie. I pulled it out and popped one then a half I had from sometime before. 

I should really quit this at some point…..but not tonight. 

As I step out from my room into the living room, feeling a renewed sense of clarity, the front door creaks open. Choso strolls in, his expression a mixture of nonchalance and mischief that immediately puts me on high alert.

“Hey, where have you been?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can’t mask the irritation creeping in. I left him home with Yuuji, expecting a quiet night, and instead, I get this.

Choso shrugs, the dim light from the hallway casting shadows across his face. That’s when I catch a glimpse of something on his arm—ink, the kind that shouldn’t belong to someone barely eighteen.

For fuck’s sake.

I sigh, the tension in my chest tightening as I stride over to him, my heart pounding with frustration and concern. “What is this?” I snatch his arm, pulling it closer to examine the tattoo. It’s a crude design, something that looks like it was done in a rush, the lines jagged and uneven.

“Where have you been?” I demand, my voice low and sharp. “I left you home with Yuuji. Did you really think sneaking out was a good idea?”

Choso tries to pull his arm back, but I hold firm, scanning his face for any sign of remorse. Instead, I find a mix of defiance and pride that only stokes my anger further.

“Dude, it’s just a tattoo,” he says, a hint of rebellion in his tone. “I wanted to do something cool, you know?”

“Cool? You think getting a tattoo looking like you did it in a back alley is cool?” I hiss, my frustration boiling over. “You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or worse! What the hell were you thinking?”

He rolls his eyes, his teenage bravado coming out in full force. “It’s not a big deal, Sukuna. Everyone gets tattoos. I just wanted to be like you. You’re the one with all the ink.”

I let go of his arm, realizing the weight of my own hypocrisy. But I can’t back down now. “You think I’m some role model? I’ve made plenty of mistakes. This isn’t about me; it’s about you making smart choices! You’re not ready for this—”

“What, you mean you think I can’t handle it?” Choso snaps back, his youthful anger flaring. “I’m not a kid anymore. I can do what I want!”

“Yeah, well, you’re still living under my roof, and I’m still responsible for you,” I remind him, my voice strained but firm. “So until you can pay your own bills, I expect you to follow some rules. This isn’t a game, Choso. Tattoos can have consequences you’re not thinking about.”

Choso crosses his arms, his defiance cooling slightly as he looks away. I soften my tone, fighting the urge to explode. “I just… I don’t want you to end up regretting something like this. It’s not as easy to remove as you think. And if Yuuji knew you left the house, he’d freak.”

Choso’s eyes flicker with guilt for just a moment, but he quickly masks it. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to try something different. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

Not a big deal?

I lean against the wall, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “Look, just promise me you’ll think about your choices next time, alright? You’re not just a kid anymore, but you still need to act like one sometimes.”

“Fine. I promise,” he mutters, though I can see the annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

“Good. Now go shower and study and cover that thing up. You don’t need to show that thing off to everyone.” I start to walk back to the couch, but Choso grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Wait.” He looks me in the eye, something earnest in his gaze. “What if you’re not here? What if you get tired of taking care of us and just…leave?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged. I open my mouth to reassure him, but the truth is, I’m terrified of what he just said.

What if I do?

“Listen, Choso,” I start, searching for the right words. “I’m not going anywhere. I lost too much already. You and Yuuji are all I have left.”

“Then stop acting like it doesn’t matter,” he shoots back, and I can’t help but feel the sting of his words.

I swallow hard, staring at him, wishing I had the right answers. “I’m trying, okay? Just… let me figure this out.”

He nods, but I can see he’s not fully convinced. “Alright. Just don’t go disappearing on us, okay?”

With that, he heads off toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

I can’t disappear. I won’t. But what if I keep failing?

With a heavy heart, I plop back down on the couch, staring at my phone. I wonder if I should call Y/N again. Maybe she’d have something to say that would make all of this feel a little less overwhelming.

As I sit there, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not just fighting for myself anymore. I’m fighting for Choso, for Yuuji, and for Y/N. I need to find a way to hold it all together.

Somehow. I have to.

I plop down on the couch, the weight of the evening still heavy on my shoulders. The faint smell of cigarettes and whiskey clings in the air. 

Jesus, it stinks in here

 Just as he begins to find a moment of peace, Yuuji plops down next to him, grinning as he passes over his lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

“Here,” Yuuji says, his voice light, almost playful.

“Stay outta my shit, man,” I grumbles, though I can’t help but feel a hint of amusement at Yuuji’s carefree demeanor.

Yuuji chuckles, unfazed. “Where’s Y/N? I didn’t see her at Grandpa’s funeral.”

The question hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, I feel the ground shift beneath me. I had meant to tell Y/N about  grandfather's passing—she had been there for me through so much—but the weight of it all had left me feeling paralyzed.

It wasn’t important that she was there…

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the guilt settle like a stone in my chest. “It wasn’t important that she was there,” I muttered, trying to brush it off.

“But isn’t she important to you?” Yuuji presses, his tone shifting to something more serious.

I fell silent, the question echoing in my mind.

Is she?

I reach for a cigarette, pulling it out with slightly trembling hands before lighting it. The flame flickers in the dim light, illuminating my features for a moment as I inhale deeply.

“Dude,” Choso pipes up from the hallway, his voice laced with annoyance. “You said no smoking in the house.”

I rolled his eyes, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Cut me some slack,” I snapped, though I can’t ignore the tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me that I should be setting a better example.

The deep feeling that I’m forgetting something tugs at me, like a whisper just beyond my mental grasp. But then again, if I forgot it, it probably wasn’t important. Right?

Yuuji is staring at me, a knowing look in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he leans back against the couch, looking comfortable in the silence that stretches between them.

“Things have been rough, huh?” Yuuji finally says, his voice softer now.

“Yeah,” I replied, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “You could say that.”

Choso saunters back into the living room, arms crossed, eyeing Sukuna. “You really should talk to Y/N, you know? She cares about you, and it’s clear you’re going through something.”

I glared at him, irritation flaring. “I don’t need you two playing therapist. I’m handling my shit.”

Choso raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Handling it how? By ignoring everything? By pushing everyone away? Because that’s not working.”

The truth stings, and I shifts in my seat, the tension coiling tighter. “I’m not pushing anyone away,” I shoot back, though I know it sounds hollow.

Yuuji breaks the tension with a laugh. “Yeah, you are. You could at least let her in a little. She might surprise you.”

The idea sits heavy on my chest. 

Could Y/N really surprise him? Could she handle what he’s been dealing with?

What if she can’t?

I take another drag, the nicotine coursing through me like a desperate lifeline. “Whatever, man. Just drop it.”

Choso opens his mouth to argue, but Yuuji nudges him with a chuckle, and they both fall into an easy banter, leaving Sukuna to his own thoughts.

Maybe I should call her...didn’t I call her…can’t fucking remember. 

But the longer I sat there, the more I felt that familiar weight pressing down. The feeling of forgetting something important resurfaces, and I can’t shake it off.

As the night drags on, Sukuna fights the urge to reach for his phone again, knowing that if he does, everything could change. But at the same time, it feels like he’s on the edge of something—something he can’t quite see but knows is there, waiting for him to make the first move.

What the hell am I doing?

I flicks the cigarette butt into the tray, the embers glowing as it lands.

“Hey,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence, my voice rough. “What if I mess everything up? What if I don’t know how to make it right?”

Choso and Yuuji both turn to me, surprised by my admission.

“Then you figure it out,” Yuuji replies, his tone steady. “Just like you’ve always done. Just don’t shut her out.”

Maybe it’s time to stop running and start fighting. For once.

With a deep breath, Sukuna decides it’s time to stop overthinking it. He picks up his phone, staring at the screen, ready to reach out to Y/N.

This is my last chance...but I’m exhausted right now. Fuck!

Yuuji’s POV

Sukuna's exhaustion finally takes over as he sinks deeper into the couch, his body curling into itself. The low hum of the television fills the room, blending with the sound of his steady breathing. He drifts off, lost in the chaos of his mind.

Meanwhile, Yuuji glances at the sleeping figure of his older brother, a frown creeping across his face. Curious and a bit worried, he reaches for Sukuna's phone, its screen illuminated in the dim light. He unlocks it and starts scrolling through the messages, his brow furrowing as he realizes how many texts from Y/N have gone unanswered.

“Dude, look at this,” Yuuji says, wandering over to Choso, who’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. Yuuji holds the phone out for Choso to see, displaying the countless messages from Y/N that Sukuna has ignored for the past month.

Choso glances at the screen, then rolls his eyes. “Mind your own business, Yuuji,” he replies, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Seriously, though,” Yuuji presses, a touch of frustration creeping in. “He’s been ignoring her for so long. What’s going on with him?”

Before Choso can respond, Sukuna’s phone starts ringing, the sound piercing through the quiet. Yuuji’s eyes widen, and he instinctively silences the ringer, a mix of concern and curiosity flashing across his face.

“What should we do?” Yuuji asks, looking at Choso for guidance, a bit of desperation in his tone.

Choso shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Mind our own business. It's not our place to interfere.”

Yuuji sighs, glancing back at Sukuna, who remains blissfully unaware of the conversation happening around him. “But I like Y/N. She’s cool and puts up with him,” he points out, gesturing to his older brother, still sleeping on the couch. “She deserves better than this.”

Choso lets out a breath, his frustration shifting to something softer as he considers Yuuji’s words. “Yeah, I get that. But what do you expect us to do? You think we can just barge in and demand he talk to her?”

Yuuji's eyes narrow, determination hardening his features. “Maybe that’s exactly what we should do. He needs a wake-up call. This isn’t just about him anymore. He’s got people who care about him—people who are worried.”

“Like you?” Choso scoffs, but there’s no real bite in his tone. “You think that’s going to make a difference?”

“Maybe,” Yuuji replies, his voice firm. “But if we don’t try, then we’re just letting him push everyone away. We can’t let him go down this path alone.”

Choso hesitates, the weight of Yuuji’s words sinking in. He knows Sukuna is struggling, knows that beneath the bravado lies someone broken and scared.

“Okay, let’s wake him up, then,” Choso finally concedes, pushing himself off the wall. “But if he gets pissed, that’s on you.”

Yuuji nods, determination burning in his eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

Together, they approach the couch, the weight of their intentions hanging in the air. Yuuji crouches beside Sukuna, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey, Sukuna. Wake up, man.”

Sukuna stirs, groaning as he squints against the light. “What the hell?” he mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair, still half-asleep.

“Time to get up,” Yuuji says, his tone serious now. “We need to talk.”

Sukuna blinks, confusion clouding his eyes as he tries to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Talk about what?” he grumbles, irritation creeping in as he stretches.

