#so in the au they also go through the angst of canon only to be relieved finding out it was fake and everyone is okay

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs: Christmas Edition

I've been racing to meet my GoodReads reading goal (lol) so I haven't actually read that many festive fics. 😅 Still, I can't stay away from this fandom, so here are a few recs. Please send me suggestions so I can catch up!

You Were The Heart Of It by dear_monday

A magic spell keeps manufacturing wintery romantic situations for the boys. Great use of holiday romance tropes and love confessions. Plus Edwin being awkward.

I also loved the last chapter of their and two_ravens' wonderful fic Wunderkammer, read it for New Years feels and an appearance by the Mari Lwyd, a Welsh Christmas folk tradition.

Ghost Wine and Keepsakes by Asidian

The boys get a bit squiffy and Charles tracks down a family heirloom for Edwin. Peak gift giving fic, really touching.

The Case of the Enchanted Mistletoe by Asidian

First kiss via forced proximity and a magic mistletoe infestation. Alas, the mistletoe can only be removed via kissing and there's rather a lot of it to get through... Very cute.

The Great Sock Garter Debacle of '24 by Asidian

In which Edwin misinterprets a Christmas gift, leading to kissing and angst with a happy ending. Interesting exploration of cultural differences with a devastating side trip into Charles' canon (self-esteem gift-related) childhood trauma.

All is bright by ghostinthelibrary

Missing scene from the fantastic fic Came up from that lake of fire. Alive again over Christmas, Edwin and Charles both try to recreate each other's Christmas childhood traditions. Kitchen mishaps ensue. Wholesome.

I also really enjoyed beneath the winter snow by the same author, which is a lovely early friendship fic about the boys playing in the snow. Spot on characterisation and early-years lore.

The Christmas Wish Debacle of '23 by Leandra

Charles accidentally wishes himself and Edwin alive again via a magical Christmas decoration. Cue the boys rushing to pack in all the alive-again culture shocks and Christmas/holiday romance tropes they can before the spell wears off. Lovely post canon fic with a fun concept and lots of pining.

above all I want you to be warm by shadowquill17

Alive AU about the boys making out and exchanging Christmas gifts. This is technically part of a series about the boys going to St Hilarion's together and being boyfriends, though it can be read as a standalone. I love how enamoured they are with each other and the gift exchange is lovely.

he's perfect enough without ever dressing up by thegirlofthorns

Christmas jumper fic! Charles attempts to teach Edwin about important Christmas traditions, like hideous jumpers and reindeer. Very cute.

my snowman and me by sunnylemonss

The boys playing in the snow with some Outsider PoV from the perspective of the neighbours. Very cute and I loved the neighbour lore.

Their fic (there's no place like) home for the holidays also sounds intriguing. It's an established relationship fic and Modern/Alive AU about the boys as young adults spending Christmas with Charles' mum after his dad's death. Sounds good!

burning bright by williamvapespeare

An interesting look at the boys' very different attitudes to Christmas with a focus on lights. Really sweet.

Mistletoe by softestpunk

Short and sweet one shot about the Night Nurse and Kashi meeting again at Hob and Dream's Christmas party. Via MISTLETOE. I'm always happy to see more of Kashi and the Night Nurse getting all flustered was adorable. I ship it.

@ghostinthelibrarywrites @softest-punk @sunnylemonss @tumblerislovetumblerislife @guardianspirits13 @shazziez @whatthehorsedoicallthisblog @shadowquill17 @neurodivergent-fangirling @many-gay-magpies @extremely-eager-reader @atariakana @colourmornings @herebehunters @avoiceofnerat @littlepocketuniverse @overlord-of-chaos @fairandfatalasfair @every-moment-a-different-sound @dear-monday @tw0-ravens @bibliomancer7 @c-rowland @nuttersinc @a-pale-jewel @nobledragonflying @sameen-shawv @tessaaaaa @williamvapespeare

[leejeann]

Pls tell me/us about your Cinderella Boy AU úwù

Oh hi Anon, I am SO GLAD YOU ASKED :D. I was literally working on it when I got this ask, very nice timing, friend

(i will, uh, try not to make this an excessive amount of paragraphs but bare with me, I'm a yapper).

So, tl;dr Cinderella Boy College AU babyyyy. Chase is a first year music theater major (he started a year late), and Buddy is a second year creative writing major.

(I don't actually remember if they're canonically the same age, but they are in this)

(also Deacon is here too, he's just over in med school but him and Chase hang out on weekends)

They meet through an Intro to Literature class that Buddy takes for his major and Chase regrets choosing as an elective credit. Eventually Chase has to accept that he Sucks So Bad at literary analysis and really doesn't want to fail a course in his first semester of college, so he reluctantly asks mr writing major to help him. Buddy agrees, with the trade off being that he's writing an anthology of short stories for a future capstone project and Chase has to read them and give feedback.

(Buddy says it's because he's aiming for a younger audience with some of the stories and if an idiot like Chase can understand them so can a kid. Secretly he just....doesn't have anyone else to ask and kind of just really wants someone else to read them so he saw the opportunity and took it. But you didn't hear that from me!).

They agree to those terms and off we go! Shenanigans and angst and rivals-to-lovers nonsense (my beloved) ensues!

Aaaand because i have little self control when I'm excited about an idea but no one irl who knows what the hell a cinderella boy is to talk about it with: a much longer explanation of the exposition is below the cut!

OKAY SO BASICALLY I had this funny idea the other day of a college AU where like the Intro to Lit class is an in-person/online hybrid, i.e., all the lectures and materials are posted online so people can enrolled in it as either an online or in-person class. Chase takes it in-person while Buddy couldn't fit the timeslot into his schedule and takes it online.

And like any basic college course, it has *drumroll* Online Discussion Posts! Objectively one of the most tedious assignments in any college class, and this class does 2-3 a week. This professor decided to try a Fun New thing this year, where all the posts and replies are anonymous to the students (he can still see them so he knows who did the assignment, obvs). Something, something, he wants to promote discussions between classmates instead of people just only ever replying to their friends or something. Chase wants to keep up his Branding™ and sign off his posts with his little tagline, but after the first post his professor says that "defeats the whole purpose" and "looks unprofessional." Chase signs off with a little star instead, which the professor reluctantly lets him do. (A few other students actually start doing it to with their own little symbols or emojis.)

Two weeks into classes and Chase is being DRIVEN INSANE by these discussion posts. No, no, not by the monotony of them. No, not by his lack of skill with literary analysis. Rather, there's one student in particular who just keeps replying to his discussion posts specifically and ALWAYS seems to have something to disagree with. And they're so pretentious about it. Chase knows it's always the same person because no one else in this mostly-just-an-elective-credit class is using words like "insufferable" and "colloquialism" and "alas" in a discussion post.

Something something, Chase does some sleuthing and figures out it must be one of the online students, which is annoying because he has no way to figure out who they are so he can tell them to lay off and chill the hell out. Until! Midterms roll around and some random new guy is just in the class for the test. Oh, it's just an online student who didn't want to deal with one of those stupid virtual proctor websites, and since he lives on campus anyway he asked if he could just take it in-person. Yeah, that's fair. But then the new guy says something (idk what yet) and the phrasing of it makes it click in Chase's head that Oh my god that HAS to be Buddy holy shit

(sidenote, in this story the name "Buddy" comes from Chase ranting to Deacon about the random anon student and sarcastically calling them Buddy as a joke. But then that nickname just sticks because when you're pissed off and ranting "Buddy" is so much faster to say that "that anonymous asshole from my intro to lit class" ya know? So like, save for Chase saying it in an angry reply to the anon student once or twice, he hasn't directly called Buddy, Buddy before until like he confronts him after midterms).

I haven't quite figured out the interim of how they go from "Oh my god that's the annoying anonymous dude" and Buddy not even realizing Chase is the Star-kid (.....ha) in those discussion posts–

((sidenote 2, electric boogaloo, the reason Buddy is so snarky on the discussion posts is because, naturally, he thinks literature is Very Important and that it's annoying how obvious it is that most of this class is just taking it as an elective so they aren't putting in any real effort to learning anything. The discussion posts are all literary analysis on short passages and his classmates do, like, the bare minimum for it. He doesn't just respond to Chase's posts in a snarky tone, but most of the students fully ignore his responses and do not improve and he decides they're a lost cause. Chase is also a lost cause, but sometimes Chase argues back and okay fine Buddy has to admit that's kind of entertaining. So Buddy always makes sure to respond to the one with the stupid little star at the bottom. As a treat))

–and to them being like, civil enough that Chase finally caves and asks Buddy to tutor him, but eventually they get there. And that's how we get to the rest of that tl;dr! Chase asks for help in class, Buddy agrees as long as Chase helps him with his creative writing projects, they start meeting up to work on classwork regularly and once a week or so Buddy brings a print-out of another short story for Chase to take with him after. And Chase does his best to return it with some amount of helpful annotations.

(I totally forgot until after I came up with that idea, but I actually kind of did that once in college. Except I wasn't a creative writing major, one of my good friends was. I was entering a short story in a competition once so I gave him a printed copy of it and he gave it back a few days later covered in annotations lol)

And I DO plan to include Buddy's short stories as their own things! I have a few ideas for them already, basically I'm going to write a few original short stories that I can insert as their own little in-between chapters whenever Buddy gives Chase a new one to read. They'd probably be posted at the same time as either the chapter before or chapter after it, depending on which chapter would make more sense to pair it with narratively.

I think the first will be some parody of Cinderella, because duh. But like less of a "Cinderella, but in a new setting" thing and more like from the pov of a totally different character, where the actual Cinderella plot is lowkey almost just in the background. Idk it seems fun and like something Creative-Writing-Major-Buddy would write. Or maybe I'm projecting because I just think it sounds fun to write. Or maybe both!

One specifically that's a minorly pivotal moment for them is actually just a short-story-ified version of a poem I wrote years ago, and the moment in the story is basically just Buddy felt it was an optimistic story, whereas Chase felt like it was really sad, and both are incredibly thrown off by the dissonance that realization creates.

Which is also kind of from personal experience actually! Small tangent, but that happened with the poem back when I first wrote it too. To me, it was a melancholy but overall optimistic poem about life. I shared it with some people and seemingly all of them thought it felt sad and almost hopeless. I was SO thrown off! Because I really felt like it was hopeful, not hopeless, but it felt like I was the only person who saw it like that. As silly as it sounds, that (plus a couple other personal reasons) made me struggle with writing anything for a long time because I was a little afraid of feeling so isolated by my own work again.

(In hindsight, I can see how it came across like that to them. It still remains one of my favorites that I've written though. I actually completely rewrote it to enter in a contest just a few months ago! The newer version is much better, and I think actually gets across the intended mood a lot more)

*ahem* So, uh, anyway! I amp all that up a bit in the story for the sake of ~drama~ of course, but that's where the general idea for that scene comes from. I've already written the scene actually! I just don't know how far into the story it'll happen yet.

I'm also still on the fence about how to include the keyple we know about in canon. I can't decide if I want to just make them like other students and/or friends who appear in the story, or if I just want to like really allude to them. Leave references in the stories Buddy writes or classwork they do or stuff like that, etc.

And I'm also-also on the fence about if I should give Buddy a fake name for sake of the plot. If I do, I'm definitely going to swap it for his real name once that's properly revealed. On one hand, being in a college setting it would make a lot more sense for Chase to find out his actual name early on, even if he still calls him Buddy to be annoying. But on the other hand, Buddy totally would refuse to tell Chase his name, also to be annoying, if doing that annoys Chase more than the nickname annoys him. But on a secret, third hand, it feels so weird to give Buddy a fake name lol. Like even if I wasn't a fast-passer I think it'd still feel weird.

Then again, depending on how slow I end up writing this, the free episodes might catch up to fast pass before I even need to worry about that and I can just use his actual name from the get-go.

Phew! That sure was fun to talk about! *scrolls back through this post* oh yikes, uh, well you asked for it anon! If you actually read this far down, thank you, bless, I warned you that I yap but I appreciate your fortitude very much lol

I have no idea when I'll start posting the fic bc I worry about like getting through a couple chapters, posting them immediately, then losing steam and just....dropping it or taking forever to update after. So I want to get at least a few chapters written before I start posting any, ya know? But I've been wanting to get back into creative writing for a LONG time so I'm really going to try to stick with it! Just, bare with me if it takes a while lol

[good-beanswrites]

I talked about my Milgram actors theory earlier, but @amugoffandoms reminded me I also have a little emotional support au version of the idea I’ve been meaning to chat about! It's actually not a typical actors au -- the canon events still happen, but are staged by the in-universe Milgram organization.