“About Y/N,” Choso interjects, crossing his arms again as he leans against the wall.

The mention of her name seems to clear the fog from Sukuna’s mind. “What about her?” he asks, sitting up straighter, instantly alert.

“You’ve been ignoring her, man,” Yuuji says, his voice firm but compassionate. “She deserves better than this.”

Sukuna’s heart sinks, the familiar guilt clawing at his insides. He opens his mouth to protest but finds no words.

“I don’t want to hear excuses,” Yuuji continues, determination etched on his face. “You need to reach out to her. She cares about you, and you’re pushing her away. We can’t just sit here and watch you do this to yourself.”

Sukuna looks between the two of them, the weight of their concern crashing over him.

Maybe I’m not the only one hurting here.

“I… I know,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Choso steps closer, his expression softening. “Then what are you waiting for? Call her. Don’t let this go on any longer.”

Sukuna glances down at his phone, the screen still displaying Y/N’s name. What am I waiting for?

With a deep breath, he picks it up, the decision weighing heavily on his heart. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and start fighting for the people who matter most.

Sukuna’s POV

I glance down at my phone as it lights up again, Y/N’s name flashing across the screen.

Not again.

I let it ring, barely registering the sound as I mumble to myself, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

But the ringing doesn’t stop. I grit my teeth, a sense of dread bubbling in my stomach. “For fuck's sake,” I mutter, watching it ring again.

Why can’t she just give me a minute?

When the phone vibrates for the third time, I finally snap. “Fuck!” I answer, irritation spilling over as I press the phone to my ear. “What?”

“Where the hell have you been?” she shouts, her voice cracking like a whip through the line, the frustration palpable.

I wince, already regretting picking up. “I’ve been… busy,” I respond, my tone defensive.

“Busy ignoring me?” She scoffs, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes, her frustration radiating through the call.

This is so typical…

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside. “I’m not doing this right now, Y/N. It’s not a good time.”

“Not a good time? You’ve been dodging my calls for weeks! What the hell is going on with you?”

Weeks… The word hits me hard, the weight of it settling heavily on my chest. I can’t keep running from this.

“Look,” I start, my voice low, “my grandfather is dead.”

Silence falls on the other end, thick and suffocating. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head.

“...When’s the funeral?” she finally asks, her tone shifting from anger to concern.

“It was three weeks ago,” I reply, the admission tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Three weeks?” she whispers, disbelief lacing her words. “And you said nothing?”

“I'm handling it, Y/N!” I bite back, the frustration boiling over. I can feel the anger and grief bubbling up, the remnants of my grandfather’s absence clawing at my throat.

I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.

Her silence feels like a dagger, cutting deeper than any argument we've had before. “This isn’t how you handle things, Sukuna,” she finally says, her voice shaking.

“I’m not doing this dumb shit with you tonight,” I snap, the heat of the moment overwhelming me. “I’m hanging up.”

And with that, I cut the line, the sound of the call ending echoing in the stillness of the room.

What the hell was I thinking?

My heart races as I throw my phone onto the couch, the silence that follows feeling deafening. I bury my head in my hands, fighting against the emotions swirling inside me.

She doesn’t understand. She can’t know what this feels like… The anger, the pain, the constant ache of losing my grandfather and not being able to show it. How could I have told her?

I lean back against the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Just give me time…

But as I sit in the dim light, the loneliness creeps in. The silence is heavy, and I know I can’t keep pushing her away. I want to reach out, but the fear of exposing my vulnerability paralyzes me.

I close my eyes, wishing for the chaos to settle, for a moment of peace to wash over me. But it doesn’t come.

Tomorrow, I’ll talk to her. I’ll figure this out.

But as the minutes stretch on, I realize the truth—if I keep this up, I might lose her for good.

Ding.

I sigh, my heart sinking as I open my eyes, dreading that it’s another text from her. I reach for my phone, bracing myself for the disappointment, but I feel a wave of relief wash over me when I see the name flashing on the screen. It’s not Y/N.

It’s Toji.

I’m five minutes away and I got pizza and weed.

I throw the phone back onto the couch and turn to Yuuji and Choso, who are in the kitchen, their heads craned toward the door, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Zenin is coming over,” I announce, trying to keep my voice steady.

Yuuji shrugs, a nonchalant expression on his face. “And I don’t give a fuck.”

Choso snickers, and I can’t help but wonder,

Who raised this kid?

“Yuuji,” I say, my tone firm, “you’ve got school tomorrow. Head to bed.”

He rolls his eyes, but I can see the weariness creeping in. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

I shift my gaze to Choso, who’s been sitting quietly, but I know he’s been feeling the pressure of finals coming up soon. “You need good grades to get into university, too. Go study or some shit.”

He raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I will, but it’s hard to focus with you two around.”

Great, more attitude. “If you can’t handle the distraction, then take your study materials and go somewhere else.”

“Not a chance,” he says, laughing as he grabs a bottle of soda from the fridge. “Besides, I want to see what Zenin brought.”

I shake my head, the corners of my mouth twitching upward despite my efforts to maintain a stern facade. “You two are impossible.”

The door swings open a moment later, and Toji steps inside, a broad grin on his face, pizza boxes stacked high in his arms. “Guess who brought dinner!” he calls out, the aroma wafting through the air and instantly making my stomach growl.

“About damn time!” Yuuji jumps up, rushing over to help him with the boxes, while Choso just stands there, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

I lean back on the couch, watching the chaos unfold. This is a welcome distraction. I can feel the heaviness of the earlier conversation with Y/N slipping away, if only for a moment.

Toji, pulling out a baggie of weed from his pocket and tossing it on the couch next to me. “Let’s get this party started. It’s been a rough week for all of us.”

Yeah, rough doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But I nod, grateful for his presence, even if he’s a walking headache sometimes.

Maybe this is what I need—just a bit of normalcy, a moment to breathe.

I watch as Toji sets down two boxes of pizza on the table, and he turns his gaze to me, studying my face.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks, his tone casual, but I can hear the underlying concern.

I stay silent, reaching for the weed instead, the familiar ritual of rolling a blunt providing a momentary escape. As I begin to roll, I feel Toji’s eyes on me, a bead of sweat forming at the back of my neck.

“What?” I finally snap, my voice edged with irritation.

Toji sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Guess we’re doing this.”

Yuuji, ever the meddler, chimes in with a grin, “Y/N broke up with him.”

I shoot him a glare, my hands stilling. “She didn’t.”

“Sure sounded like you guys were about to,” Choso adds, his voice matter-of-fact, as if I hadn’t just dismissed Yuuji’s comment.

I lean back, rolling my eyes. “So you’re both minding my business now?”

Yuuji shrugs, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “Of course.” He smacks his lips exaggeratedly, just to piss me off even more.

Toji raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What happened?”

I take a deep breath, the memory of our earlier fight flooding back, sharp and painful. “We got into it,” I say, my voice low. “She called me out for ignoring her, and I... I told her my grandfather died.”

“To be fair,” Toji interjects, “that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I know!” I shoot back, frustration creeping in. “But it was the way she said it. Like it was my fault I hadn’t told her sooner. I just—”

I stop, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of it all settle on my shoulders. “I didn’t want her to worry. I thought I could handle it. But I’m just a mess right now.”

“You can’t just shut her out,” Toji says, his voice steady, and I can tell he’s trying to keep me from spiraling. “You need to let her in. She cares about you.”

“Yeah, but does she really? Because it doesn’t feel like it right now,” I mutter, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

Choso exchanges a glance with Yuuji, and I know they’re thinking the same thing. 

You’re fucking this up, Sukuna.

“Look,” Yuuji says, more serious now, “maybe just talk to her. Apologize or something. She might be pissed off, but she’ll listen. She always does.”

“I don’t know if I can face her after that,” I admit, the confession hanging heavy in the air.

Toji slaps my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “You don’t get to hide from this. Just be honest. You’ve got to get your shit together, man.”

I nod, taking a deep breath, the reality of it all sinking in. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The weight of my decisions looms over me, but amidst the chaos and noise of the kitchen, I can feel the glimmer of hope.

Maybe I can fix this… maybe it’s not too late.

I finish rolling the blunt and take a moment, grounding myself. “Alright, enough about me. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Yuuji and Choso dive into the pizza boxes, their laughter echoing around me. And for a moment, the laughter drowns out the noise in my head, the worries about Y/N fading to the background as I join them.

My phone rings again, cutting through the brief moment of normalcy. I glance at the screen and see it's Y/N. My stomach drops at the sight. I switch the ringer off again, desperate to avoid this conversation.

Toji, however, doesn’t miss a beat. He watches the phone and answers it. “Hey, what’s up, Y/N?”

I can hear her voice through the speaker, sharp and clear. “Where’s Sukuna?”

Toji shrugs, glancing at me. “He’s around. Is there something you need?”

I feel the air shift in the room as Y/N’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Tell him to come get his shit from my place.”

My heart drops.

She isn’t doing this right now.

 The weight of her words hits me like a punch to the gut.

Toji pauses, clearly surprised. “Are you sure about that?”

“His grandfather died,”

 Y/N responds, her tone unyielding. “And?”

And? 

The anger surges through me, hot and raw. I mouth to Toji to pass me the phone, but he shakes his head, his expression saying it all: 

Don’t. Just let it go.

“Y/N, you know it’s not that simple,” Toji says, his voice steady but laced with caution. “He’s going through a lot right now.”

“Yeah, well, so am I,” she snaps back, frustration dripping from her words. “I can’t keep doing this, Toji. He’s been ignoring me, and I’m done. Just tell him to come get his things.”

I can feel my heart racing, the anger boiling beneath the surface.

She really done with me?

Toji glances at me again, gauging my reaction. “Y/N, I get that you’re upset, but maybe you should talk to him instead of kicking him out. You guys have been together for almost a year.”

“Exactly! Almost a year and I feel like I’m in this alone. I’m tired of waiting around for him to decide he wants to talk to me. I deserve better than this.”

Does she really think I don’t care?

“Okay, but…” Toji starts, but Y/N cuts him off.

“No, Toji. I’m not going to keep making excuses for him. He needs to take responsibility. If he doesn’t want to be with me, then that’s his choice.”

I’m clenching my fists now, the frustration spilling over. I can’t just let this happen.

“Just pass me the phone,” I finally say, my voice low and dangerous.

Toji gives me a hard look but eventually relents, handing me the phone with a reluctant sigh. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“Y/N,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, but it cracks slightly, betraying my anger. “You really want to do this right now?”

“What do you want me to say, Sukuna?” she replies, her voice steady yet tinged with hurt. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. You think I’m just going to sit here and pretend everything’s okay?”

“I’m not ignoring you!” I shoot back, frustration bubbling over. “I’m dealing with shit, and I thought you’d understand. My grandfather just died, for fuck’s sake!”

“Then talk to me about it!” she retorts, her voice rising. “I can’t help you if you shut me out. I’m not asking for much; I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I’m handling it, Y/N,” I insist, my words coming out sharper than I intended. “But you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like right now.”

“Then make me understand!” she snaps. “Stop pushing me away!”

I can hear the desperation in her voice, and it’s like a knife twisting in my gut.

“Y/N, I…” I start, but the words fail me.

What do I say?

But before I can finish, she sighs deeply, the sound heavy with resignation. “Just come get your stuff. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure this out.”

“Fine,” I reply, my voice quiet. “I’ll be there.”

She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between us like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Y/N…”

But it’s too late. She hangs up, leaving me with nothing but the echo of our argument hanging in the air.

Toji and Choso watch me closely, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down. I want to scream, to lash out, but instead, I drop the phone to my side and run a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest.

The weight of the argument hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. With a heavy sigh, I pass my car keys to Choso. “Go pick up my stuff.”

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Nah, bro. You’re doing that on your own. I’m not getting in that mess.”

I scoff, frustration boiling over. “Seriously? You think I want to deal with this shit alone?”

“Yeah, I do,” Choso replies, crossing his arms defiantly. “I don’t want any part of that drama. You can’t just ignore her for weeks and expect her to roll over when you come crawling back.”

“Whatever, man,” I mutter, pushing myself off the couch. I turn to Toji, who’s watching us with a bemused expression. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving me off. “I’ll keep an eye on these two losers over here.” He messes up Yuuji’s hair, earning a frustrated grunt from the younger guy.

With a heavy heart and a storm brewing in my chest, I head to my car. The engine roars to life, but it does little to drown out the chaos in my mind.

 What the hell am I even going to say to her?

[shinysobi]

the kiss (aka that one scene) and subsequently—

*spoilers for bridgerton s3*

ahem...this might be a bit indelicate? Let us think about who Colin is, at his core. he is a dreamer. he's sweet, he's kind to a fault, and he's also the Bridgerton brother most likely to have ao3 in the 21st century.

Penelope asks for a kiss, and Colin cannot deny her that. so much of their relationship is evinced by the fact that they cannot deny each other anything, even if it is at the expense of their own well-being. Penelope has never once voiced her feelings for Colin because she is aware that he would never see her in such a light, and mostly because, she does not think that her feelings are his business. In the books and in the show, Penelope has never voiced her crush.

So, when she's facing the very real prospects of remaining a spinster and firmly under the influence of her mother and sister (Prudence, especially, I don't really think Phillipa would be that bad) she makes a choice to ask the love of her life, mind you, the one man she had always felt safe with, to kiss her. She is waving goodbye to the dreams of being married, finding a place of her own in a world where a woman had no value if they were not attached in matrimony to a man. Yes, it seems pathetic, yes, it seems desperate. It is. It is desperate. Penelope is desperate at this moment, and she is reckless, but she is not pathetic. She wants to be kissed, and she asks for it, it is a moment where we see a woman exercise agency for the first time in her life. Feelings are so very rarely black or white, and so is this scene; on one hand, you feel wronged and angry at the fact that Penelope is pleading for a kiss, on the other, you empathize with her situation and where she is coming from. She wants this moment, and who better to ask from, than her best friend? Colin has always, always been there for her, and she has been there for him. They know each other the best, she has had the privilege of being able to love him. She wants love, and she has it in her hands at this moment, a fleeting, transient glimpse into what her life could be if she were someone else. This is the moment when Penelope Featherington's dreams are well and truly shattered.

And that same kiss turns Colin's world on its axis. It is so wonderful to see on screen how the same action can have two entirely opposite, but just as important effects on people. Colin has always loved Penelope. This is not even a discussion. He took action on behalf of her family (on behalf of her, really) when he found out about her cousin's schemes. He gives Cressida the cut direct when she humiliates Penelope in front of him. He seeks her out at every social assembly. He has always looked out for her and has always loved her. But all this is platonic. He has never felt a physical connection with her, because neither of them has had the chance to explore that avenue. Neither Colin nor Penelope are aware of their latent attraction to each other. For Penelope, it is because she has never been allowed to feel a physical connection with anyone, and Colin because he has never thought of pursuing a physical connection with Penelope. It is their kiss that ultimately awakens that connection in Colin, and by connection, Penelope asking Colin for a kiss is what puts the wheels in motion.

Which brings me to the first paragraph. Colin is the sweetest boy in the Bridgerton family (Gregory I love you, but nine children? Get off that woman, immediately). When he realizes that he likes Penelope, and loves her romantically, what does he do? He internalizes it like he does everything else. So much of Colin's character arc, both in the book and in the show is about him internalizing everything. He refuses to voice his own feelings if they make other people uncomfortable, much to the detriment of his own mental health. After being deceived in the first season, he removes himself from London because he cannot bear to stay in the city anymore, not when he is reminded of how naive and stupid he was, every moment. It is also important to realize that Colin has been viewed as the naive, soft-hearted brother, by everyone else. When he gets engaged in season 1, Anthony, his big brother, the example he is supposed to follow, tells him that he should have taken Colin to brothels and accuses him of getting married to have sex. In season two, Penelope, an outsider, is the only person who gives a damn about his thoughts. His own family refuses to listen to him, and what does he do when he returns a second time? He tells them, "I shall not bore you with the details". He knows, no one essentially gives a shit. This is why, when he comes to the knowledge of the full breadth of his feelings for Penelope, he internalizes so hard he dreams of her. And this is not an indelicate dream. He does not dream of taking her in the back of a carriage or on his yellow sheets, he dreams of her returning his feelings. He is yet unaware of the extent of Penelope's feelings toward him, but he knows he should not force his feelings onto her, and that is why he dreams of her.

I could go on and on about why Colin is the best Bridgerton brother (Gregory, nine children) but it will take up a lot of space, so I shall keep it brief: (in the show) Anthony almost marries Edwina, a girl who is what, thirteen(?) twelve (?) years younger than him, a girl who has no safety net outside of her sister and her mother, her sister whom Anthony was in love with, and refused to confront his feelings for. Literally, no one forced Anthony to propose to Edwina, he went down on one knee while being aware of his feelings for her older sister. Kate would have been content with relinquishing her younger sister to a marriage where she loved someone who would forever love another. Imagine if Anthony had married Edwina as he intended. Do you think, for even a second, that he would look at her face and not be reminded of Kate? Not to mention neither of them took action till the very last second, and Edwina, a bystander, was forced to ruin herself. Half the reason why she married abroad is the fact that not a single person in London would have married her (headcanon: she marries the Prince, fuck you, Anthony) when she was very publicly denigrated as the Viscount Bridgerton's cast-off. Yes, the Queen's favor saves Anthony and Kate's marriage from scandal, but it also saves Edwina, it saves her from further public embarrassment and scrutiny by a ton that not only views her as an outsider but also envies her for securing the title of the Season's Diamond. (Book)Benedict forces a woman from a servant class to be his mistress while he searches for the girl he fancied to be the love of his life. I'm sorry, there's no coming back from that. Colin gets angry when he is aware of who Lady Whistledown is, but his anger is not directed at Penelope herself. It is directed at her lack of thought for her own safety. Colin puts Penelope's safety and reputation over everything. In the carriage scene, he steps back as soon as he hears the words "but we are friends" from her mouth; he takes it as a sign, that this is Penelope telling him I don't have feelings for you, and he is happy to respect her wishes. Colin would have never voiced his feelings a second time if she had rebuffed him then, he would have been happy to remove himself from Society and spend his days on the Continent, writing in his journals. So much of both Penelope and Colin is them learning to voice their wants and desires and fuck, it's the most beautiful thing to watch as it comes to life on my screen.

[nico-esoterica]

Your thinking is an investment.

(Long Post): Even if shit doesn't hit the fan right away, you're planning for that story to eventually happen. If you hate your job, your living situation, your life path, whatever it is, the story you're telling about it to others and yourself is always manifesting. You can't turn it off. It's okay to not enjoy it, hate it, etc. But it's important to pivot your mindset and investing in seeing it changing. Whatever you tell yourself consistently will play out.

I'm going to discuss intrusive thoughts and OCD below and how I managed mine while manifesting:

Intrusive thought/OCD wise, it's not any or every thought that pops up in your brain. It's just what you validate. Even if you're afraid or paranoid about xyz, your emotional mind thinks it's real but the rest of you doesn't. Your mental responses you can't control aren't going to manifest. In therapy, you learn that you don't have to give these fleeting thoughts power, even if they're incessant. You still have control. It's also totally okay if you vent about your circumstances btw. That's not going to affect anything if you say it won't.

Everyone is always going through something. And during all this, especially with transitioning from taking full control after a lifetime of thinking you couldn't, it may feel like absolutely nothing is going on and shit can feel frustrating. However, what you don't know is that you're rewriting all of the people and situations you've changed your mind about. You may not see the full changes right away, but please take every single 'coincidence' as a sign of it working, because it is. People are going to start being nicer and more considerate, situations will be less frustrating, money will be more fluid, and your mental health will improve. It's also okay to be emotional, frustrated, and to just not be okay. If your story overall doesn't change, you're fine. Let those emotions flow!

There's going to be a lot of epiphanies and break throughs, especially if you start nurturing your self concept and apply that peace of mind it gives to everything. You're going to start noticing harmful thought patterns you've had, decisions you've made because of conditioning, and you'll see what you need to internally let go of. This is where therapy, therapeutic tools, and different spiritual practices and rituals come in to help this adjustment. There's no one size fits all for everyone so you should ideally find what speaks to you and not what you 'think' you should adopt. Your intuition, imo, will help you out here. This may be a period where you purge out old relationships, habits, and lifestyles which don't align with you anymore. They may even simply fall off on their own. None of this has to happen but is what I see in a lot of people due to my own journey. But nothing bad has to happen nor do you need to sacrifice anything. That's Hollywood-dramatic, lmao. You just may not resonate with a lot of shit anymore. And that's OKAY! It's great tbh. You're going to notice people's limitations they impose on you or themselves immediately too.

The second you say shit's new, then it is. When you continue to choose it or persist, you'll notice the wheels moving. After a week, month, months, or a year or more, your circumstances are going to dramatically change. They can literally happen over night if you like your shit to move fast too. After a while, you're going to understand the mechanics of how YOU personally manifest and what you like to do vs what you don't. There's no one size fits all. It doesn't matter if you've tried a thousand techniques. As long as you say everything you do is working and you are a stubborn motherfucker, your mind's going to get used to it and will stop fighting you on everything, especially if you're neurodivergent. Speaking from experience. When you tell your brain who's boss consistently, it takes you at your word and the trust you have in yourself to choose the best outcomes you develop from your self concept starts running in the background. It'll become easier to self-soothe, reassure yourself, and regulate your nervous system. When you say you're in control, your universe says 'okay, bet' and you'll find those resources easily or you'll start naturally doing them.