(Edit, now with a fic!)

Just like in canon, the organization has a mysterious/supernatural ability to identify and track down ten specific people at their breaking point. In this au, though, it's ten people who could have committed crimes soon. They discreetly reach out to these individuals, requesting for them to be actors in their experiment. They say there will be someone playing a prison guard, and explain the premise. With a bit of coaxing or bribing for a few, they all accept.

Milgram ensures these newfound “prisoners” don’t need to change many details about their lives – the less lies to keep track of, the easier it would be for these ordinary people to pull off such an extensive con. 

Some of them are exactly as they were right before their murders, such as Yuno, Fuuta, Muu, and Kotoko. Haruka, his sister, and Amane did go through traumatic abuse, but it was Milgram that pulled them out of the situation before they resorted to murder. Mikoto is/has been aware of his alters for a while at this point.

Some of the others are taken from their lives after things that could have ended fatally turned out alright: Shidou’s family got into an accident but all recovered; Milgram picked up on his private realization that he would have done anything to save them, were the damage worse. Mahiru and Kazui’s partners attempted/considered suicide, but did not succeed. In Mahiru’s case, they reached a friendship despite breaking up. I still don’t know enough about Kazui’s wife, but I like to think they’re pretty separate now. 

The ten prisoners weren’t allowed to meet beforehand, but they individually collaborated with the Milgram team to write the lyrics for their t1 songs and film their videos. I'll mention more about the other actors later, but the filming process is a lot of fun. Though the topics confront them with some unsavory thoughts about themselves, it's a good time singing and acting and getting the giggles on set and everything.

Milgram pulls Es from wherever they were for whatever reason, wipes their memory, and drops them into the prison. The prisoners are unaware that Es didn't come willingly, as they all did.

Once the experiment begins, everyone’s interactions that we’ve seen to this point are genuine. The prisoners get to know each other, while they come to terms with the fact that themselves and these others all had murderous potential. Their personalities, behaviors, and stories from their lives are all true. In the interrogations, they speak honestly to Es about their values and choices. The only faked things are the actual references to the murders, and the “invisible force” that they pretend to hit when acting in violence. Mikoto is instructed to use a bit of violence during his interrogation, though Kotoko sneaking in wasn’t scripted – she genuinely had her concerns about his character and acted accordingly. 

While Es sleeps after T1, the prisoners are treated the same regardless of verdict. They provide the team with their genuine thoughts about one another to decide what the staged incidents should be. Kotoko doesn’t actually hate the guilty prisoners, but she recognizes she would’ve wanted to take justice into her own hands in a real situation. Amane is very upset but Es' verdict, but the team helps her dramatize her transformation a bit. Haruka and Muu genuinely get that close. Yuno does wish to be left alone.

They film their second trial videos, now allowed to be around the other prisoners as they do so. They also invite people in their life to come in and play their victims. Yes, it’s just as awkward as it sounds. This is where the prisoners do their real reflection – they think about Es’ verdict for them and what they could have been capable of. There’s a bit of relief from both parties knowing that things will turn out alright now that Milgram intervened (ironic, I know, but this is my fix-it hehe). Shidou’s kids are excited to be filmed, not really understanding the context. Haruka once again works with an actor playing his younger self, a bit put off by how similar they look and the memories he bring back. Haruka’s mother, Rei, and Amane’s cult members (if they appear) are some of the only characters played by strangers, though they do look strikingly similar to the real people. Fuuta’s victim is also played by a stranger. Things are still tense with Hinako, but she agrees to appear. 

The team helps the prisoners fake injuries with lots bandages and slings. Then they wake Es. The same is repeated for T2/T3.

Now, I’ve played out a few different paths depending on my angst tolerance at the moment – sometimes Es goes through with the third trial verdicts and is forced to watch the executions (not realizing they're cleverly staged). Sometimes they refuse, finding a way to stop the whole experiment. Sometimes the prisoners realize that Es has been an unwilling participant, and bring the experiment to a stop themselves. Sometimes someone jams a wrench in the mv machine and try to blow it up in order for everything to end before final verdicts.

Because of limited details, the ending can play out however one wants. But my go-to is that Es wake up sometime afterwards in a clean facility filled with scientists. They’re brought to an interrogation room – this time on the other side of the questioning. They’re asked about their motivations, actions, emotions, choices, verdicts (or the reason they rebelled at the very end). A few doors down, the prisoners are being asked similar questions of self-reflection and morality. 

Es demands to know what’s going on, while the team tries to assure them that the prisoners are all fine. Es doesn’t buy this, though. They know what kind of mind games the experiment has tried to pull, and can’t tell what’s truth or lie anymore. Things get heated as they demand to see the prisoners. Meanwhile, the prisoners are getting worked up asking about Es. If they haven't already, this is when they learn that Es was an actual prisoner there the whole time. The last time they were together the situation was very intense, and they’re all incredibly worried about them. 

In the end, they manage to break out of their rooms and reunite in the middle of the facility, and Es is shocked. All ten are alive and well, even those they may have seen die. No eyes or limbs are missing. They’re all laughing and getting along, no matter what kinds of fights they got into between trials. Even more shocking is when the victims join them later – also all alive and happy. 

The ending has a bit of unavoidable angst since Es would be pretty fucked up by the whole experiment. They’d struggle with trust issues and knowing what’s reality. However, it’s still an overwhelmingly happy ending. They get to befriend the prisoners and their families outside of the painful context they met in. Regretting their ignorance of the situation, the prisoners decide to make up for lost time and spend a lot of positive, quality time with Es. The kids are finally allowed to play, and the they finally let the adults act a bit protective over them. This is when the found family completely kicks in lol. Es gets to sleep easy knowing they are all alive and happy, they receive all their memories again, and they get to return home to their own family.

I added it to a reblog but editing with @/qrevo's tags because this is what I was looking for but couldn't quite pin down to make it healing for Es too:

[saturnniidae]

Modern au Astrid does Hiccup's T shots for him. He's by no means squeamish, but I think doing it yourself would still be another level of stressful. They're such alterously in love best friends. Once a week Astrid comes over and is like 'okay babe, it's time to stick the hormone needle in ur asscheek' and he's like 'okay but pls don't say it like that'

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬!𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝑴𝒆.

╰┈➤ ❝ prince!xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 16 (21…)

tags : long fic, pwp (with plot), porn with feelings (LOTS. OF. IT. because xavier), based off of the lightseeker myths but not lore-accurate, canon divergent borderlining on au, jeremiah as a side character, master/servant, prince/knight, forbidden love, secret relationship, devotion, angst (with a happy ending), sort of a fix-it, self-doubt (both), slight jealousy, miscommunication, arguing, teasing, sexual tension, needy xavier, making out, heavy petting, oral (both), vaginal sex, cum shot, slight somnophilia (you wake up to him eating you out), make-up sex, praise, use of “your highness” “my liege” “my prince” “my light” (from reader), use of “my queen” “my lady” “starlight” “angel” (from xavier). lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : ~9.7k

an : SO THIS IS LATE (i was supposed to have finished this on the 16th…) BUT… HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED PRINCE !!! every time i revisit his lightseeker myth something in me dies <3 but despite the terrors i will continue to write xavier in soft and tender ways because i love him oh-so-very-much, and hopefully you can feel that through this. this is absolutely my beloved baby fic and probably one of the favorites i have ever written (up there with dlmly and ewflss), so i also hope that you’re able to love it as much as i do! (ALSO as usual the song adds to the feels so have fun w it i guess !! :D)

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

AO3 / KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

Of love and admiration that goes far beyond devotion.

Your body felt thick with sleep as you awoke. Limbs still a little heavy, only barely breaking through the last vestiges of your dream… You were barely aware of the rustle of sheets from below, a hand going up to shield your eyes from the sunlight. The curtains had been opened—something you were usually responsible for at the start of the day, whether or not you had slept in your own room.

Not that this was your room.

Soft, silken sheets of a far higher quality of your own; lavender-laced curtains… Dead give-aways.

This was the prince's room.

And last night, he was all over you.

In you.

The heat of his body was flush against yours, all his touches both intentional and needy, sultry movements of his hips to thrust himself deeper, and deeper, and deeper… Slowly the details began to flood back into your memory, effectively having your body heat up at just the thought of it. And then you heard it—you felt it. Nimble fingers trailing over your thigh, something wet, and slimy, a familiar feeling as he languidly licked a stripe up your core.

With a gasp, your hands reached down, finding purchase in those soft tufts of white-brown hair you loved so much.

“Xavier—?!” Still groggy with sleep, you could feel the haze in your own voice, but you blinked yourself awake at the sight below you.

Xavier’s eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief.

He had his hands prying you open, spread for him to see the very evidence of your arousal, and rested his cheek against your thigh. As if to make a point, his tongue darted out to give another lick—almost like a test. And you noticed that his face had already been covered with your slick.

“Good morning, angel,” he murmured with a smile. He had the audacity to nuzzle against your skin, quite obviously taking delight in the way your face flushed a bright red.

“H- how long have you… ah—”

You gasped as he pressed your thighs against your chest, spreading you more obviously open for him to enjoy. Again he leaned back down to lick at your folds, circling the tip of his tongue at your hole, and you jerked with the slight sting of sensitivity.

Sensitivity that couldn't have been there, unless…

“H-hey! Xavier… Wh— H-have you been doing this the whole morning?!”

He chuckled this time, hands moving to massage gentle circles at your thigh. You could see him run a thumb over the red mark he’d left on you just last night, and a shiver ran through your spine at the touch. “Should I… not do that?” he tilted his head. Slowly, his fingers began to move back closer and closer to your glistening heat. Your breath caught in his throat; he looked so innocent despite the way he would easily pull you into the palm of his hand.

“No, it’s not that, just… I-I didn’t think you’d wake me up like this…”

He smiled. “Mm.”

This time, he let your legs rest back upon his mattress, and he slid up your body, the familiar heat of his skin melding with yours.

“My lady…” he murmured. His eyelashes fluttered against your cheek lovingly, lips barely touching your skin, teasing a kiss before resting his forehead against yours. “Ahh… It’s just, I like staying between your legs. It’s nice. And… I like tasting you. And when you cum, I like watching the way you flutter…”

His voice was so soft. He spoke so genuinely, despite the mirth laced into his voice, despite the dirty words that fell from his lips. He could say it like it was normal.

He had come to be like this with you.

Not that being used to it by now made you feel any less embarrassed about it.

“My prince, please,” you huffed, feeling your face heat up. With a whine, you poked at his chest, effectively getting him to roll off of you and settle for pulling you into his arms.

You savored the moment.

His arms wound tightly around your shoulders, and despite the more indecent way he’d woken you up, there was comfort in being so close to him, comfort in waking up next to him. His presence, as always, exuded warmth in every possible way—you didn’t mind when his leg slid up and around you, pulling you closer, closer, locking you in his embrace.

Xavier was clingy.

And later today, he would be back in a meeting with his parents, not at the academy with you. And that was enough of a reason for him to be even more so.

“My liege…” you murmured into his chest, nuzzling against him to offer some form of comfort back—at least, as much as he always gave to you.

He shook his head.

“Not that,” he mumbled.

You smiled,

“My prince?”

Another shake. “Not that, either.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, leaning in for a quick, feather-light kiss.

“Xavier,” you whispered.

And he smiled.

“Xavier,” you said again, with more conviction, feeling your heart flutter at the way his eyes seemed to shimmer. “Xavier.”

“Just Xavier,” he murmured. “When I’m with you… I’m just Xavier.”

Your eyes closed for a moment as he placed a loving kiss on the tip of your nose, and then you chuckled. “Okay, Xavier,” you emphasized his name to appease him, ignoring the frown that formed on his face when you pulled away. “You have your duties, and I have mine. We should get up, no?”

“It’s early,” he huffed.

“You need to be early.”

“But I want to stay with you…”

“And I want to lay in a bed of roses. We don’t always get what we want, Xavier. Not even the Prince of Philos.” You grinned this time, leaning back down to return his earlier kisses with a tap on his nose. “Up. You know we can spend some more time together when you’re free again. Besides… I, too, have those training sessions to get to…”

With a groan, he sat up with you, almost pretending to be sleepy by making a show of rubbing his eyes.