You're constantly investing in what works for you or works against you. You're either trusting in things working or working against your favor. That's why it's always good to think great things about yourself regardless of circumstances how things look or seem or how the past played out. All outcomes shift immediately with your awareness of what you think is possible. Your senses are limited and this is why it's crucial to let your imagination do the rest. Because shit always catches up. Your brain can't tell the difference between what you think you're experiencing vs what you actually are irl.

So if you continually tell yourself good things are happening or will, there has to be a confirmation bias for that. Your brain runs off your logic at all times. Therefore, you can rationalize that anything can work and it will. From a nitty gritty pov, you should always make sure to still be reasonable about shit, like to not blow your rent on some bs in one night. But after a while, you'll be able to do that and it won't be a problem. Don't stress your mental bandwidth out like that at first unless you have the inner resources to lock in on a good outcome. Dream big and do all things big, but do so safely without risking your mental health.

Whatever you invest in, positive or negative, will always pay off. Choose them wisely :)

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

give yourself a reason | m. murdock

a/n: hi guys. this is much different than what I promised you last time I posted and it's a lot different than what i usually post but i've been struggling so intensely with my depression and anxiety and genuinely the only thing that's gotten through it is "you can't kill yourself yet, you haven't seen daredevil born again" so i guess this is a fic about that lmao warnings: massive trigger warning for depression and suicidal thoughts, like just. pretty much the entire fic is the reader wanting to die and having bad mental health. besides maybe some cursing (but i cant recall) that's pretty much it. word count: 2.1k summary: the devil of hell's kitchen talks you off a ledge (literally) pairing: matt murdock x gn!reader now playing: call your mom - noah kahan "medicate, meditate, save your soul for jesus/throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason/don't wanna drive another mile without knowin' you're breathin'"

You are the light in a dark room for so many people.

You are the glue of your friend group—Constantly planning hangouts, constantly responding to text messages, you’re always there for people.

You visit the bodega at the corner every morning for a large coffee and to pet the bodega cat.

You bring donuts in to work every Friday, for no reason other to bring joy to people’s lives.

You have every reason to live.

You…

Are standing on the ledge of your building, wondering if you’d pass out before you hit the ground.

You’ve dealt with depression for years. It’s been an uphill battle since you were eleven, maybe even earlier. And it goes through phases—Sometimes, you just coexist with it. It lives in the corner of your brain, where a lamp or a soulmate should be. You know it’s with you, but sometimes it just sits on your shoulder, observing.

Other times, it shackles you. It weighs you down, pulling you down under the crashing waves, and every time you pull yourself up to breath, it drags you down faster, more relentlessly.

It’s an intense unfortune that you could blame on any number of things, and you have tried.

But things have been bad recently.

And it’s not that your life is particularly hard right now—There’s no looming deadlines, your relationships are all fine, you thought you were happy, really, but one day you woke up.. unable to come up with a reason.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve found a reason. For a long time you thought, no, I couldn’t do that to my mom. Then, you said if you could just make it to college, everything would be easier. And then, you figured if you could make it to New York City, you’d be able to cope with things.

And it worked for a while, but—

“Hey,” A voice says from behind you, “hey, just—take a step back.” The voice says, and you tilt your head back, trying to look at who has interrupted you in this vulnerable moment.

“Go away,” You demand, your voice harsh as you realize you are not dealing with just any old witness- The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stands behind you.

You know all about him. He popped up a year or two before you moved to the city, and you’ve always kind of daydreamed about him saving you—You’ve seen pictures and videos of him, glimpses of him.. But they’re just fleeting moments of a silly crush.

“You know I can’t do that,” He says, his voice getting closer. “I won’t do that.”

Then you feel tears in your eyes. Nothing can be easy, can it?

“Please,” You beg, “I’m not hurting anyone, I just.. want it to stop.”

“You are hurting someone. You’re about to hurt yourself and I won’t let that happen.” But he knows you won’t step away. And he doesn’t want to tackle you off the ledge.

“Please,” You say again, a shaky hand wiping your cheek, your heartbeat thumping out of your chest. You don’t want to die. You just don’t want to be in pain anymore.

“Let’s just sit,” he offers, his voice much closer to you now. “You don’t have to get off the ledge, just sit.” He requests.

“Look, devil man, I really don’t want you to give me some speech about how life is worth living, okay? Just—”

“We don’t have to talk about why you’re up here,” he says, “We can just sit.” From the corner of your eye, you see him sitting next to where you stand, his legs dangling over the edge.

He offers you a hand to help you sit down.

You take it.

And you’re not even sure why, because you don’t want to talk to this man, no matter how you admire what he does to other people. You sit next to him, and you feel yourself getting pulled down again, unable to breathe. Static fills your brain, repeating horrible things, telling you that everything for everyone would be easier if you just—

“Have you ever considered that Dr. Pepper could be a woman?”

“What?” You blink, now looking at him. What a ridiculous thing to say to a person who was about to kill themselves?

“Well, have you?”

“Uh.. No.” You answer, your face still twisted in confusion. “No, I’ve never considered that.”

“I always hear about people talking about this hypothetical doctor behind the soda, and they always refer to them as a man. Kind of messed up,” He shrugs.

“I don’t understand,” You respond honestly.

“I told you we didn’t have to talk about why you were up here, but I never said anything about not talking at all.”

You suppose he has a point.

“Okay.” You answer, feeling awkward now.

“Have you lived in the City long?” He wonders aloud.

“No,” You find yourself echoing the same story you’ve told a thousand times. “No, I moved here about a year ago.”

“Do you like it?”

Your stomach churns.

“Yeah.” You’re having a hard time being more descriptive than that.

“Have you been to see any good shows?” he asks, “Oh, have you seen Wicked?”

You’re confused again. You glance back at him. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is asking you if you’ve seen a Broadway musical about The Wicked Witch of the West. Much like the question about Dr. Pepper, you’re just extremely caught off guard, because it seems so out of character.

“Not in years.” You answer, “I saw it with my mom when I was younger.”

“Well you should see it again.” He said, “It’s really good, even better than you remember.” He promises.

“Why are you talking about this?” You answer, and he sighs.

“The confusion is on purpose,” He confesses, “I heard somewhere that if you can just distract someone having an episode, it might pull them out of it.”

You do feel.. better.. You suppose. You’ve been pulled above water, able to breathe, because in your confusion, there was no room for any static or bad thoughts to get in. Maybe better is a strong word, but there’s an absence of all of the intense thoughts that distracted you.

“Oh.. Thank you.” Is all you find yourself saying.

“I’m gonna go back on my promise,” he starts, “I need to ask you why you feel like this is your only option.”

Your shoulders fall a bit, remembering everything.

“You’re a liar.”

“Just try.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Tried what?”

“Verbalizing it, saying it all out loud?”

Well, now you feel silly. Very silly. You know a therapist might help, but you’ve been busy. And—

“You have your own problems,” You start, “I can’t ask you to take on my problems, too.”

“I asked you to talk about it,” he responds, “Besides, we don’t even know each other. You’re not burdening me, I promise.” And you’re inclined to believe him.

So, you take a deep breath and search for your words.

“I just can’t find a reason.” You start. “I’ve always been able to find a reason before, a reason to keep going, to push ahead, but..” You blink. “I just can’t find it. I’ve gone through all my usuals.”

“What about your mom?” he asks, recalling your earlier comment about him.

“She was the reason for a long time.” You confess, “But she has my stepdad now. Everyone’s taken care of. My friends, my siblings, my mom.. The only one who’s alone is me.”

The Devil doesn’t say it, but his heart aches for you.

“People would miss you,” he recalls his own depression, “They’d grieve you as intensely as they love you.” He reminds, and you know that.

“They’d find a way to move on.” You reason, “They’d have to figure it out.”

“How long have you been dealing with these feelings?”

“As long as I can remember.” You respond, “I thought if I could survive my childhood, it would stop. Moving here, that was supposed to be the end, but..” You frown. “After the honeymoon phase, I’m just back in that hole.”

“There’s ways to get you out of that hole,” He promises.

“How?” You demand, tears filling your eyes, “Tell me a reason I should keep going that I haven’t heard, that I haven’t thought, that actually gets through to me,” You ask.

He pauses. It’s a tall order.

“You know there’s no magical cure.” He starts, “But you find the little things. You can’t find any big reason to live? Fine. Find the small reasons,” He reasons, “The way sun feels on your skin, your favorite team winning a game, a homecooked meal.”

“Give me a big reason.” You request.

“I can hear heartbeats,” he says, and when you scoff, he shakes his head, “No, seriously. So, here’s your big reason: Don’t make me listen to your heart stop beating.”

It’s a low blow. A hit to your core, right to the part of you that feels guilty you even have these feelings.

“Let me walk you home.” He says after a moment.

“I live in this building,” You say, and for a moment, you almost think that the Devil tenses, like he hadn’t realized that.

“Then let me walk you to your apartment. It’s cold out here, c’mon.” He offers.

“How do you know I won’t just do it tomorrow? Or after you leave?”

“I trust you,” And somehow you don’t believe him. But he swings his legs around and stands on the solid ground of the roof. He offers his hand to you again. “Let’s go inside.”

You take his hand and let him guide you off the ledge, and it only takes a few steps for you to start crying—truly sobbing at the idea of what you were about to do. The Devil is right; tonight won’t be the night.

And as soon as he listens to you start sobbing, his arms are around you like he’s known you your entire life. He’s warm, safe. His hand gently rubs your back, his pointer finger running up and down your spine. The Devil gives wonderful hugs, it reminds you of hot soup on a winter day, the first hot day of spring after a long winter, and a memory from before depression reared it’s ugly head at you, of being three, maybe four years old on Christmas Eve, wrapped in blankets, safe and loved, with a full stomach of food.

You don’t know him, but you know right then and there that you’ll be grateful to him forever.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, his voice like a lullaby, “You’re okay. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” You can tell he means the words, that they aren’t obligatory, but genuine. He’ll look after you. He lets you cry into his shoulder for a long time, reminding you to breath.

When there’s no tears left to cry, The Devil gently pulls away, his hand now on your cheek as he wipes away the tears that run down your face.

And there’s only one thing left to say,

“Let me take you home.” He says gently. And you nod, words escaping you. You walk with him down to your apartment, letting him tuck you into bed after drinking some water. As you wait for sleep to find you, he gently brushes hair from your face as he asks, “Promise me you’ll call someone tomorrow. A therapist, a help line, your mom. Promise me you’ll find the help you need. Promise me you’ll find a reason.”