You scoffed. “Oh, come on. As if you hadn’t been clearly wide awake and working me up between my legs… You woke up earlier than me!”

“That's different,” he insisted. “That was relaxing for me. Just as last night, you’re always the most wonderful when you—”

You shoved him by the shoulder with a laugh, finally standing up from the bed and making to go and shower. You weren't surprised at the huff of indignance he let out, but you paid no attention to his sulking. The running water felt cool against the your skin—it was a nice contrast to the heat still coursing through your veins. Different from his touches, naturally, but welcome nonetheless, especially since he'd been quite busy with your pleasure mere moments ago.

Not that you hadn't enjoyed it.

Every brush against these marks on your skin had you tingling, flashing memories in your head of how his teeth would nip, how his tongue would glide over you… how he'd painted his release all over you, the sheer bliss at feeling such of the extent of the love the two of you shared.

You did enjoy it.

And if he had been craving it, you couldn't deny that the same was true for you.

With the shower tap closing and the curtain being drawn, you stepped out of the shower to gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

This was what it was like to be his.

You thought that you wouldn't trade it for the world.

There was a smile on your face as you stepped out, casually covered in one of the spare robes he kept neatly to the side for nights you would spend over with him. "Xavier, if you aren't up from your bed yet, you really should—"

Your gazes met.

For a moment, the air seemed still. His eyes raked over the shape of your body, almost so to have you loosening the grip that held his robe together.

"A shame… If only I could mark you where they could see…" You watched as he made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you in that same, familiar manner, and burying his head into your neck. “Mm, you’re just so beautiful."

And you couldn’t help it.

You leaned back into him, allowing his hands to trail back down over your body, loosening the robe, the pads of his fingertips grazing your skin to leave goosebumps in your wake. Again. Just as he had done that evening. Each careful caress all over you, pressing into your skin as if to leave another mark of his love—nothing visible this time, but rather felt, for though the bruises below your collarbone could have sufficed, he would always be keen on doing much more than that.

Now, his hand made it between your thighs, tracing over your folds and almost dipping inside—

Almost.

“Your Highness,” you whined at him, promptly snatching his hand away.

The puppy-like gaze he gave you could have made you melt—in any other circumstance.

“Your Highness,” you repeated, firmly. “Hands off, be a good boy.”

Something like a smirk graced his features. “Are you ordering me around?”

“Yes.”

“A knight to her prince?”

You scoffed. “A lady to her lover.”

And at that, his expression softened.

Those were not often words that you said out loud.

Lover—a word so sacred, a word so pure. To call yourself the prince's lover was near suicide; a knight such as you could never truly be befitting to stand beside him at the throne.

It was not something you did often.

Xavier knew this.

"If that's so," he said gently, "then I'd be inclined to yield."

You shook your head slightly, and then before he had the chance to speak—or do—anything else, you stepped away from him to sift through his closet for one of those suits he’d always worn on days like this. With a pointed look you held it out, and it was near comical how his eyes lit up with barely-contained joy.

“Will you be helping me dress, then, my lady?”

As with anything Xavier said, his words carried with it an air of earnest innocence. Yet even the simplest things had your heart rate spiking if only for a moment.

“You do not need my help to dress…”

“Mm, perhaps so… But I would like it.”

"An order?"

"No, but a request. From a gentleman to his lover."

He followed you only to lean in and nip at your earlobe, and it was one last means to tease before he stepped back from you only to take his turn to shower.

Cheeky.

That was one way to describe him.

Xavier just did things, and said things, and you had to wonder if all princes were every bit as lofty as he could be, but—truly, how could you say no to that?

You wrapped his robe back around you a little more tightly, mumbling under your breath about how unfair he was, before reaching for your own uniform.

Having been carefully kept aside with last night's activities, Xavier had taken to neatly folding them up by the bedside table.

It made you smile.

The Prince of Philos was ever kind.

And though dressing yourself meant putting to rest the last remnants of his touch, it brought you back to the reality of what you were. Just as you'd said just earlier—you had your duties, and he had his. No matter that you were His Highness's closest aid, the fact remained that the two of you lived different worlds. At times, it was difficult to comprehend just how you'd gotten this far… And yet, last night was more proof of it than you could ever hope for, more proof of it than you could ever dream of.

You carefully arranged your skirt, looking towards the mirror in the room to adjust the fit of your uniform.

This was what it looked like to be his.

The door to the bathroom opened.

With another turn, you padded the room to give him a little kiss on the lips, before making through with your promise—

His hand grabbed your wrist, and he smiled.

"Just one kiss?" he spoke, and his eyes danced with mirth. You could tell that he was teasing.

You rolled your eyes. "What would you prefer me do?"

"A little more. Please?"

Xavier was clingy.

You knew that he had every reason to be, and perhaps that was one of the reasons you indulged him so easily.

Or, perhaps, you had need for it just the same as he did.

His arms locked around your waist, drawing you close as the soft touch of his lips against yours made you melt.

He was gentle, this time—not quite the neediness he'd displayed earlier in the morning, but he kissed you with such tenderness, such love, that it took a while before you were able to separate and… process.

Cheeks flushed, you took a step back from him and turned back to his closet to gather his clothes.

From then on, there was silence.

Towel off as he slipped on his underwear, you were careful with your movements, his trained eyes watching you fit his shirt over his torso. You didn't dare meet his gaze, not like this—instead, you remained adamant on giving attention to dressing him, fingers nimbly fixing the cuffs of his sleeves, trailing up to the buttons…

Perhaps, it was the silence that made this feel more intimate than it should.

Perhaps, it was the obvious pull you had over one another, still quite unable to get over the night that you had shared.

There was proof of it, too—not only on your body, but on his. Small, red marks on his chest, littering around like specks of starlight on his pale skin… You couldn't help but reach out to touch them, running your fingers over him in a manner reminiscent of the way he'd done with you, and…

Ah, you thought—this was difficult.

He was neither saying anything nor doing anything, simply allowing your exploration of his body, yet you cleared his throat and deftly brought his shirt to a close. Your hands fixed the clasps and pins on his collar, and as you handed him his trousers, you reached over to gather his coat.

"You know… I am not to train with you today," he spoke, quietly. The first word he'd spoken since.

"…Mm." You slid the coat onto his arms, and watched as he rolled his shoulders back to adjust its fit. "I know that. They've called you to the palace."

"I may be gone, for, perhaps, the entire day…"

You buttoned up his suit, carefully beginning to place the little pins and tassels, and you couldn't help but wonder just how it was that he wore these without feeling an ounce of discomfort—or, at least, showing it.

"I know that, too."

"Starlight."

You looked at him.

"The brooch is on wrong."

You faltered.

"…I know that, too."

He smiled as he watched you fumble with such a simple, menial task, and while your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, his hands met yours to help you with it.

"Let me. Before you prick yourself with it."

When you stepped back, you watched him turn to the mirror with any last-minute fixes, and reached towards the table to slip on his gloves.

Looking at him like this, you felt a lump form down in your throat.

It was different from seeing him in uniform—like this, he looked every bit the part of the crowned prince of the nation. Handsome, charming, gentle… Just like every prince should be.

And just as earlier, you felt your heart tear in uncertainty, the reality of his stature laid before your very eyes.

You spoke, and your voice was quiet.

"Your Highness."

He didn't reply. You could see a small frown on his face in the mirror.

"Your Highness." You tried again.

"No."

Ah.

"Xavier."

He looked at you, then.

As if he'd been sure of what you'd been thinking; as if, although he wouldn't speak of it, he would reassure you that you were his, and he was yours.

You let out a slow breath.

"Thank you."

Your head bowed the slightest, gaze averting to your feet.

"Even just to stand a half step behind you, protecting you… It would have been enough. Yet still I have the privilege to bask in your love. Enough, that… Even amidst all this secrecy, I—there's nothing I could want more."

You saw soft footsteps make their way towards you, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

He spoke in this way to comfort you.

"If your vow is to protect me," he murmured, "then mine is to protect you. If your vow is to love me… then, so, too, will my vow be to love you. You are not behind me. You're with me."

A finger placed under your chin nudged your gaze upwards, blue eyes once again latched onto yours.

"Whatever the meeting they've called me for, nothing will change. I'll be by your side, always. Believe me."

And believe him, you would. Because it was all that you've ever done. You didn't know how to do anything else.

—

"Waiting on His Highness?"

You turned as a figure hoisted himself over the stone balustrade you were sitting on, settling down beside you. Familiar brown curls and the same uniform that you were wearing, he was easily recognizeable. His gaze angled towards the front as he leaned back, legs stretched and hands supporting him in his seat. "Geez… It's not everyday you get to see students littered around at this hour, but I must admit. There's some pretty views out here!"

He swung his feet a little, a satisfied smile on his face as he observed the entrance of the academy bathed in the glow of the sunset.

But when you didn't say anything, he turned his head to look at you, blinking curiously. "No, but really. It's Xavier, right?"

This time, you smiled.

When you turned away from him, you, too, looked at the front, scanning the gate and listening for any of those telltale hooves of horses, or rhythmic footsteps of palace guards…

Anything to signal Xavier's return.

"He's been at a meeting," you shrugged. And you tried to keep it under wraps that this was much later than you'd expected him to be occupied, you tried to keep it under wraps that you'd been feeling a little disappointed that he wasn't back yet.

Keyword: tried.

Perhaps it was a curse that the Vice Captain was just as observant as the prince himself.

"Hmm, but you've been out here for a while…" You could feel his gaze on you, almost scrutinizing, if you'd believed Jeremiah to be like that.

But you knew him a fair amount. He'd been your training partner on multiple occasions, and he had quite the reputation for being on the friendlier side amongst the Starhunters. Despite his more dramatic ways of framing things, he'd always meant well—both for you, and for Xavier. And while he didn't know of the relationship the two of you shared, a little part of you was fond of him for all he's done to help the prince nonetheless. You'd felt as if, that way, he's helped you, too.

A pause, a little hesitation, before you sighed. "Mhm. Not quite sure when he'll be back, but, you know… It's a little bit expected for me to be out here when he does. I suppose."

Not that you minded. You'd want to wait up for him, too.

"Do you… fancy him?"

Jeremiah's question made you freeze.

"I'm sorry?"

"Prince Xavier. Do you fancy him?"

His tone was not one that was accusatory, but purely laced with curiosity. Again, though you didn't look back on him, you could feel his gaze steely on you.

"W- what makes you think…? I'm—I'm just his knight."

"Well, and his training partner."

"You've been my training partner, too."

"Not as much as he has, though… Haven't you shared the same teacher?"

You looked at him with a huff, and that smirk on his face almost made you regret that decision.

"Jeremiah—"

"Look. I'm not gonna pry, because if you do like him, then that's on you… and him, I guess. But I've seen the way you look at him. Maybe nearly everyone else seems to think you hate each other, but it's always seemed the opposite case from what I've observed."

"Why are you bringing this up, anyway?"

The light in his eyes seemed to flicker away, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "I heard rumors."

His answer was short.

Vague.

With how the conversation was going, you'd think those rumors to be speculations of your relationship, but it didn't add up—Jeremiah had just said it seemed you two had an unspoken rivalry.

In your head, you could thank Xavier's constant invitations to spar with him for that.

"What… rumors?"

"Well, the meeting. He's been summoned to the palace, right? There's been talks of an arranged marriage, and… Well, you know. I have my suspicions about the meeting being related to that."

Oh.

Something in his words stirred uncomfortably in your stomach, and your gaze moved from his face back down to your feet.

An arranged marriage.

Of course there was an arranged marriage.

"We both know Xavier's of Royal blood." Jeremiah continued, but his voice carried a softer tone, and he nudged at your arm in a means to somehow lighten the mood. "I mean, we all know that. And, you're an official knight, and everything, so I'm sure you know that really well. So, it's just… like that."

You let out a slow breath.

"…Yeah. It's just like that." You could mumble out the words, yet saying them out loud did little to soothe the discomfort—instead, it made them sound all the more real.

Whatever words he'd said to you this morning, whatever words he'd said to you the night before—sweet words, loving words… He meant them, you knew that he did. But that wasn't the issue. Because often times, even a prince had truly too little of power to act against the monarchy—and Xavier wasn't even on good terms with his family in the first place.