Studying his features, since, you don’t know when you’ll see him again, you nod.

“I promise.”

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. It’s foreign. Welcomed. Paternal.

“Good. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” You request, and you see the corners of his lips twitch up.

“I’ll tell you what,” He starts, “I’ll come visit you tomorrow night, too. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen saves people—but not everyone needs to be saved in the same way.

He waits for you to fall asleep before he leaves, breaking the lock on the door up to the roof so you can’t get up there, not until they fix it. Then, he makes his way to the window on the other side of your floor, to the apartment down the hall from yours.

He crawls into the window and pulls off his cowl, before showering, and then crawling into bed. He hopes you’ll find a reason, but he knows he’ll show up again if you can’t. That’s just the type of person he is.

[deesseshesca]

PAC : How to use your seductive power in a daily setting ?

More passion, more energy...

Good evening pretty souls, let's dive in your seductive essence and how you can actively manifest on a daily.

SALE 

Until October 31 all readings on my ko-fi is 30$, only

Choose the image that’s speak to you and allow yourself to soak ONLY what’s reasoning with YOUR SITUATION 

Rules and Disclaimer 

I am the type of tarot reader to say as it is. Nothing is sugar coated but everything is sent with good intention. If you are not ready to face some truth, you should vagabond somewhere else. 

TW: SUICIDAL

PILE 1 

Check in: You guys are suicidal. You done multiple attempts already.  

To use your seductive power effectively in everyday life, especially while dealing with your mental health, it's important to focus on balance and patience. You have a natural ability to attract others, but it starts with taking care of yourself first. By nurturing your mind and body, you can create a calm, confident energy that others are drawn to without even trying. In social situations, let your presence speak for itself—there's no need to rush or push. Your allure comes from your ability to stay grounded and composed, even when things feel overwhelming. You also have the potential to expand your horizons, meeting new people and exploring new opportunities. When you allow yourself to grow and evolve at your own pace, your seductive power becomes even more magnetic. It's about being open, but also knowing when to pull back and focus on your well-being. Prioritize yourself, and the rest will follow naturally.

SEX LIFE + MOODBOARD

PILE 2 

Check in: You guys fell in love with someone you don't recognize anymore. You might be very modest but is not your true self. You were not like this before. Since you partner became very traditional you had no other choice. 

With more control over your life, you can use your seductive power in a more thoughtful and intentional way. Instead of rushing into situations or acting impulsively, take a step back and let others come to you. Your charm lies in your ability to be selective and discerning. By focusing on what truly excites and fulfills you, you avoid getting caught up in fleeting desires or distractions. This approach makes you appear more mysterious and intriguing, drawing people in naturally.

You also have the power to recognize when opportunities for connection arise and to act on them with confidence. Your seductive energy comes from being aware of your needs and desires, but not being controlled by them. This gives you an air of calm confidence that others find irresistible. In everyday life, being present and mindful of your interactions will allow you to navigate social situations with ease. You know what you want, and your ability to hold back when necessary makes your presence even more captivating.

SEX LIFE + MOODBOARD

PILE 3 

Check in: Y'all are black. Y'all may be celibate for at least 4 years now. 

To harness your seductive power effectively, it's crucial to understand that true happiness comes from within, not from external things you try to manifest. Your greatest strength lies in realizing that nothing you bring into your life will have the same impact as the growth and confidence you cultivate within yourself. When you shift your focus inward and connect with your inner desires, you naturally become more magnetic to others. In everyday life, it's about recognizing that your seductive energy doesn’t rely on what you can have or achieve but on how you carry yourself. Rather than getting lost in fantasies or distractions, ground yourself in your own worth. When you project confidence in who you are, others are drawn to your authenticity. Your allure lies in your ability to see through illusions and present a version of yourself that’s real and undeniable. By embracing your inner happiness, you can attract others effortlessly, and the seductive power you hold becomes a reflection of your inner strength and clarity.

SEX LIFE  + MOODBOARD

[blackenedsnow]

I love ur writing so much could I maybe request p1 slowly learning to love and be loved 💔

p1 dude learning to love and be loved ; headcanons

WARNING: Emotional detachment, slow emotional healing, and mental health struggles.

PAIRING: Postal (1) Dude x Reader

NOTE: Thank you so much for your kind words! This is sooo sweet and I had so much fun writing this.

At the beginning, Dude is incredibly distant.

He’s been hardened by everything going on in his head, unable to trust anyone, and it takes time before he even acknowledges your presence as something more than just another person in his life.

He avoids eye contact, rarely speaks, and his body language is closed off.

He flinches at touch, even a casual hand on his shoulder can cause him to stiffen.

He’s not used to physical affection and struggles with it, associating touch with pain or vulnerability.

You notice this and take things slow, giving him space while offering gentle reassurances that you’re there for him.

The first step to breaking through his walls happens in small ways.

You notice that he tends to neglect himself—skipping meals, isolating for days, or losing himself in his own thoughts.

You leave food for him, make sure he has a clean place to rest, or leave a blanket for him when it gets cold.

Even though he has that coat on all the time.

He doesn’t thank you at first, but you notice him slowly accepting these gestures, even if he doesn’t show it outwardly.

There are rare moments when you catch a glimpse of his vulnerability.

Maybe it’s late at night when the weight of the paranoia becomes too much, and you find him staring out into the darkness, lost in thought.

You sit next to him, offering silent company.

He doesn’t say anything, but the fact that he doesn’t push you away is progress.

Trust comes slowly for him.

The first time he starts opening up to you, it’s not in the form of deep conversation but in subtle actions—he lets you sit closer to him, or he allows himself to relax slightly in your presence.

It’s a process of him realizing that not everyone wants to hurt him, and you’re someone who’s there to help, not judge.

Dude doesn’t know how to love anymore, not in the traditional sense.

But with time, he starts showing his affection in his own way—he might fix something for you, stand by your side, or give you something meaningful to him, even if it’s small.

He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but his love is shown in quieter ways.

If you’re having a tough day, he’ll sit beside you in silence, offering his presence rather than words.

His touch remains tentative, but over time, you notice him reaching out—a hand on yours, or resting his head on your shoulder when he feels safe enough to do so.

His biggest fear is losing the one person who has stayed by his side.

The thought terrifies him because he knows how fleeting happiness can be.

When you notice him getting more protective, it’s not out of possessiveness but fear.

He doesn’t know how to express it, but the idea of losing you is unbearable to him.

It takes time for Dude to fully accept that he deserves love.

Even after he begins to care for you, there’s still a lingering doubt in his mind—why would anyone want to be with someone like him?

But as you continue to show him patience, understanding, and unconditional support, he starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’s worthy of love after all.

There’s a moment when the emotional walls he’s built start to crack.

Maybe it’s after a particularly difficult day, or when his fear catches up to him, but he finally lets his guard down in front of you.

He doesn’t say much, but he leans into your embrace, allowing himself to be vulnerable, if only for a moment.

It’s then that he realizes just how much he needs you.

Slowly but surely, Dude learns that love isn’t about perfection or being strong all the time.

It’s about support, about being there for one another, and allowing someone to care for you, even when you don’t feel like you deserve it.

You’re the person who teaches him that love can be a healing force, and while it’s not a magic fix, it’s a step towards a brighter future.

Dude may never be the most emotionally expressive person, but he’s learned how to love and be loved.

He starts to accept that it’s okay to rely on someone else, and while he may never fully leave behind his paranoia, with you by his side, he begins to find peace in the idea that love doesn’t have to hurt.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Poly! Jegulus x gn! Reader - When there is no logic, look deeper

A/n: I decided to go with a different analogy for James's and Regulus's relation than I normally do (and what everyone else normally does.) So have fun with this little drabble!

Summary: Your relationship with James and Regulus through Remus's perspective.

Warnings: Swearing, brief mentions of child abuse, brief mentions of mental health issues (if you squint,) I think that's it? You have been warned!

The Three P's:

[Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) (poly!) jegulus x reader, (romantic!) wolfstar, (platonic!) marauders]

I do NOT support J. K. Rowling, or any transphobic/homophobic things she says (or anything she says really), or TERFS!

Regulus and James fit together, in a neat messy puzzle. James's darker skin contrasting with Regulus's more pale, like the sun and it's moon. Recently, Remus had been reading some muggle plays of man named Shakespeare, and just by looking at the two, he could tell that he would've written down every piece of their love story, until he knew it by heart.

The enigma, the question, he just couldn't find the answer to was you, because Regulus and James were different sides of the same coin. Slytherin and Gryffindor, light and dark, sun and moon. You just didn't fit as nicely into the big picture.

That's what he used to think anyway, before the marauders and everyone else had gotten to know you. To Remus, he used to think of you as a temporary escape for the two boys, as you were the only one out of the three who had a normal life. It was harsh, but it was the only answer to the equation he could come up with.

Remus's life hadn't been full of answers, maybe that's why he tried to find the solution, so there would be no more variables. So he didn't have to attempt to find the solution later, when they most needed it most. So maybe, just once his life could be left with more answers than questions.

Action reaction, like getting bit by a werewolf - he was one of them now. Finding Sirius, James, and Peter on the train - becoming friends. Gaining feelings for Padfoot, confessing them and becoming a couple. (Okay, maybe there were multiple steps to that equation.) Everything had a solution, something he liked to find to keep himself sane. When everything else in his life was swirled with insanity.

You fitting into the equation didn't follow a path of logic, it was completely and utterly crazy.

Now, he sees what he didn't before, the way you would stay with James even when the smile slipped from his lips. How you would listen to Regulus, and give him space to talk about his family troubles, why he stayed.

You would let James cry, and make Regulus giggle, the planets didn't just revolve around the sun now. Now the moon and it's star revolved around you.

You were a nebula, because when a person looked at you, they gasped in wonder. Everything unknown and beautiful was you, a glittering cloud of normalcy and love. Nurturing but fleeting if need be.

One time, Sirius said he and his brother were the stars, and you only laughed, shaking your head.

"Regulus is like the moon, for so long we thought we couldn't reach him, until we did."

Remus's boyfriend looked startled, Remus could agree with the feeling. How had you, just made sense of someone so complex, with so many strings and layers, with just a sentence?

The werewolf wanted to see how you would respond if he asked you about everybody at Hogwarts, about the ministry, his family. Instead, he asked you about your other boyfriend.

"James?" You smiled softly, and for some reason it warmed Remus's heart, that when you thought about his friend, you immediately were happy. As if just thinking about him was enough to revel in his sunlight.

"James is the sun, he's bright, but sometimes his brilliance gets the peoples eyes, it can annoy them. Until he gets farther away." You still had a pleasant look upon your face, but your eyes were brightly alight with sadness. "Then it's winter, and they long for summer again, because then the sun could be there to warm them a second time. Regardless of its blinding sunlight."

Remus thinks, that was the moment that he started to understand why James and Regulus had both fallen for you. You were the beautiful unknown, a nebula, out of reach, but oh, so beautiful to gaze upon.

Remus still didn't quite comprehend how you fit into the grand scheme of things, but he thinks, he starting to see the big picture.

Words 670

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Hp Taglist: @regulusblackswhorecrux

[xomakara]

Breathing

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | You were betrayed by your betrothed and left for dead. You’re rescued by a healer named Yeosang, who nurses you back to health. As you recover, you share your past with Yeosang and express your desire to live a quiet life, away from the rumors and hatred you faced. PAIRING | Yeosang x Reader GENRE/CONTENT | healer!Yeosang, noble!Reader, non-idol au, fantasy, romance, slight angst, slight fluff, smut, consensual, vaginal sex (wrap it up y’all!), oral sex, gentle lovemaking WARNINGS | Its a fantasy setting so…yeah, implied violence, betrayal, injuries/wounds, RATING | Mature, Explicit, 18+, NSFW, MDNI LENGTH | 7,050 words TAGLIST | -- NETWORKS | AUTHOR’S NOTE | This took me a bit to write and I finally finished it! I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I wrote it! Please reblog, comment and like~ Much love!

You couldn’t have known that it would have come down to this.

Couldn’t have known this would have been the last breath you would have taken.

He knew better than anyone else how much you loved him and even though you begged for a chance to be a family, you didn’t even get that one chance.

You were just discarded like the rubbish you were, never being able to find happiness or peace again. It all happened so quickly; there was no way you could stop what had just occurred.

All you wanted was to feel safe and protected; all you ever wanted was love, happiness, and companionship.

He gave you that love and happiness once upon a time.

But then that woman who was like a ray of sunshine swept him off his feet and took him away from you. He changed. He gave her everything and forgot about you. The rumors that you were evil and vindictive grew and flourished because of how you treated that woman. They said you stole him from her even though that was far from the truth.

The stories they told made him want to leave you and finally it did happen, just not in the way you imagined. Now he’s gone and you’re alone.

No more fighting.

No more tears.

Nothing but emptiness.

He is now free from your grasp as his guards drove a sword through your chest.

There is nothing left for you now except for pain and grief.

As you laid on the warm, grassy field looking at his fleeting back as he walked away with that woman at his side, you couldn’t help but take one last breath before darkness consumed you. Your heart stopped beating; your soul died in that moment when he gave up on you, right in front of your very eyes.

You woke with a start, breath heavy as you clutched at your painful chest where the guards’ sword pierced through it during your final moments of life.

You weren’t dead?

You looked around the room and noticed the bare furniture and bright white walls; the smell of death wasn’t present.

It was empty except for you. There was no prince by your side, no other guards and fair ladies, no one…

It was just you and this huge bed. You suddenly felt cold, not only from the icy temperature outside but also from the fact that your whole body hurt.

“You’re awake?” You heard a voice called out. You looked over to see a man standing near the door holding a bowl of something. “How do you feel?”

“Where am I?” You managed to choke out between deep breaths. The man came closer to the bed and kneeled down next to you, sitting the bowl on the nightstand that was next to the bed. “And who are you?”

“My name is Kang Yeosang.” The man smiled, putting a hand on your shoulder. You instinctively shied away. “Here, have some soup. It has medicinal herbs in it. Hopefully it will help ease the pain you’re feeling.”

“Thank you,” You took the bowl gingerly, cautiously as you carefully spooned the contents into your mouth.

Yeosang watched you for a bit, giving you a slight nod. “I know you have plenty of questions. I’m sure you’re wondering how you ended up here.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t know what exactly happened to you…but I found you bleeding out in the fields. You were barely breathing. You were barely alive. I brought you here, cleaned you up and nursed you back to health.”

“How long have I been here?” You asked after you swallowed the rest of the broth. You lifted yourself off the bed, using Yeosang’s hand as support.

"Only a few days.” He answered solemnly. “That wound on your back looks infected. We can treat it if you want.”

“Okay,” You nodded. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat next to you, giving you a worried look.

“Can I ask what happened to you?” Yeosang asked, his fingers untying the thick ribbons that tied the back of the shirt you were in. You closed your eyes as he peeled it open, exposing the injury in your back. “What happened when you were left out in the fields to die?”

“The man I thought I loved betrayed me for another woman. The rumors were that I stole him from that woman. That I was evil and vindictive.” You sobbed quietly as Yeosang tried to soothe your wounds. “People hated me for loving someone who didn’t love me back. I tried talking to them to come to an understanding during the imperial hunt…but I guess I was the one hunted instead.”

Yeosang gently dabbed the wound, helping you sit upright against the headboard as he began to bandage the cloth around your chest. You winced from the sharp pain. "They wouldn’t listen to you?”

“No,” You shook your head. “None of them cared. They just accused me of horrible things and said terrible things about me. They made my life hell and there was nothing I could do to stop it. To everyone, I’m just a villain undeserving of love and happiness. So I lost hope in trying to get people to accept me for who I really am. All I ever wanted was to belong somewhere, to be accepted by others.”

“Oh…” Yeosang furrowed his brows as he tightened the last knot of the bandage. He grabbed the shirt and put it back on you, wrapping it tightly around your chest. “Do you want revenge?”

You shook your head vehemently. “I don’t care about the rumors anymore. What’s done is done. Nothing can change that now. I just want to live life quietly even if people think I’m dead. As long as I am happy, then that’s all that matters.”

Yeosang patted your hand softly. “We’ll talk more later. Right now you should try and get some sleep.” He stood up and started walking towards the door. “Sleep well.”

You laid back down in the bed and waited until you felt drowsiness take over your body.

Your fever spiked and you coughed violently, sending hot spittle flying across the room. You were sweating profusely, your skin burning under your touch as Yeosang sat by your side, wiping your face with a wet cloth.

“Please stay still,” Yeosang murmured soothingly as he wiped your forehead with another cloth. “This will make you feel better.”

You let out a soft groan as Yeosang touched your back. Your back still ached, especially from the wound that pierced your body. The wound from the guards hadn’t fully healed yet. You were scared to move too much lest the wound reopened again.

“Let me see.” Yeosang reached for the blanket, uncovering your torso. “Does it still hurt?”

“Yeah,” You frowned as you tried to sit up. “A lot.”

“It’ll heal soon,” Yeosang assured you as he used the clean cloth to wipe your sweat away. You sighed in relief as your head cooled down. “Just relax and let me tend to you. This might hurt a little.”

“Alright,” You nodded, closing your eyes as you felt his hands moving around your wounded chest. The first touch made you flinch, causing Yeosang to pause in his work. You exhaled loudly as you slowly lay back down, letting Yeosang continue tending to your wounds. He worked steadily, cleaning the wounds and applying the healing balm onto the wound.

“Everything alright?” Yeosang asked concernedly, his eyes focused on your chest as he continued his work.

“Mmm hmm,” You hummed in reply.

He finished treating the wound after what seemed like forever. He let out a sigh of relief before sitting back in his chair. “There, that should help with the pain.”

“Thanks,” You smiled weakly. “That really helped.”

“Are you hungry?” Yeosang asked. “The broth earlier wasn’t enough for you. Are you hungry for anything else?”

“I would kill for meat…” You muttered but shook your head when you saw his face. “I don’t really mean I’d kill anyone. I’ll shut up now. Sorry for saying that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled lightly. “Would you like some water? You haven’t drank any in a while.”

“Sure,” You smiled gratefully as Yeosang got up from his seat and filled a cup of water from the nearby basin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He handed you a cup of water. “Drink it slowly. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.” You promised as you sipped the cool water. It tasted like nothing compared to the wine you usually drank but it was nice and refreshing nonetheless.

After your glass was empty, Yeosang refilled it. “Now, how are you feeling?” He asked gently. “Better?”

“Yes.” You nodded, swallowing the remaining liquid in the cup. “Much better.”

“Good.” Yeosang smiled at you reassuringly. “I’m going to head out and procure some meat. Will you be okay here alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You reassured him. “Go on ahead. I’m good.”

“Alright.” He stood up, taking his empty cup with him. “Have a good night, Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Yeosang.” You watched him leave before lying back down in bed. You set the cup of water aside and stared up at the ceiling, focusing your attention on counting the beams above you.

Your wound had healed considerably, although it was still tender to the touch. At least it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it did yesterday. The worst part was having to constantly deal with the constant headache that was plaguing your mind. Even though you were alone, you had never felt more alone than you did at this very moment. You wished you had someone by your side; someone you could lean on. A friend or family member. But sadly, none of those existed.

But Yeosang had taken such good care of you.

In the past few days that you’ve been in Yeosang’s care, you learned that he was a former guard in the imperial army before losing both his parents in a tragic accident. Because of his current situation, he decided to return to his home village to tend to his parent’s property and retired from the imperial army.

Yeosang became a healer to provide healing for the village and for coin. He has always enjoyed healing and saving people, being outdoors for herbs and being among nature. In fact, he was looking for medicinal herbs in the outskirts of his village when he found you on the verge of death in the field.

Yeosang was a kind man, a bit weird and eccentric at times but he had a good heart. After your injuries were treated, he stayed by your side, helping you recover. He told you that you needed to eat properly in order to regain your strength. So he provided you with the best food he could find, made you nutritious soups and prepared delicious meat meals for you. You knew you should be thankful for his kindness but all you could think about was how lonely you were right now.

Your loneliness gnawed at you day and night. You had been so used to receiving love once upon a time. Now that you no longer had that, your heart felt heavy. Lonely and hopeless.

You couldn’t sleep properly because of the constant migraine that kept banging against your skull, keeping you awake. If only there was something you could do about it…

Yeosang returned to the cottage right before the sun rose, bringing with him fresh meat and vegetables from his excursion. After placing the supplies inside the cottage, he grabbed a small jar of water and brought it to your bedside. You took the water gratefully as Yeosang walked towards the bed.

“How are you doing?” He asked, looking at you intently.

“I’m better,” You replied with a small smile.

“Good.” Yeosang stroked your hair softly. “Maybe tomorrow we can go fishing. Would you like that?”

“Sure,” You smiled. Fishing sounded like a great way to pass the day.

“Let’s take a look at your wound then. Just to make sure everything’s okay.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt his fingers lifting the back of your shirt, exposing your wounded back. Yeosang placed his warm hand against your back as he inspected the wound. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He nodded, moving his fingers away from your back to lift up the front of your shirt. “Anything.”