If a marriage had truly been arranged, he'd have had little say in the matter.

Neither did you know if he truly would sacrifice so much just for you.

"You okay?"

Jeremiah pulled you out of your thoughts, and only then did you realize the way you'd been carelessly wringing your hands in an effort—that clearly failed—to distract yourself.

You offered a sheepish smile, "Yeah."

And while he seemed doubtful, he no longer pushed.

Instead, he got up.

"Well, anyway. Just food for thought. Listen, I'm not going to stop you from liking him… But just be careful, okay? I'd advise you not to get too attached. For your own good. As your friend, I care about you, too, you know?" He gave you a reassuring pat on the back, and then he stretched.

There was a wistful smile on his face.

"Geez, I know how it feels, though. There's just something about being so close with a member of Royalty. When it dawns on you, you really realize that you're worlds apart…" he shook his head. "You know what they say. Perhaps the prince is like a star in the sky, meant to be adored from afar."

You placed your hands nearly on your lap, and watched him move back over the balustrade and onto the path of the corridor. "Leaving?"

"I'd stay and keep you company, but His Highness might get the wrong idea," he laughed, shaking his head.

And though he made to walk away at that moment, he paused.

With a little wink, he gestured to you—"Though, hey! Nice fighting today! Always a pleasure to train with you."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile peeked at the corners of your mouth. "Go flirt with your other girls, Jeremiah."

He grinned. "Flirt? No idea what you're talking about, milady!"

And in a few moments, he was gone.

You turned back to the gate, running over his words like a record.

Perhaps the prince is like a star in the sky, meant to be adored from afar.

And maybe, you realized, Jeremiah was exactly right.

But you wondered who would have been lonelier that way—the star at the top, or its gazer down below.

That night, you walked to your dorm alone.

—

The pattern repeated itself.

Several days had already passed, and night after night you would find yourself waiting at the front of the academy… to no avail.

You could go to the palace yourself.

It wouldn't be unwelcome; you were not forbidden, nor was it unusual.

Yet, something in your deepest instincts told you not to.

And the rest of the knights had nothing to say about his whereabouts.

"So you're still waiting."

You didn't need to turn around to see who was talking; this was a voice you'd come across much more often as the evening neared.

"As his knight, I would," you replied, plainly.

And again Jeremiah moved to sit beside you, would spent a couple of minutes out of his day to keep you company for a while.

You'd suspected this to be similar.

Yet—

"Not this time."

Instead of actually sitting down, he offered his hand for you to take, and only then did you look at him inquisitively.

"Huh?"

"Well, it almost looks as if you haven't done anything for yourself lately. I'm just looking out for you!"

"But, if the prince comes back and I'm not present to greet him—"

"He'd be back with palace guards with him—"

"But I promised I'd—"

"Miss, with all due respect, I don't think His Highness would have wanted you to wait on him like this everyday, either."

Your mouth shut.

Jeremiah had an eyebrow raised, a very pointed expression on his face that made you feel a little sheepish.

In some ways, he was right. You had been prioritizing awaiting his return, and as a result of that, your own personal joys had fallen a little bit neglected. These days, your trainings and classes were the only joys you could find—little sparks of conversations here and there, and occasional check-ins from Jeremiah himself, too, but…

You found that it was difficult to find all that much joy without him.

You knew it was stupid.

You knew it was dangerous.

If Jeremiah had been right, and Xavier had gotten caught up in the plannings of an arranged marriage, then, you—what was your place, but that of a knight?

A knight, whether close to His Highness or not, was not truly required to wait after hours simply for his return. Not that you were overstepping your boundaries, but it was not a duty that was needed. You had been doing this of your own accord; using duty as some feeble excuse both for yourself and for others.

Jeremiah had warned you not to get too attached.

You knew, deep within your heart, with all the love that you had for him…

It was already too late for that warning.

The least you could do, you supposed, was take it easy, just a little bit.

Slowly, you stood up, using his arm as leverage to stand, before dusting off the skirt of your uniform. Your expression softened. "Yeah. Right. A few moments… A few moments shouldn't hurt."

"Of course it shouldn't!" he scoffed. "Come, quickly. I've heard from Sarah that you haven't had any starbread for days now, and it's supposed to be your favorite. She's worried about you!"

The last time you'd spoken to Sarah had been yesterday. She had been your training partner that day—one of your other friends amongst the Starhunters, a headstrong individual you enjoyed spending time with.

And she'd been right.

Perhaps, you'd barely eaten much the past few days, but it had included your avoidance of the cafeteria's starbread your friends had known you to adore.

Unintentionally, of course.

But now that Jeremiah has mentioned it, you suddenly missed the fluffy taste that melted in your mouth, and a small smile formed on your face as you allowed the male to drag you towards the cafeteria.

It was past dinnertime.

It would be closing soon.

"Okay, stay put. Don't you dare think of going back there just to check on the gate again. I'll be quick and get you one!"

It was his own way of offering you comfort.

—

You saw him.

Jeremiah had gotten you your starbread as it began to rain, and while you were able to offer a thank-you in return for his kindness, he was off in the direction of his dorm area with a barely-discernible mumble of panic.

The raindrops were loud.

You watched his figure retreat before you looked out of the stone hallway, pattering drops making splashes onto the ground.

Uncomfortable.

Rain had never been your most favorite thing in the world.

The star-filled sky was less visible now, a gloomy mist seemingly covering the campus you'd grown so fond of…

You saw him.

Before a split-second decision to step out into the rain, an umbrella was placed over your head.

You saw him.

"…Xavier."

—

The walk was silent.

Everything was silent.

Nothing more had been spoken as you walked back to his room, nothing more had been spoken as he reached for a towel to dry off your hair.

The warmth of his touch.

The warmth of his presence.

You felt as if you could melt at it, your eyes tearing up at the mere scent of his cologne that you'd spent days—weeks—without it near you.

Without him near you.

But you didn't speak.

Not even as he tried to meet your eyes, not even as he set the towel aside to hand you his robe—his robe—the very same robe you'd used on the day that he'd left.

Instead, he was the one who spoke first.

"You should take a shower, since you've been in the rain. You'll get cold, and uncomfortable…"

Still, his voice was soft.

It was almost as if everything could go back to normal like this—like nothing had changed, and this was still… Xavier.

This was still Xavier.

He'd promised nothing would change.

You believed him, didn't you?

"I'll… boil up some tea for you in the meantime."

He was taking care of you.

He'd been in the rain, too.

He had barely dried his own hair.

He walked over to open the bathroom door for you, before moving to search for the tea you'd always particularly liked.

But you were supposed to be the one doting on him.

"A prince…" Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, as you looked down. The soft carpets of his room allowed you to sink into the flooring, taking comfort in the feeling. "A prince should not be doing so many favors for his servants."

There wasn't a reply.

He'd paused, though—the rustling had stopped. you could tell.

You didn't raise your head to look at him.

"…Angel?" he murmured.

Ah.

"Since when… did you think about things like that with me?"

And this time, you didn't reply.

—

Your mug.

He'd saved your mug.

And in it was, as he promised, tea well-prepared in your favorite flavor.

Yet, it was still quiet.

He'd been sitting on his bed, reading, once you'd come out fully changed—he, too, had prepared one of his sleepwear for you to use for the time being, and though you were practically swimming in it, it was comfortable.

It smelled like him.

Slowly, you padded your way across the room to sit beside him, your mug in your hands as if to warm you. The rain hadn't stopped, pelts of raindrops hitting the window with no signs of stopping anytime soon. The view outside was just as gloomy—you could hear the gale of the wind hitting the panel, and you were more than grateful to be inside a building.

He shifted. The book was placed down.

"How have you been?"

You felt an arm wrap around your waist, and—and you couldn't do this.

Not like this.

Nothing will change.

But not like this.

"Xavier…" your eyes closed, and your voice pleaded with him not to pretend.

"Xavier, please. Not like this."

Not like this.

He pulled away from you, but your chin tilted upwards—there they were.

Those blue, blue, crystal blue eyes.

"Starlight. Are you okay?"

"…No."

It took every ounce of your strength just to whisper.

"What is it? If you need—"

"You were gone."

He blinked, looking at you carefully as you spoke.

"How long?" Your gaze dropped back to the ground as he released you. "Do you know how long it's been? It's been weeks."

"Angel…"

"I waited. I waited. But I hadn't heard a single word about you from anyone, and I thought—I thought, maybe, you wouldn't be returning anymore—"

"No… no, that's not it, angel, I simply got caught up with the matters at hand…"

You knew it was true.

You knew you were likely being unreasonable.

Yet the frustration building in your chest did little to help you.

"But you could have let me know somehow!"

This time the cry you let out felt choked out; unnatural. As if you couldn't understand why so much of you hurt, when this could easily be resolved if you could talk about this normally, and yet—and yet—and yet—

"It feels… It feels like you've been avoiding me."

Xavier didn't reply, and you took the chance to look up at him.

"I haven’t seen you at all since then. Since your meeting. It’s almost as if you’ve been avoiding me, so just, tell me I'm wrong. I heard from Jeremiah that—"

It was Xavier's turn to frown.

"Jeremiah? Have you been spending a lot of time with him? I saw him with you when—"

"That's what you get from that?! Just the mention of his name?!" you cried. "It's not even—he’s been keeping me company, Xavier. You know, like a friend? Like someone who cares?"

"…He gave you the starbread."

You buried your face into your hands.

"I'm trying to have a conversation with you!"

"I just wanted to—"

"Xavier… Did you even want anything from that night?"

You heard him draw in a breath. The silence that followed was deafening, the air around you delicate—as if your question had torn through the thickness of all that tension, and now… Now, it could almost shatter.

"This… is that what this is about?" he whispered. "Do you regret it…?"

There was concern in his eyes when you looked at him. And it felt real.

Just as real as the memories from that night, just as real as the marks he'd littered all over your skin, just as real as the fullness of him that you'd felt deep, deep inside you.

The first time.

The first time you had ever dared to go so far.

…You didn't regret it. You shook your head, despite the way your lower lip trembled as you prepared to speak again.

"I could never."

Your voice was barely a whisper.

"I wanted it. Of course I wanted it, Xavier, but… But did you?"

Yet you were met with another silence, and the very fact that there was no immediate reply had your heart shattering to pieces.

His answer did nothing to repair it.

"I wanted it," he murmured. "I did. But… I don't know it it's something we should have done."

Your head shot back up to look at him again, and this time, the tears you'd worked so hard to hold back began to fall.

"I can't believe you."

With trembling hands, you stood up, mug almost haphazardly placed back on his nightstand.

"How could you��� how could you be so unsure about it when you… When we… We had sex, Xavier, and you…"

"My lady, you know that's not what I mean. I told you… You can always stay with me. You mean everything to me, it's just… It is not so simple right now. Give me time to sort this out."

"But how does that help us now?! Do you think doubting everything right now takes away the fact that it happened?"

"Angel—"

"You can't call me that right now!"

"But we knew this would happen. We both knew it, these risks, the complications of being in this relationship. We're not supposed to be together."

We're not supposed to be together.

In every sense of the phrase, you knew he was right.

You could have waited until he was king.

You could have waited—you could have waited.

You could have waited until he could act without the bars of higher authority.

Neither of you did.

You knew as well as he did that a secret love carried with it the risk of being torn apart.

We're not supposed to be together.

No, but you loved him.

And it was selfish of you.

But you did.

And hearing those words from his mouth felt something akin to a sword being stabbed to your chest.

We're not supposed to be together.

A final straw.

We're not supposed to be together.

"…I see."

You turned around and walked away.

—

This time, it was your fault.

You'd keep your responses short, limit them to greetings whenever you could. Though you would stay by his side whenever necessary, you wouldn't tilt your head up to gaze at him, wouldn't step a little bit closer. It had been days since your argument, and you had been the one to avoid him—or, at the very least, avoid him as much as you could.

You were a knight in service to him.

It wasn't as if you never saw him after that, but you'd kept your distance.

Perhaps you just needed time.

Xavier had asked for it—he wasn't stopping you, wasn't trying to breach the distance, kept the air between you stale just as you had been doing.

Perhaps he needed time, too.