You blushed slightly as Yeosang looked down at your naked torso, eyeing every inch of it. “Do you ever feel lonely living here? All by yourself without anyone?”

Yeosang paused in his movements. His fingers still as he held onto the edge of your shirt. He blinked a few times, seemingly confused. “Why do you ask?”

“I…it just came to me.” You scratched the back of your head nervously. “Sorry, I must have asked a silly question.”

Yeosang’s expression softened. “Not a silly question at all. Do you feel lonely here?”

“A little,” You admitted sheepishly. “My injury makes me quite vulnerable and sometimes I wish I had someone with me.”

Yeosang closed his eyes and gave you a faint smile. “You know what, Y/N?” He whispered gently. “I’d gladly be your company.”

Yeosang’s words caught you off guard. For a split second, your heartbeat increased dramatically. Your breathing became shallow and ragged. It took a few moments before you managed to calm yourself down.

“What did you say?” You stammered, staring at Yeosang.

“Y/N, I’d gladly-”

“Are you sure?” You interrupted, suddenly feeling nervous. “You barely know me.”

“You said you wanted to live a happy, quiet life. And I know you want to forget about all those things that happened to you. I want to give you that.”

“Yeosang…” You grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed it tightly. “I…” You closed your eyes and sighed. “I…”

Yeosang placed his free hand on top of yours. “Y/N, it’s okay to not want to be lonely. I’m kinda lonely too with no friends and living in this cabin by myself.”

You nodded your head. “So you can relate.”

“I can definitely relate. My situation probably pales in comparison to yours but I can definitely relate to being lonely.” Yeosang gave you a small smile as he patted your hand. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” You breathed out. “Very.”

“Good.” Yeosang grabbed the tray of food and placed it on the table next to the bed. He sat down next to you and handed you the spoon. “Eat.”

You moved the blanket off of you and sat up, digging into the large meal with a ravenous appetite. It was the first time in a while that you felt full and content. All thanks to Yeosang.

As you ate, Yeosang watched you intently. He was lost in thought as he sipped on his own bowl of stew. You had grown quite fond of his presence in the cottage since he arrived. Without him, you felt completely alone.

“Do you want to talk about what happened to you?” Yeosang suddenly spoke up, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I mean I knew you talked about it a bit before but…is there more that you can get off your chest?”

“Uh…yeah,” You mumbled, pushing your empty bowl away. “I suppose it’s about time I did.”

“Okay.” Yeosang raised an eyebrow. “So tell me, Y/N.”

You glanced over at Yeosang before continuing. “Well you probably know that I’m a noble. But I’m a high ranking noble that was betrothed to a high ranking lord at a young age. Maybe I was delusional or something but I thought he loved me just as I loved him. We spent countless hours together talking about our future and dreaming about what it would be like once we got married and settled down. Our families have been friends for generations. Everything was perfect. Then one day, everything changed.”

You paused for a moment, collecting your thoughts before speaking again. “I found out that he picked up a stray orphan from his travels, brought her home and took her under his care. He fell in love with her and he stopped loving me. It was just like that. Completely unexpected. One minute, I’m flying high thinking about my happily ever after with someone I love, the next minute, I find myself tossed aside like trash. Devastated is not even the word to describe how I felt. All I could do was crawl inside a hole and cry.”

You rested your hand on top of your stomach. “It was terrible. It was embarrassing and painful. Everyone was calling me names, telling me I deserved it and worse. My family abandoned me, telling me that I was a disgrace. How I was stupid for letting him go. For ruining our reputation.”

You shook your head slowly. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried to fight for him but he wouldn’t listen. No one listened. They called me evil saying that I was stealing him from his true love. My whole world collapsed around me. And then the imperial hunt came around and well…here we are.”

Yeosang remained silent as he stared at you. He took your hand in his. “I’m sorry you had to experience that, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” You wiped away the tears forming in your eyes. “And thank you for finding me when you did. I’m still alive because of you. And I really appreciate that.”

Yeosang smiled softly. “You’re welcome.”

You cleared your throat. “The food is good.” You looked down at your plate. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Yeosang smiled. “Do you want anything else?”

“I’m all good.” You shook your head. “Do you think we can head into the village later? I need some new clothes and I think a walk will be nice. It’ll help clear my head.“

Yeosang stood up and stretched his arms above his head. "That sounds like a great idea.”

When Yeosang walked out of the room, you gazed out of the window. From where you were sitting, you could see the fields and trees surrounding the cottage. There was something beautiful about it. Everything seemed peaceful. You hoped that soon, you’d be able to find peace in your life again. But for now, you were grateful that Yeosang was taking care of you.

A few hours later, you and Yeosang left the cottage and headed towards the village. A few villagers spotted you walking through town and they started whispering amongst themselves. As you approached them, one woman nudged another and pointed at you. The two women exchanged a glance and one of them ran off to tell their friends. Soon everyone in the square turned their heads towards you, curious about who you were.

“Yeosang! Did you find a wife?” A woman shouted. “Oh my, she’s so pretty!”

“You’re lucky to have Yeosang as a husband, girl!” Another woman yelled. “If only my husband was half as cute as him.”

You let out a small laugh as the people began gathering around you. A group of children surrounded you and begged you to play with them but Yeosang had to shoo them away due to your injury.

A crowd had formed outside the tavern and the owner poked his head out of the door, smiling. “There goes another lover coming to steal my man. Sorry everyone, it looks like Yeosang is finally off the market.”

“Saving a damsel in distress isn’t such a bad thing, after all.” Yeosang chuckled and leaned against the wooden post beside the door. Everyone laughed as he turned to look at you, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let’s go get you some new clothes and other things you might need. Don’t worry, I won’t leave your side. The villagers are pretty nosy.”

“I don’t mind it all.” You smiled back. “Everyone seems to really love you.”

Yeosang rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re a bit too obsessed with me.”

“I think it’s lovely.” You grinned. “But let me ask you a question.”

“Of course.”

“You’re not embarrassed that the villagers are calling me your wife? I mean we just met and we’ve known each other for less than a week. That’s not very normal.”

Yeosang shrugged. “I guess I just don’t mind.”

You tilted your head. “Huh?”

“I don’t really care what people think.” He replied. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Oh…” You felt your cheeks heat up slightly. “Thank you.”

Yeosang pulled open the doors to the tavern and stepped inside, motioning for you to follow him. He ordered a meal for both of you and set it on the counter as he waited for the cook to bring it out.

“You’re so kind to me, Yeosang.” You mumbled quietly, setting down your plate.

“Don’t mention it.” Yeosang gave you a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing.”

“Maybe not but it means a lot to me. Thank you.”

Yeosang waved his hands. “No need to thank me. Just take it easy, okay?”

“I will.” You flashed him a warm smile before resting your head against the wall behind you.

After lunch, you and Yeosang went to go buy items that you would need, explore the village for a bit and headed back home.

“Yeosang,” you muttered as you looked at the wild fields that stretched out ahead of you.

“Hmm?” Yeosang asked, looking over his shoulder at you.

“You know that high noble that I was betrothed to? It’s actually Crown Prince Mingi…” You let out a sigh. “He’s the man that I was supposed to marry. The man that betrayed me and left me out for dead.”

He didn’t say anything as he strolled by your side. A little ways away from you, there was a stream that flowed through the countryside. You had never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. The grass was bright green and the sky was filled with the color of purple.

“I should be mad that he betrayed me like this…” You muttered as you closed your eyes and breathed in the air. “I should get revenge for the things he did to me but…maybe there’s no point. I mean, I survived. I was actually saved by a kind stranger and now I’m on my way to find my own happily ever after. What more could I possibly want?”

Yeosang stopped walking and turned to face you. “Y/N?”

You opened your eyes and turned to face him. He studied you for a moment before reaching out and caressing your cheek. “Everything happens for a reason, Y/N.” He said softly. “I don’t understand why things worked out the way they did but sometimes, there’s a bigger picture that we can’t see. Maybe your life with the crown prince wasn’t meant to be. Maybe it was meant to lead you here instead.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he gently brushed his thumb across your cheek. His fingers were soft and warm against your skin. You couldn’t remember feeling so safe and secure in a very long time.

“Wherever you end up, I hope you find what you’re looking for, Y/N.” He smiled. “Just don’t forget that I’m always here if you need me.”

“I won’t.” You mumbled. “I promise.”

“Good.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Now let’s go explore the countryside, shall we?”

Over the next few months, you enjoyed yourself immensely while exploring the country. Sometimes you would spend time with the people of the village, sometimes you would sit by the stream and admire the beauty of nature. You also made sure to heal properly. While it hurt like hell, the pain eventually faded away as you healed. The scars across your chest still remained but you decided not to focus on that. Instead, you focused on the things you were thankful for.

One night, while lying in bed, you started to think about everything that had happened to you over the last few months. About everything you went through and about the one person that helped you every step of the way. You sighed as you drifted off to sleep, wondering if he was thinking about you right now too.

Hours later, you heard footsteps approach your bedroom. A knock sounded at the door followed by a muffled voice.

“Y/N?” You heard a familiar male voice call out. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” You answered.

A few moments passed before the door opened and Yeosang peeked inside, giving you a small smile.

“Hey.” He said softly.

“Hi.” You smiled back, stretching your arms above your head.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

You rolled onto your side and faced him. “Much better.” You sighed. “I can’t believe how fast I got better.”

“That’s what healing herbs are for.” Yeosang nodded. “Sometimes, they work faster than we expect.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You shrugged. “Speaking of which, I thought I would repay you for helping me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Since you helped me recover so quickly, I wanted to give you something in return.” You reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. “These past few months with you have been the best of my life. Even though we haven’t known each other very long, you’ve already become such an important part of my life. I’ve never been so at peace and happy all these years. If I could, I would have never let you go.”

His eyes softened as he stared deeply into yours. “Y/N, I-”

“Don’t.” You interrupted. “Don’t say anything yet. Let me do this.”

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, gently kissing him. He froze for a moment before returning the kiss. When the kiss ended, you slowly sat up, a smile on your face.

“I wanted to do this because…” You took a deep breath. “Because I want to thank you. For being such a good person. And for saving me.”

“Don’t mention it.” Yeosang replied, reaching out and pulling you close to him.

As the weeks went by, you and Yeosang continued spending most of your days together. Some days you would sit by the stream, talking or drinking tea while others you would explore the land. On those days, you’d venture far away from the village and walk along the endless grasslands. Sometimes, you’d stop and pick flowers for him to give to the women of the village or make you a meal to show his appreciation. Other times, you’d rest under a tree and watch the sun rise. You spent almost every day with him and loved every second of it.