The reality of your relationship was heavy, both on you, and on him—but, you knew, most likely more on him than you in the first place. He wasn't sharing the burden with you, after all. You knew you'd acted too rashly on your frustration that night. But, in this situation… With this atmosphere… Things couldn't go back to normal with just a good night's sleep. They wouldn't. Perhaps the both of you knew that.

You approached him first. The clocktower—he often went there to be alone. It was quiet, and peaceful… and in the evening glow of the moon, a certain sense of melancholy settled over it. Xavier rarely had moments of rest, not as the prince of a nation… Yet, here, you could see little glimpses of the person he wished himself to be.

The clocktower was a little sliver of freedom for him.

"Xavier."

You called him out, voice soft and carried by the breeze. When he turned, the flowers gathered in his hands brought a skip to your heartbeat.

Ah, he…

"I… didn't know how to give them to you."

Blues and yellows. Not particularly a bouquet, but almost enough to be one—small flowers circled around in his hands, tied by a dainty little ribbon…

Forget-me-nots.

The representatives of the planet of Philos.

Fidelity. Faithfulness. Love.

A promise.

"I'm sorry."

Those were the words he spoke as you approached to take the flowers in your own hands.

"No… I'm sorry."

You sat down on the brick-lined surface, him taking the spot beside you, and—you couldn't help it. Eyes closing, you leaned against his shoulder, nuzzling into the soft warmth you had come to love so much. His response was immediate. Fingers reaching up to run through your hair, loving strokes and a kiss against your forehead…

You missed this.

"Do you think…" you whispered, peeking upwards as you settled into him, eyes moving over the stars in the sky.

It was a quiet, clear night. The stars were plentiful.

Perhaps the prince is like a star in the sky, meant to be adored from afar.

Your hand reached out towards the stars, and your fist closed—you could imagine flicker of light in your hand, but you knew it wouldn't have been a star itself.

"Do you think… The stars are our of reach?"

Xavier held you close, nuzzling into your hair.

He didn't speak.

"You only ever see them when it's dark. When the sky is clear. It feels… fleeting, even for something we see every night. Temporary. As if they could sift through your fingers, if you could ever think to hold them…"

Your gaze moved from the sky and back to him, shifting to see him more clearly.

You didn't stop him when he dipped his head into your neck, placing soft, gentle kisses over you skin.

"Xavier," you said again, quietly. "Do you… think about me that way? About us?"

He let out a slow breath. It brought goosebumps to your skin, and you had half a mind that he'd intended to leave a mark on you right there—but he pulled away.

Brilliant blue eyes back on yours, and something like a wistful smile gracing his features.

"To be honest… I do."

It was an answer you expected.

He pulled you back to lean against his chest, and then, too, did his eyes drift upwards towards the sky.

"Because of how things are, it's very easy to end up losing someone you care about. I could make one wrong move and lose you. But… above everything else… there's no sense to the meaning of living if you aren't here with me."

You closed your eyes. The steady thrum of his heartbeat allowed you to hang onto his words, lulling you into the security you felt in your arms.

"If the stars are fleeting, my starlight… Then, I'd do my best to follow wherever you go. I'd want to." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

He said it again.

Something in your heart told you that his next words would be difficult to digest.

"You were right. I was avoiding you a little… but only because I didn't know what to do. I know there have been rumors. If you've heard them, then… you're hearing from me now that they are true."

"…Your engagement."

"An arranged one. I have yet to offer my acceptance of it."

A wry smile made its way to your lips.

So Jeremiah was right.

Yet as it stood—none of this had ever been anything he'd wanted.

The first time you met, you'd spent several years into your formal trainings without him.

The first time you met, you had your destiny laid out before you.

The first time you met, you pledged wholeheartedly, deep into your heart, that this was the man you would vow to protect.

But the first time you met, Xavier hadn't smiled at all.

He was the prince of Philos.

Rumored to ascend the throne, rumored to lead the country—he was, and always had been, held in such high, prestigious regard…

But the first time you met, Xavier hadn't smiled at all.

He'd never wanted any of this.

He didn't choose which family to be born into; he didn't choose the path that he now walked upon with chains around his ankles.

He didn't choose to be betrothed to someone else.

"I still choose you."

He chose you.

And yet the pain in his voice could only tell you that it wasn't an easy choice—

He chose you.

Because he would willingly chase after something so fleeting.

Perhaps, it was in a similar way that you had chosen him.

He let out another sigh, and his face buried into your hair. "I have little say in the matter, even if my heart had already made its choice long ago. I no longer know what to do. It's frustrating… and I'd distanced myself because of it."

This time, you shook your head.

"The truth is," you laughed a little bit, more at yourself, more out of pity, "I'd been selfish on my part as well. I know… I know that we'd started this together. I know that we've known from the very start that things might not go the way that we want it to… but…"

This time, it was you who sighed. "But still, I, too, choose you. I want you. And… I've always wanted you to know, that—this love, I have, for you… It's more than this situation calls for, and enough for me to believe that things will work out."

"Angel…"

"I think, maybe it's because I feel so strongly that I'd gotten so frustrated. Because sometimes… Sometimes, it feels as if you don't believe I could love you so much… that it would be easier for you to let me go now than to force me to go through all of the turmoil of seeing this through, when—when it is already too late for that."

Slowly, your turned your eyes back to look at him.

"My prince… it's too late for that."

His hand moved to silently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the intensity of his gaze nearly causing you to falter, but you didn't.

You couldn't.

You—

You had chosen him.

"Xavier, I love you. I choose to love you, and I choose you, and I choose everything else that comes with this choice, and… I know, I know that you love me back. I have never doubted it. But… Your Highness, believe me. I can love you the same way… I can love you just as much. Trust me to do so, and don't keep me in the dark about it. Please. Your Highness, believe me."

His forehead rest upon yours, and you knew that it was not easy for him to agree with you.

Xavier—always so willing to give you all of his love… yet when it came to him, he didn't know how to accept it.

And instead of words, his lips pressed back onto yours, hand gliding upwards to pull you into this love he had that he could only show you this way otherwise.

Your eyes closed, and he whispered:

"Please, my lady… Could you stay with me again?"

—

Warm water ran over your skin, a lull of comfort.

You weren't used to this—the way his arms, wet from the shower, wrapped around your torso, lavishing soap onto your arms, your chest… He was so gentle. The way he rubbed into your skin was soothing, already enough to make you melt.

And though the air around you stayed silent save for the rushing sound of water, you've never felt so… relaxed.

Xavier had insisted.

He'd claimed that you had spoiled him far too many times for him to count, and the least he could do was return the favor somehow.

But you didn't believe him, not really. You thought he always spoiled you. Even a glance your way was enough to fill you with joy—he just didn't know that. Despite all that you'd said at the clocktower a few moments ago, it was difficult to explain to him how much you loved him.

You leaned back, a soft sigh of satisfaction leaving your lips. As the motion put you back under the spray of the shower, your eyes closed, and he promptly reached out to lower the pressure.

This time, his hands were in your hair, gently easing your head back, rubbing his fingers into your scalp. It took a moment for him to reach for the shampoo, before he was spreading the bubbles over the top of your head.

Cherries.

The scent made you smile.

It was his shampoo he was using on you, and you found that you didn't mind at all—this was his scent.

This was what it… felt, to be his.

Careful touches massaged the soapy, sweet-smelling bubbles into the hair, precise with the pressure and precise with his movements. He was dedicated, and delicate—just right, just perfect.

In the end, he truly knew you just that well.

And his hands slipped down from under your hair, rubbing in circular motions. The pressure of the showerhead had been turned back up again, and while one hand took to shielding your eyes from the rinse of your shampoo, his other slid down to caress you.

To feel you.

Something told you he was holding back a little, both at his own expense and at yours—yet his hands stroked over your body under the pretense of rinsing, motions becoming a little more sensual with every second that passed. His thumb rubbed your hipbone, up and down, up and down….

And then his hand made it between your legs.

Soft caresses on your inner thighs, an occasional squeeze here and there…

By now he'd finished rinsing your hair, and rinsing the soap off of your body, and his chin rest on your shoulder.

He had both hands free.

One running over the side of your body—your arms, your waist, before moving up to cup your breasts… while the other edged tantalizingly close to your core, the heat of his touch almost making you want to press your thighs together.

Almost.

He pulled away.

That smile on his face was familiar—satisfied, and knowing, and just a little bit proud of himself. And up close like this, you could see every spark of joy in the depths of his eyes, every inch of skin you wanted to kiss. His hair stuck to his forehead, eyelashes wet with little droplets.

When your eyes met, he chuckled. It was a sound that echoed beautifully in his little shower space, warmth spreading through your chest almost immediately.

It was a blur from there. You'd hardly remembered it.

Shower aside, you'd found yourself straddling his hips, his body splayed out beneath you. Familiar silken sheets that adorned his bed rustled in disarray, and with a groan, his hips bucked up into you.

The gaze that he held was unique, only to you.

One of love—of want—of need.

"Beautiful," he whispered. "My starlight… you are beautiful."

Though his breathing was shallow, he reached up, cupping your cheek.

And you smiled.

"So are you, my prince." A slight, almost testing grind against his throbbing cock had his breath hitching, and his hand falls back down to grip the sheets.

Your eyes softened.

"Xavier…" you murmured. "Are we sure of this? For you, right now… is it worth it? Do you think so?"

He pulled you down for your lips to touch, an ever so slight peck—one to reassure—and he smiled back.

Soft.

Knowing.

This time, certain.

"It's worth it," he spoke. His voice rang true. "You're always worth it, angel." His hips rolled up against yours, and you could see the way he cherished the gasp you let out. "You always have been… you always will be. You are worth every pain and every struggle I might have to bear. So much so that if I am to die by your hands, then so be it. It would be an honor."

A slow breath fell from your lips, and you hadn't realized until that moment how much you'd been holding in. You shook your head, despite the giddy smile that had since formed on your features.

"Silly," you let out an airy laugh. "My liege, such devotion from a prince shouldn't be directed at his servant…" when he frowned, you reached over to ease the furrow of his brows, "…but rather his servant towards him."

This time you gathered his hands to pin back against his pillows, rolling your hips once more, sliding your folds over his cock—and you let out a shaky sigh.

"I'd say it back," you whispered. "You are worth every pain and every struggle I might have to bear… I would lay my life for you, my prince. My heart, and my body, and my soul… are all yours. And it is an honor."

You smiled, "Your Highness, believe me."

This time, he does.

You could see it in his eyes, in the way the tension in his body had melted away.

And when he smiled, you nuzzled against him—

And you slid down his body, taking his erection into your hands.

"A-ah, angel, what are— oh—"

You watched the tips of his ears flush bright red as you kissed at his thighs, grazing your thumb over the tip of his cock. The pre-cum that had oozed out had you spreading it over his shaft, coating him with wetness—and you took your time. Every movement was slow, and careful. You enjoyed his reactions, every little sound he had no choice but to let slip through.

"Angel—angel, please—"

A soft chuckle.

"An order?" you murmured.

He groaned as you leaned in to place tiny little butterfly kisses around his tip, and your eyes crinkled with delight.

His hips jerked—"N-no, just… a req—a request—" A gasp. "From… F-from a gentleman t-to his— his lo—ov—ahh—"

You could laugh with glee at how responsive he was, and, almost as if rewarding him for it, you opened your mouth, molding your lips around him and slowly sliding him into your throat.

The moan that he let out was beautiful.

Continued slow movements, you began to move your head up and down, up and down.

It didn't take long.

Perhaps it was the tease; perhaps it was how much he'd been holding back all this time—his hips lifted up slightly, pushing himself deeper into your throat, and your eyes shut.

"A-angel!" he cried. "Oh, my— my lady, oh— mnh, s-so good—"

Your hands ran delicately over his thighs as you sucked, bringing your head up to the tip and circling your tongue around it before taking his cock back into your throat.

His groans grew more frantic, his hips stuttered.

And then before you could think, and just as your fingers had wrapped back around his cock, every intention to stroke his length, his hand was firmly placed on the back of your head. He began pushing you—you'd take him deeper, as deep as you could, his hips rutting up into your mouth in a desperate frenzy.

You moaned around his length as your eyes closed, and you could feel the way he was throbbing.

"Ple— please— please, angel, starlight, I want— want to be inside you—" His voice was becoming hoarse. Less coherent.

He was losing himself in the pleasure, just as you'd wanted.

"Hnng— angel, please, I mis— m-miss you so bad, miss how warm, I— haah— ahh—!"