You knew that you were falling for him but you weren’t quite sure when it had happened. All you knew was that one day, it hit you and you knew that you had moved on from the crown prince, from your old life and had found someone that made you feel whole again. It was hard to describe what you felt for him. All you knew was that he made you happier than anyone else in the world and that he was the one you had been searching for.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you grew closer and closer. Each day, you became even more attached to each other. After a few weeks, you noticed the affection between the two of you growing stronger and stronger. The villagers still saw you as a married couple and never failed to tease you whenever they saw you together. But you didn’t mind it. In fact, you relished in their teasing. It was proof that you had finally found true happiness.

When winter came around, you celebrated the first snowfall together. With a grin on his face, Yeosang scooped up a handful of snow and flicked it at your face. The cold water stung your skin but you simply giggled and reached out, grabbing another handful of snow. This continued until the both of you were covered in snow and laughter. You threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“This is going to be a wonderful winter.” You whispered, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“I agree.” He chuckled, placing his arm around your waist.

After a few minutes, you broke apart, grinning from ear to ear.

“We should go inside.” You said, brushing some of the snow off of your coat. “I’m getting cold.”

Yeosang grabbed your hand. “I know a good way to warm you up.”

Your heart began beating rapidly as he led you inside. Yeosang lit up the fireplace and threw several logs inside. Once the fire was burning well, he wrapped a blanket around you and pulled you close to him, sitting on the floor. You snuggled close to him, as he held you, slowly tracing his fingertips down your cheek, letting them linger on your lips.

“So…” He whispered. “What are your plans for the upcoming new year?”

You grinned mischievously. “I don’t really have any.”

“But, if you did have plans, what would they be?”

“Well…” You glanced up at him, chewing on your bottom lip. “They might involve you, I guess.”

“Oh?” Yeosang raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah…” You admitted shyly. “I mean, we’ve been spending so much time together and our feelings seem to be growing deeper everyday. So, I was just curious…”

He cocked his head to the side, studying you for a moment.

“If I kissed you right now, would you kiss me back?” He asked quietly.

You swallowed hard. Your cheeks burned brightly as you lowered your gaze.

“Y-yes.” You whispered.

A smile spread across his face as he reached out and cupped your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb across your skin.

“If I wanted to make love to you, would you allow me to?”

You inhaled sharply as his words washed over you. His eyes searched yours as he waited patiently for your answer. After a few moments, you lifted your head and met his gaze.

“But all my scars… My body is damaged…” You explained, slightly hesitantly.

“I don’t care.” He stated simply. “All that matters is the person behind them. They’re only physical blemishes, nothing more. They don’t define you.”

A lump formed in your throat as he gently traced his fingers along your jawline.

“Besides…” He added, bringing his hand to your lips. “If you’ll allow me to kiss you, I’d gladly kiss away every single scar.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in closer to you. Slowly, his lips pressed against yours, sending shivers throughout your entire body. It was gentle and tender but filled with such passion and heat. At the same time, his hands caressed your hair and back, making you melt against him. You closed your eyes as you basked in the warmth of his touch. You could feel his heartbeat steadily racing against your own as his tongue explored your mouth. Every brush sent tingles coursing through your veins. Every kiss seemed to last longer than the last. As the seconds ticked by, the both of you became lost in the moment. Time ceased to exist as you became completely consumed by the sensation of being in each other’s arms. Eventually, the two of you parted, gasping for air.

“Let me make love to you.” He whispered.

You gazed into his eyes, lust swirling within them. “Please.” You breathed. “Make love to me.”

Yeosang slowly got up and picked you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest. As he walked towards the bedroom, he lowered you down to the bed and carefully removed your boots. Before removing your clothes, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

“My beautiful Y/N.” He murmured, gazing down at you.

With a soft smile, he began untying your blouse, sliding it down your arms. You turned your head to look at him as he gently removed your top and slipped it over your shoulders. Next, he slowly undid the buttons on your skirt and slid it down your legs, letting it fall to the ground. He gently stroked your skin with his fingertips, his touch caressing the scar on your chest. He leaned down to kiss it before capturing your lips once more. Once he broke away, he stared deeply into your eyes, taking in your beauty.

You watched him intently as he slipped his shirt off and then unclasped his pants. As he lowered himself onto the bed, he captured your lips once more, holding you tightly against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he ran his hands up and down your body. He kissed every inch of your body, slowly trailing kisses down your neck and chest. The sound of your heart pounding in your ears was music to his ears as he paid special attention to every little detail.

When he reached your breasts, his lips followed, kissing every inch of them before moving lower, causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He circled his tongue around your nipple before sucking it softly into his mouth. You moaned in pleasure, running your hands through his hair as he gave you pleasure like no other. When he started sucking on your other breast, your body arched up into him. A few minutes later, you broke apart, breathless and flushed.

“Yeosang…” You breathed. “Please.”

With a smirk on his face, he kissed his way down your stomach. When he reached your navel, he traced his finger along it, causing you to shiver.

“Your body is perfect.” He breathed. “Just how I imagined it to be.”

He trailed kisses further south, giving you a taste of things to come. When he reached your thighs, he ran his fingers up and down them before lifting your leg and placing it on his shoulder. You bit your lip as you watched him trace circles on your inner thigh. He then placed a trail of kisses down your inner thigh, giving you chills as he slowly inched closer to where you throbbed with need. He stopped suddenly and looked up at you with dark, lustful eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

With a trembling voice, you nodded your head. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” He breathed. “Because I plan on exploring every inch of this body tonight.”

His hand moved back up your thigh, moving closer to your core as his tongue glided up your center, licking every inch of your clit, causing you to moan loudly. The vibrations echoed through your body as his tongue continued its slow pace. His hands moved from your thighs to your hips, holding you firmly in place as his tongue teased and tantalized your sensitive flesh. You trembled uncontrollably as he increased the intensity of his kisses, increasing the speed of his movements. Soon, you couldn’t take it anymore and began thrashing your head back and forth on the pillow, moaning louder and louder with every thrust of his tongue.

“You taste amazing.” He whispered. “And your scent is intoxicating.”

As he continued to feast on your pussy, you felt yourself building up toward an orgasm. Sensation after sensation flowed through your body, intensifying your pleasure until you could barely breathe. Your breathing quickened as your body tensed and shook. You cried out as you came undone beneath him.

You lay there panting, trying to catch your breath as he continued to eat you out, enjoying the taste of your juices. You slowly opened your eyes and gazed at him with loving eyes.

“I can’t believe I’ve never experienced anything like this before.” You gasped.

Yeosang smiled widely as he took a deep breath. “Are you saying that I might be a better lover than the crown prince?”

“Shhh…let’s not talk about him.” You giggled. “I want to keep enjoying this feeling for as long as possible.”

With a devilish grin, he shifted positions and began lightly kissing his way up your body to the scar on your chest. “Does it still hurt?” He asked.

“No.” You answered. “Not anymore.”

He pulled back and gazed down at you, a questioning look on his face.

“Not when you’re touching me.” You replied, running your fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t hurt at all when you’re here.”

He chuckled as he gently kissed the scar on your chest. “Then maybe I should stay with you forever.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. It had been so long since anyone had made you feel loved. In the past, you didn’t even know if it was real or not. But Yeosang showed you that you were worthy of affection. He proved to you that it wasn’t only love that could heal a broken soul; that it was also true friendship and compassion. From the moment he saved you, you knew this man was meant to be in your life. The way he treated you, the way he cared for you, the way he respected you… You knew he was someone very special.

Yeosang kissed your scar one last time before capturing your lips in his. His lips were warm and gentle as they met yours. You ran your hands up and down his back, holding him tight against you as you surrendered to his touch. He enveloped your body in his strong arms, laying in between your legs as he continued to explore every inch of your body. With each kiss, his hands drifted lower, feeling every curve and fold of your skin. With every caress, he held back his excitement, wanting to make sure you enjoyed every second of this moment. Every ounce of his passion poured out as he laid claim to every part of you, leaving you spent and breathless.

“Can I…?” He murmured against your neck. “Can I finally be inside you? Make sweet love to you?”

“Yes.” You breathed. “Please.”

Slowly, he pushed his way inside you. You let out a moan as you gripped his back. Each stroke caused another rush of pleasure to spread through your body. Every movement caused you to shudder and shake, calling out his name over and over again. He kept a slow pace, careful to not hurt your body any further. Every movement caused a new wave of pleasure to wash over you, threatening to send you over the edge. He knew that your body still needed time to heal, and therefore, would wait patiently until you were ready for more.

After several minutes of gentle lovemaking, he lifted his head and gazed into your eyes. Your cheeks were flushed and covered in sweat, yet you still radiated an aura of pure beauty.

“This feels right, Y/N.” He said. “I’m glad I found you.”

You smiled lovingly at him. “I’m glad you found me too.”

For the first time in years, you felt safe. For the first time in years, you felt truly loved. For the first time in years, you felt whole. You held onto him tightly as he continued to slowly thrust in you, savoring every last minute. This was your first time experiencing this type of intimacy and you wanted to remember every single detail.

Yeosang’s face lit up with delight as he felt you tighten around him. Both of you grew increasingly aroused as your bodies began pulsating with pleasure. You clenched your muscles tightly around him as you arched your back, begging for more.

“You sure?” Yeosang asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s fine. Please, Yeosang.” You begged. “I need more of you. More of everything.”

His expression softened as he leaned down and kissed you passionately. At the same time, he slowly picked up his pace, thrusting harder and faster as your screams filled the room. He plunged deeper inside of you, filling you completely. Every inch of your being became alive, as your entire body quivered in ecstasy.

In response, he wrapped his arms around you, clutching you close to his body as he panted heavily, lost in the throes of passion. Every time he hit bottom, you clenched him tighter, crying out his name. Together, both of you shared your greatest moment together. Every ounce of happiness you had ever felt was released during this intense experience. And when the climax subsided, neither of you wanted to let go. You slowly began rocking back and forth with him, falling deeper and deeper under his spell. Eventually, he leaned down and captured your lips in a tender kiss, whispering in your ear.

“Thank you.” He breathed. “For staying alive. For making me fall in love with you.”

You gazed into his beautiful eyes as he gently rocked you against him. The love and warmth that radiated from his gaze overwhelmed you. “Thank you.” You whispered back. “For saving my life. For helping me see what true love really means. For letting me live and breathe once more.”

Yeosang tightened his embrace around you as you nuzzled your face against his chest. His strong arms held you securely as you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth of his embrace. You listened to his heartbeat as it slowly calmed, and as you did, your own heart began to beat slower and slower. It was as if you had become one person, one mind, one heart. As you drifted off to sleep, both of you fell asleep holding one another.

In his arms, you found peace, contentment, and most importantly…love.