He cried out your name, his thrusts becoming more frantic.

And you pulled away.

"W-wait…!"

You wiped the slick off of your mouth and cherished the protest he'd only barely choked out. "You asked," you panted. "You asked me… You…"

You didn't finish your sentence.

He had spoiled you enough—you would comply with his every requests, and spoil him.

In an instant your warm, wet walls sank down onto his length with a lewd squelch, greedily taking all of him. You leaned forward, moaning—"Xavier. Xavier… Xavier…"

He choked on his moans as you began to bounce over his cock, desperation just as well matching the way he fucked up into you.

Not enough.

Not enough.

Your movements were frantic, a messy chase of your highs—

But your legs could give in.

Not enough. Not enough.

"X-Xavier…" you whimper helplessly, voice shaky, distorted with the movements of your hips. "Mnnh… Xavie… Please—please, Y-Your Highness— my light, my everything, my— my prince, make me cum—!"

His actions were quick.

You sank into the mattress as his figure caged you between his arms, hovering over you, panting, panting—you squealed as he began to slam his hips into you, and this… This was enough.

Despite every rough slam of his cock deep into you, he leaned in to whine into your ear, occasionally turning his head to pepper your face with kisses.

Gentle enough—desperate enough—loving enough.

"Xavier!"

With a final cry of his name, you crashed, trembling around him and clasping his arm so tight that you were sure your nails had dug into his skin to leave a mark.

"Xavier… Xavier…"

Your chest heaved, and your hand fell limp back to your side as he kissed you.

He kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you—his hips losing their pace, before he—

"M'gonna—gonna— nnh—! Ah!"

He released all over your stomach, shooting his cum out onto you, leaving a sticky mess on your body as he hung his head.

Arms on either side of your body, he desperately tried to catch his breath before he could look at you.

"Ah… ahh… haah… Th-that… Y-you were so…"

You smiled, reaching up to run your hands through his hair. "Very good," you murmured, all praise. "You made me feel so, so good."

He sat up, looking at you as his expression contorted into one of pure, unabashed adoration.

You almost rolled your eyes—"We have to shower again…" you sighed, though the smile never left your face.

He shook his head.

He took a few moments before he'd come back with a wet towel to wipe you clean, and then—as if having spent every ounce of his energy—fell on top of you like a weighted blanket.

"Xavier—!"

"Mmn. Let's cuddle first…"

He spun you over to have you back on top of him, and cradled your figure close. Your head rest upon his chest.

"My Queen."

Your eyes widened.

"My Queen."

He repeated it, firmly—surely.

His head buried into your hair, and you heard it again.

"I believe you. I do, and I will, and you—you will be my Queen. I will make sure of it. Beside me, with me."

A slow, shaky breath—

"Your Highness, believe me."

an : have you figured out yet that i love phrase repetition

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[satoruxx]

PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.  

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice. 

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone. 

"who's the rookie?" 

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes. 

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei. 

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care. 

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons." 

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit." 

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around. 

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace. 

"maybe she's strong?" 

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities." 

ii. routine 

"can i ask you guys a question?" 

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching. 

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile. 

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue. 

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?" 

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another. 

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could. 

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him. 

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.  

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness." 

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him. 

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it. 

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there. 

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you. 

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment. 

but you can't. 

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—" 

"—so that makes you her family then." 

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles. 

"…yes." 

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat. 

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him. 

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims. 

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?" 

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe." 

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?" 

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably. 

"we'll do things the way she wants us to." 

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him. 

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge. 

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen. 

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko. 

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.  

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you. 

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?" 

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh. 

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot." 

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest. 

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him. 

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face. 

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined. 

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands. 

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?" 

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always." 

"me too." 

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle. 

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream. 

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru." 

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!" 

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty." 

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours." 

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room." 

"oh? and why's that?" 

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home." 

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest. 

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room." 

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?" 

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!" 

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist. 

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears. 

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you. 

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!" 

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape. 

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait: 

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you? 

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell. 

"shoko?" 

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you. 

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before. 

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices. 

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively. 

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing. 

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut. 

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?" 

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows. 

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man. 

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him. 

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry. 

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips. 

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?" 

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers." 

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both. 

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind. 

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that." 

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you. 

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time. 

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway. 

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while. 

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you. 

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies. 

"i know." 

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks. 

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!" 

there's an odd note of glee in his voice. 

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around." 

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!" 

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak. 

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?" 

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?" 

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all." 

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?" 

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense. 

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it. 

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself. 

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse. 

that's what everything came down to, right? curses. 

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one. 

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye. 

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression. 

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now. 

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome." 

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now. 

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?" 

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap. 

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders. 

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true." 

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?" 

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please." 

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again. 

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true." 

"suguru—" 

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it." 

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully." 

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—" 

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…" 

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?" 

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot." 

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"  

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either. 

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing. 

nobody has laughed in a while now. 

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him. 

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand." 

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him. 

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left." 

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions." 

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost. 

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…" 

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair. 

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel. 

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then." 

"better late than never, right?" 

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death. 

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls. 

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head. 

"'m not crying." 

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more. 

he doesn't. 

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…" 

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears. 

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go. 

you accept your fate then and there. 

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again. 

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable. 

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read: 

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled: 

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added: 

both of you stfu you're failing too 

you had drawn a heart next to her name. 

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away. 

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off." 

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades. 

"want help?" 

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed. 

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful. 

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…" 

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist. 

"…are all of suguru's things." 

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there. 

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that." 

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face. 

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble. 

"guess not." 

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward. 

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale. 

"let's get started then, hotshot." 

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either. 

but it's enough for the two of you. 

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. 

"so do you." 

"i am," you admit honestly. 

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here." 

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more. 

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.  

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections. 

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up. 

"hey." 

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention. 

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind." 

you frown. "what are you talking about?" 

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that." 

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?" 

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?" 

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant. 

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips. 

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim with hannaki disease

spending his childhood choking on flowers

Barely able to breathe rejection after rejection

Jason is attacking him at the tower and he can’t stop coughing out flowers

when dick gives Damian Robin, Tim leaves the cave spitting out petals

imagine if he died of suffocation during the Bruce quest

Fuck. I love hanahaki disease.

Tw: death, blood, asphyxiation, fictional disease, dead body description, gore

For those of y'all unaware, it's a completely fictional disease where having unrequited love results in the person growing flowers in their chest. It's usually romantic, but I prefer the platonic versons (especially child-parent angst, holy fuck).

I've seen two types of hanahaki:

The love is actually unrequited

The person only perceives the love as being unrequited

Either way, the progression is as follows:

Person coughs up one petal

They start coughing up more and usually blood

They cough up an entire blossom

They die trying to cough up the entire flower (blossom and stem)

There are four outcomes to hanahaki disease, depending on what rules you are working with:

Love becomes requited

Person dies

They have a surgery to remove their ability to have feelings

They lose (voluntarily or not) their memories about their unrequited love

Some people play with flower meanings of the petals being coughed up. I fucking love those versions so much.

Let's get into the AU! The timeline is mine to fuck around with, so excuse any non-canon progressions.

~~~~

Tim has chronic hanahaki disease from his parents. They visit often enough to quell the worst symptoms and mitigate the damage, but they don't stick around enough (or show enough constant attention) for the petals to go away.

Janet once asked Tim if he'd like to get the surgery. Tim said no. Janet respected that choice and never asked again even though Tim was like nine at the time. It also becomes a fear of his. He wakes up in cold sweat at the phantom idea of just not being able to love anyone. It terrifies him, even if the feeling of asphyxiation is the only other option.

When Janet dies and Tim becomes Robin, he does his best to hide his condition from Bruce. It worsens, from the way Tim adores and loves the Bats, but Tim manages.

It's a rough few years, but slowly, the ice begins to melt. The Waynes show Tim more and more affection. YJ also shower him in so much care to the point that Tim has days of uninterrupted breathing.

It's a novel but welcome feeling.

Jack waking up from the coma complicates shit. His condition worsens again, but it's manageable.

Until Tim's sixteenth birthday.

The teen will never admit, but that test nearly fucking killed him. Bruce never finds out how close he was to killing his Robin, but Tim knows. He'll never forget how thorns scraped along his throat at the idea that he can't trust anyone. He'll never rid himself of the intimate knowledge of how blossoms taste in his mouth and the sickly sweet smell of blood mixed with flower petals.

Tim has to quit Robin, for his safety, health, and as a "fuck you" to Bruce, but realizes he can't keep in contact with Dick, Alfred, or Barbara without it. He can't contact his team.

He has to go back, so he does.

Tim's not sure if it's better or worse that Bruce didn't know about the hanahaki. If the man did, would he still have done the test? Due to him never showing remorse or guilt for his actions, the teen doesn't know.

The question pesters him even when his dad finds out about Robin.

It plagues him through Steph becoming Robin and dying.

It festers into his bones when, while wearing those same damn colors, he hears his father die.

That is one or many reasons "Uncle Eddie" was created.

Tim can't quite trust Bruce, but he finds himself still loving the father-like figure in his life. He finds himself forgiving him. He leans into the hair ruffles, shoulder pats, and gruff words of affection. He lets himself be loved.

Then, an undead asshole in a gleaming red bucket comes to kick Tim's ass. The teen can't help but laugh at the way his life bounces between breathing and dying at the drop of a hat.

He's just barely able to hide the flowers from both Red Hood and the Titans.

A little assassin appears, and each attack brings a petal.

Each new death hampers Tim's ability to breathe. Tim tries, but it's so fucking hard. How is he supposed to live without them?

With the ticklish scrape of petals, Tim doesn't think he's supposed to.

Bruce isn't dead. Tim knows, with every fiber of his being, that Bruce can't be dead. Tim won't survive if he is.

Even if Tim loses everything, even if these damn fucking flowers consume him, at least his death will have a purpose.

That's what he tells himself as he lies in a pool of blood beneath the stars. The sand at his back is soft in comparison to the stem piercing his throat and tongue. The sound of his choking is joined by the bubbling wheezing of Pru.

Ra's peers down at the body already set with rigor mortis. Tim's jaw is pried apart by a bouquet of yellow carnations dripping in blood.

The demon head hums at the sight, a dangerous gleam to his eyes. With the flick of a hand, two assassins grab the young detective's corpse. The other three bodies are taken as well.

Tim's eyes fling open as the teen gasps for air.

It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong. He's empty.

He's surrounded in green.

Oh fuck.

For awhile, Tim just soaks in the soft expansion of his lungs. He marvels at their capability.

He can't remember a time when he's been able to breathe so easily. It's enchanting and allots the teen a giddy sort of relief.

Through the destruction of both the Spiders and the LoA, he finds himself taking small moments to just breathe. It's a simple joy he can't help but partake in.

Tim logically knows there's a price. His breaths cost him, though he doesn't know their price. He should be dead and buried within the flowers.

He is neither.

He is alive. He is free (from the petals. It takes him a little bit to become free of Ra's).

Tim brushes aside these valid and alarming concerns to focus on his goals: escape, take down Ra's, and derail whatever retaliation occurs.

So that's what Tim does. He ignores the insistent sense of wrongness and focuses on the task at hand. He coordinates his friends and family. He faces down Ra's. He gets kicked out of a window.

With a grim smile, his body goes lax and his eyes flutter shut

He's done.

When Tim springs up from unconsciousness, Steph's voice reassures him he's safe. She tells him he's in the batcave.

The tension to bleeds from his body as Damian mutters a demand. Tim's eyes dart from Robin to Batgirl to Batman (Dick) to Alfred.

That sinking feeling of wrongness returns.

Dick's eyes are trained on the teen as he asks Tim, "How did you know I'll be there to save you?"

It's obvious the man is worried. It's obvious he's so fucking glad he caught his younger brother.

The lie falls from Tim's lips as smooth as any truth, "You're my brother, Dick. You'll always be there for me."

Dick's face brightens with fond relief.

Tim watches. He observes the reactions of his older brother. He catalogs the effect of his words on the man he's admired and loved for thirteen years.

He notes all of this.

And he feels nothing.

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.1

Chapter One: Be The Light, When All The Lights Go Out

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, War, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction,

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF… I NEEDED TO START THIS FIC. RRRAAAAAHHHH. Also, Marcus and Lucilla are NOT married in this fic/AU lmao. I might get some terms wrong since I can’t find the complete script yet (pls help) so I'll be editing this as time passes. And I’m like… not a historian so lol. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: If There's Nothing Left by NIKI

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A DAY BEFORE THE RANSACKING OF NUMIDIA

ROME, 200 A.D. — DAY

The air in your clinic was heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of sweat. Shouts and groans from the injured filled the space, their voices blending into a cacophony of pain that would have broken a lesser person. But not you.  

You moved with the precision of a master sculptor, your hands steady as you sutured the gaping wound on a gladiator’s shoulder. Blood seeped into the linen bandages you’d prepared, but you didn’t flinch. Your focus was unshakable, the outside world forgotten as you worked to save the life in front of you.

General Marcus Acacius stood in the shadows of the doorway, his imposing frame unnoticed amidst the chaos. His dark eyes were fixed on you, the healer who had garnered whispers throughout Rome. He had heard of your work, of course—how you treated anyone who came through your doors, from nobles to slaves, without regard for their station. It was rare to see such defiance of societal norms, rarer still to see it done with such quiet grace.  

He watched as you leaned closer to the wounded man, murmuring words of reassurance.  

“Stay still, brave one,” you said softly, your voice low and soothing, cutting through his pain like a balm. “The worst of it is over. You’ll be back in the arena soon enough, though I’d rather you didn’t return at all.”  

The gladiator managed a weak chuckle, wincing as you tied off the last stitch. “You speak as if I have a choice.”  

Your lips curved into a wry smile, though sadness lingered in your eyes. “Perhaps one day you will.”  

Marcus found himself captivated—not just by your skill, but by the quiet authority you wielded in the room. It was rare for him to see someone move with such purpose, commanding respect without ever raising their voice.  

“You risk much, treating slaves and gladiators,” Marcus said, his voice deep and cutting through the din like a blade. 

You didn’t look up, finishing your work before addressing him. “And you risk much, General, entering a place like this.”  

There was no fear in your tone, only a calm defiance that piqued his curiosity. Marcus stepped closer, his boots echoing on the stone floor.

“I’ve seen many healers,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “None with hands as steady as yours. Nor one who speaks so freely.”  

You glanced up at him then, your eyes meeting his with an intensity that momentarily silenced the chaos around you. He was a striking figure, his presence commanding and his face marked by years of war. But it was his eyes that caught you—the deep well of pain and weariness they carried, hidden beneath a veneer of stoicism.  

“Perhaps that’s because most healers know when to hold their tongue,” you replied, arching a brow. “But I’ve found that truth tends to have a healing quality of its own.”  

The corner of his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile. “And yet, truth has also been known to end lives, particularly in Rome.”  

You returned your attention to the gladiator, checking the bandages one last time. “Then it seems we both walk a fine line, General.”  

Something about the way you said his title felt less like deference and more like acknowledgment. It wasn’t fear or awe that guided your words, but a quiet understanding of who he was and the power he held.  

Marcus watched as you moved to the next patient, a young boy with a deep gash on his leg. Despite the blood staining your hands and the weariness etched into your features, you treated the boy with the same care and kindness you had shown the gladiator.

“Why do you do it?” Marcus asked suddenly, his voice softer now. “Why risk your safety for those Rome has deemed unworthy?”

You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder. For a moment, the question hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“Because someone has to,” you said simply. “If I don’t, who will?”

The honesty of your answer struck something deep within Marcus. He had spent years justifying his actions as a soldier, telling himself that the violence he carried out was for the good of Rome. Yet here you were, defying the very structure that upheld his world, all for the sake of compassion.

As Marcus continued to watch you, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was witnessing something rare—something that Rome, in all its grandeur, could not crush. For the first time in a long while, he felt a spark of hope.

You broke the silence first, turning to face him fully. “Shouldn’t you be with your army—overseeing the ships and preparing to ransack Numidia, yet another city, all for the so-called ‘Glory of Rome’?” You arched a brow at him, shifting your weight onto one hip with a subtle air of defiance.

The corner of Marcus’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. “Perhaps,” he replied, his voice low, “but I find myself drawn elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” You tilted your head, your tone edged with skepticism. “Surely the great General Marcus Acacius has more pressing matters than standing in a healer’s clinic.”

“Perhaps,” he repeated, stepping closer. “But standing here, I begin to wonder if those pressing matters might pale in comparison to what I’ve found.” 

Your breath hitched, but you recovered quickly, letting out a soft laugh. “Flattery from a general. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s not flattery,” he said, his eyes locking with yours. “It’s truth.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Careful, General. If you keep talking like that, people might start to think you have a heart.”

“Perhaps I do,” he said, his tone quiet, thoughtful. “And perhaps it’s found something worth fighting for, beyond Rome.”

Your breath caught at his words, your heart pounding in a way you hadn’t felt in years. But before you could respond, Marcus turned and walked toward the door, his heavy boots echoing in the quiet.

“I’ll return,” he said without looking back. “There’s still much I need to learn from you.”

And as he disappeared into the sunlight, leaving you alone in the quiet of your clinic, you couldn’t help but feel that your world had shifted—just a little, but enough to make you wonder what might come next.

ROME, 200 A.D. — AFTERNOON

The light of the afternoon sun streamed through the tall, arched windows of Senator Gracchus’s residence, casting golden patterns across the polished marble floors. You moved with practiced ease through the grand room, gathering fresh bandages and jars of ointment from your bag while keeping an ear to the Senator’s usual musings. Today, however, your mind was elsewhere.

“Did you send him to me?” you asked, your tone casual but your curiosity evident. You didn’t look up as you sorted through your supplies, your hands deftly organizing the salves and herbs.

“Send who?” Senator Gracchus replied, reclining on his plush lectus, the deep crimson cushions making him look more regal than his age might suggest. His tone was light, but there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He was far too clever to play coy without reason.

“The General. General Acacius.” You paused, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before returning to your work.

The Senator’s lips curled into a knowing smile as he raised his chalice of wine. “Ah, Marcus. I may have mentioned your name in passing conversation.”

You froze for a moment, your brow furrowing. “In passing conversation?” 

“Of course.” He swirled the wine lazily in his cup. “I simply spoke of a brilliant healer who mends not just bodies but spirits. It seems the good general decided to see for himself if the rumors were true.”

You let out a soft huff, shaking your head as you resumed unpacking your things. “Well, he approached me today.”

“And how was he?” Gracchus asked, leaning forward slightly, his expression both intrigued and amused.

“He seemed…” You hesitated, your hands stilling as you searched for the right words. Memories of the encounter flickered in your mind—his commanding presence, the intensity in his eyes, the way his words seemed to linger long after he’d spoken them. “Alright, I suppose,” you said finally, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance. 

Gracchus chuckled softly, setting his chalice down on a nearby table. “Alright, you suppose? My dear, you’re a terrible liar.”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” the Senator began, his tone teasing, “that you’ve just met one of the most formidable men in Rome, and yet here you are pretending he didn’t make an impression.”

Your cheeks warmed slightly, though you refused to let it show. “Impression or not, I don’t see how it’s relevant. I’m here to heal people, not… whatever it is you’re insinuating.”

“Oh, I’m not insinuating anything,” Gracchus said with a sly grin. “But let me give you a piece of advice, my dear. Men like Marcus Acacius don’t walk into someone’s life without a reason.”

“Perhaps he was just curious,” you said, turning away to mask the flutter of nerves that crept up your spine. “Or bored.”

“Curiosity doesn’t often bring him to clinics,” the Senator mused, leaning back once more. “Boredom even less so. Whatever the reason, I’d wager it has little to do with medicine.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “If this is your way of playing matchmaker, Senator, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“And here I thought you’d appreciate a distraction,” Gracchus said, raising his chalice once more. “But very well. Consider the matter dropped.”

For now, you thought, knowing full well that Gracchus wasn’t one to let things go so easily. As you busied yourself with preparing his treatment, you couldn’t help but replay the moment you’d locked eyes with Marcus Acacius, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. 

Alright, you supposed. But deep down, you knew it was far more than that.

A FEW WEEKS LATER…

OSTIA, PORT OF ROME — DAY  

The sun blazed high over the port, casting a golden glow over the triumphant scene unfolding below. The air was alive with the sound of celebration—the roar of the crowd, the rhythmic chanting of his name.  

“Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!”  

You stood at a distance, hidden in the shadows of a towering marble column, your gaze fixed on the man at the center of the spectacle. Marcus Acacius, the war hero of Rome, returned victorious. His white chariot, pulled by majestic horses, moved with deliberate grace through the throng of citizens who waved laurel branches and tossed flowers into the air.  

The general himself was a vision of Roman splendor, adorned in white and gold, a flowing cape billowing behind him like the wings of an avenging angel. He waved politely to the people, his expression calm and composed, though you suspected a storm brewed beneath that veneer.  

As the chariot came to a halt at the steps of the grand Temple of Mars Ultor, young girls dressed in flowing white tunics and crowned with fresh flowers scattered rose petals in his path. He ascended the steps with measured strides, the marble beneath his feet gleaming in the sunlight.  

You stood among the other servants, the weight of a velvet pillow in your hands anchoring you to the moment. Atop the pillow rested a crown of golden laurels, shimmering with the promise of empty glory. Senator Gracchus had arranged for you to present it, an honor you neither wanted nor could refuse. Your palms were damp with nerves, but it wasn’t fear of the crowd or ceremony that unsettled you. It was the cruel spectacle of it all—the emperors reveling in their power while Rome decayed beneath their feet.  

Marcus reached the top of the steps, standing before the twin emperors. Geta, younger and deceptively charming, gestured to the approaching general. Caracalla, brooding and sharp-featured, watched with an intensity that made the scene feel like a predator sizing up prey.  

Marcus placed a fist over his heart in the Roman salutatio, nodding first to one and then the other. “Emperor Geta,” he began, his voice steady. He turned his gaze to the other. “Emperor Caracalla.”  

“General Acacius,” Geta replied with a wide, practiced smile.  

Marcus straightened, his tone humble yet firm. “I have taken Numidia in your names. Your dominion may yet eclipse that of every emperor who came before you.”  

Caracalla smirked, gesturing lazily to you with a flick of his hand. “Crown him with laurels, brother.”  

Your heart leapt as all eyes turned to you. You stepped forward, forcing yourself to keep your movements measured. Bowing your head slightly, you presented the pillow to Geta. He took the crown, sparing you no more than a dismissive glance, and you retreated quickly, blending back into the shadows as the ceremony continued.  

Geta placed the golden laurels atop Marcus’s salt-and-pepper curls, his smile widening as the crowd erupted in cheers. The senators clapped politely, their faces masks of approval, though you wondered how many of them truly celebrated the general's return.  

The procession moved inside the temple, where the grandeur of marble columns and gilded statues loomed over the gathering. You lingered near the edges of the hall, half-hidden among other attendants. Your eyes were drawn to Marcus, who stood surrounded by Rome’s elite yet seemed entirely apart from them.  

Geta approached Marcus with two chalices of wine, his gait almost casual. “In honor of your conquest, there will be games in the Colosseum,” he said, handing one to the general.  

Marcus accepted it with a polite nod, though his expression remained neutral. “I require no games in my honor. Serving the senate and the people of Rome is honor enough for me.”  

He raised the chalice to toast, but Geta pulled his cup back with a sharp laugh. “You are too modest, Acacius. It does not suit a general as accomplished as yourself.” He clinked their glasses together before Marcus could respond, his tone dripping with mockery.  

“The glory is yours, not mine,” Marcus replied, his words measured. “I only ask for respite from war. To spend time with…” His voice trailed off as his gaze flickered briefly—so briefly—toward you.  

Your breath hitched, the moment so fleeting that you questioned whether it had happened at all.  

Caracalla, lounging nearby, smirked. “Time for what, general? Gardens and poetry? Or something sweeter?”  

Geta ignored his brother, moving to a table where a long ceremonial sword rested. He lifted it, examining the blade with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “There are victories yet to come, Acacius.”  

He turned back toward the general, raising the sword as if to knight him. Lightly, he tapped Marcus’s shoulders, then paused, the blade hovering near his neck.  

“Persia. India. Both must be conquered.”  

With a slow, deliberate motion, Geta pressed the edge of the blade against Marcus’s neck, the sharp metal breaking skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood.  

Marcus didn’t flinch, though his expression darkened. His voice was low, steady, and cold. “Rome has so many subjects. She must feed them.”  

He swatted the blade away from his neck, a flicker of defiance passing between him and the emperor.  

Caracalla’s laugh rang out, sharp and cruel. “They can eat war!”  

Geta let the sword clatter to the floor, the sound echoing across the hall. “Your triumphs will be celebrated, General Acacius,” he said, his tone pointed. “As a tribute to the greatness of the Roman people.”  

He extended his hand, adorned with gaudy rings, and Marcus had no choice but to bow and kiss it. You saw the flicker of disdain in his eyes even as his lips brushed the emperor’s hand.  

From your shadowed corner, your heart ached for him. For the man who bore the weight of Rome’s sins with a quiet dignity that deserved so much more than the cruelty of its rulers.  

IMPERIAL VILLA — NIGHT  

The villa perched on the outskirts of Rome exuded a quiet elegance, its columns and arches glowing under the pale light of the moon. The night was thick with fog, curling like tendrils of smoke through the cypress trees that lined the estate. A gentle breeze carried the scent of rosemary and lavender from the gardens, mingling with the faint hum of nocturnal life.  

Inside, the villa was equally serene. Lucilla, ever gracious, had agreed to host you at the request of Senator Gracchus. The senator had claimed it was “more appropriate” for you to stay under her care, given the delicate balance of Roman customs and the constant scrutiny of the twin emperors. In truth, you suspected it was also for your safety. Lucilla’s influence, though quietly wielded, was a shield few dared to challenge.  

The villa was warm and inviting, a haven amidst the chaos of Rome. Yet, even as you settled into your temporary quarters, a restlessness stirred within you. You missed the simplicity of your small home, the steady rhythm of your work. Here, despite Lucilla’s kindness, you felt like a guest in gilded captivity.  

Meanwhile, Marcus Acacius found himself battling his own restlessness. When he learned you were staying with Lucilla, the knowledge sparked an idea he could hardly ignore. Though he was no stranger to the villa—it was a place he visited often as a long-time confidant of Lucilla—tonight, his reasons for coming were far from casual.  

He rode through the foggy night, his steed's hooves echoing against the stone-paved road. The air was cold, biting against his cheeks, but he barely noticed. Two of his guards flanked him, silent and watchful as shadows.  

When he reached the gates of the villa, a sentry stepped forward, his spear raised in a show of duty. “Halt! Who goes there?”  

The torchlight illuminated Marcus’s face, and recognition dawned on the guard. His stance shifted immediately. Placing a fist over his heart, he bowed. “General.”  

“Open the gates,” Marcus commanded, his voice steady but not unkind.  

The heavy iron gates creaked open, and Marcus dismounted his steed with practiced ease. A stable boy rushed forward to take the reins, bowing quickly before leading the horse away. Marcus adjusted his cloak, brushing off the dampness of the night, and stepped into the villa’s grounds.  

Inside, Lucilla greeted him in the atrium, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders and her sharp eyes glinting with curiosity. “Marcus,” she said warmly, though there was a knowing lilt to her tone. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”  

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Marcus replied, his lips curving into a polite smile. “I was nearby and thought it prudent to pay a visit.”  

“Nearby?” Lucilla arched an elegant brow. “Unless the general has taken to wandering the countryside aimlessly at night, I suspect there’s more to this visit than proximity.”  

Marcus didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the villa’s hall. It was quieter than usual, the stillness broken only by the faint crackle of torches and the murmur of distant voices.  

Lucilla stepped closer, her expression softening. “She’s in the east wing,” she said, her voice dropping slightly.  

Marcus turned to her, his gaze sharp. “Who?”  

Lucilla smirked, crossing her arms. “You didn’t ride through the night for me, Marcus. Don’t insult my intelligence.”  

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You always see through me, Lucilla.”  

“It’s a gift,” she quipped, then gestured toward the hallway. “Go. But don’t wake the entire villa with your heavy boots.”  

Marcus inclined his head in thanks before making his way toward the east wing. The soft glow of oil lamps guided his path, casting flickering shadows on the walls. As he approached your quarters, his steps slowed.  

You were seated by the window, a soft blanket draped over your shoulders, gazing out at the misty garden. The stillness of the night felt fragile, like it might shatter at the slightest sound. The dim light of the oil lamp beside you softened your features, though weariness lingered in your eyes.  

A soft clearing of a throat broke the silence, low but deliberate.  

You turned quickly, your heart skipping at the unexpected intrusion. “General Acacius?”  

He leaned against the doorway, his armor traded for a plain, white tunic and dark cloak that suited the quiet of the night. His lips curled into a faint smirk. “My lady.”  

“I am no lady, General,” you corrected, your brow arching slightly.  

“Marcus,” he said, stepping into the room with a deliberate grace. “And I didn’t mean to disturb you.”  

“You didn’t,” you replied, though the confusion in your voice was evident. “What brings you here at this hour?”  

For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing his words. Then, with a slight shrug, he said, “I wanted to ensure you were settling in comfortably. Lucilla’s hospitality can be... unique.”  

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “It’s generous, though I can’t help but feel a bit out of place.”  

Marcus nodded, his expression thoughtful. “This villa has always felt like a sanctuary. But I know it can be difficult to find peace in unfamiliar surroundings.”  

For a while, silence stretched between you. The weight of the world outside the villa—Rome’s cruelty, the constant tension—seemed to press lightly against the walls, but here, in this moment, the quiet was soothing.  

“Did you really ride all this way just to check on me?” you asked, a teasing note in your voice that broke through the stillness.  

His lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile warming his face. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”  

You tilted your head, studying him carefully, your gaze soft but sharp. “I might.”  

He stepped closer, the flickering light of the lamp catching the faintest glimmer in his dark eyes. His expression, though tempered by years of military discipline, held a warmth that made your heart skip.  

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.  

The room seemed smaller suddenly, the air charged with something unspoken. You cleared your throat, shifting slightly, your hands clutching at the fabric of your skirts as if to anchor yourself.  

“I thank the gods that brought you back home safe,” you said, your voice quieter now, tinged with something deeper.  

Marcus’s gaze didn’t falter. “Thank the army,” he replied humbly. “They protected me.”  

You nodded, acknowledging his words. “You must be hungry, then?”  

He raised a brow, clearly amused by the shift in the conversation, but he didn’t resist. “It has been a long ride.”  

Turning, you glanced toward the servant standing silently near the doorway. You offered her an apologetic smile, and she nodded in understanding before quietly leaving the room to fetch food and drink.  

As the door closed behind her, you turned back to Marcus. “It’s the least I can offer after you came all this way.”  

His lips twitched again, his faint smile now fully formed. “You’ve already offered more than you know.”  

You blinked, tilting your head in quiet curiosity. “What do you mean?”  

“Your kindness,” he said simply, stepping closer still. “It’s rare in Rome. Even rarer in my world.”  

Your cheeks warmed under his steady gaze, and you quickly turned your attention back to the window, hoping the dim light would hide your reaction. “I only do what anyone should.”  

“Perhaps,” he said softly, “but not everyone does.”  

The sincerity in his voice sent a flutter through your chest. When you finally looked back at him, he was closer now, his presence commanding but not overwhelming.  

“You’re too generous with your praise, Marcus,” you said, though the words felt light, almost teasing.  

“And you’re far too modest,” he countered, the smirk returning to his lips.  

The sound of footsteps approaching signaled the servant’s return, breaking the charged silence between you. She entered with a tray of fruit, bread, and wine, placing it on the small table by the window before bowing and retreating once more.  

You gestured toward the table, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Please, sit. You’ve had a long day.”  

Marcus inclined his head, his expression grateful as he took the seat opposite you. The light from the lamp flickered between you, casting long shadows on the walls.  

As you poured wine into two cups, the flickering lamplight caught the soft curve of your profile, drawing his gaze. Marcus watched you, his expression thoughtful, warm, and just a little too intense.  

“You should know,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “this isn’t just about ensuring you’re comfortable.”  

Your hands hesitated for the briefest moment before continuing their task, but the air in the room seemed to thicken. You glanced up at him, your brow arching as you placed one of the cups in front of him. “Have you finally come to your senses and decided to arrest me? For treating those the Senate deems unworthy of saving?”  

The corner of his mouth twitched, a wry, fleeting almost-smile. “No.”  

You leaned back slightly, folding your arms across your chest, your head tilting in mock suspicion. “Then perhaps you’ve come to lecture me? To remind me how dangerous it is to meddle in things beyond my station?”  

His gaze softened, the warmth in it almost unsettling. “Do you think so little of me?”  

The teasing edge in your posture faltered for just a moment before you quickly recovered, glancing down into your own cup. “You’re a General, Marcus. You’re loyal to Rome. To the Senate. My work…” You shrugged, trying to sound casual despite the weight in your voice. “It doesn’t exactly align with the ideals of your empire.”  

Marcus reached for his cup, his hand brushing briefly, almost imperceptibly, against the edge of yours. “You’re right,” he said finally, his tone unreadable.  

Your gaze snapped to his, surprised. “I am?”  

“You don’t align with the empire,” he continued, taking a slow sip of the wine. “You stand above it. You see its flaws and still choose to fight for what’s right, even when it’s dangerous. Even when it puts you at risk.”  

The words struck something deep within you, leaving you momentarily at a loss. You hadn’t expected that—his understanding, his admiration.  

“And you don’t find that... infuriating?” you asked, trying to mask the tremor in your voice with a wry smile.  

“Infuriating?” he echoed, setting the cup down. “No.” His gaze held yours, steady and unyielding. “It’s extraordinary.”  

A sudden heat rushed to your cheeks, and you turned your attention to the fire crackling softly in the hearth. “You’re far too kind, General.”  

“Marcus,” he corrected gently, leaning forward.  

“Marcus,” you repeated, the name tasting unfamiliar on your tongue, though not unpleasant.  

He smiled faintly, as if satisfied. “And I’m not being kind—I’m being honest. Too few in this city have the courage to act as you do. Even fewer have the heart.”  

You looked back at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity and finding none. The man before you wasn’t the untouchable war hero paraded through Rome’s streets. He was something quieter, something deeper.  

“And what about you?” you asked softly. “Aren’t you tired of all this? The battles, the politics, the endless expectations?”  

His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his features. “More than you could ever know.”  

The quiet confession hung between you, delicate and heavy all at once.  

“Then why not walk away?” you pressed, your voice barely above a whisper.  

He gave a low, humorless laugh, running a hand through his curly hair. “And go where? Rome would never let me go, even if I wanted to. And…” He hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to you before settling on the fire. “There are reasons to stay.”  

Your breath caught at the implication, but you forced yourself to keep your tone light. “Duty, I suppose?”  

His eyes met yours again, darker now, more intense. “Something like that.”  

The weight of his words pressed against your chest, and you found yourself wondering if he could hear the sudden quickening of your heart.  

“I’m not sure I understand you, Marcus,” you said quietly, the teasing edge gone from your voice.  

“Good,” he replied, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’d hate to be predictable.”  

You couldn’t help but smile at that, shaking your head as you finally took a sip of your wine. “You’re certainly not that.”  

The room fell into a companionable silence, the crackling of the fire and the distant chirping of crickets filling the space. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only slightly.  

“Thank you,” you said after a while, your voice soft but sincere.  

He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “For what?”  

“For coming,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “For… for seeing me. Not just tonight, but—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “For seeing me as more than what Rome would make me.”  

His expression softened, and for a moment, the guardedness in his eyes melted away, replaced by something unspoken but undeniable. “It’s impossible not to.”  

The words wrapped around your heart, and for a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe them.  

“At times, I wish you would abandon all of this,” you said softly, your voice trembling with honesty. “The wars. The blood. The service to men who deserve none of it.”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching before he answered. “I’ve made my choice,” he said, his tone resolute, but there was a flicker of weariness in his eyes. “I can live with it. But my patience with them is at an end.”  

You glanced toward the far corner of the room, where Leta, the ever-watchful servant, lingered. Offering her a kind smile, you said, “Leta, you may go to your quarters now. We’ll need nothing more this evening.”  

Leta hesitated, her gaze flickering between the two of you, but at your gentle nod, she smiled and curtsied, before slipping out, leaving the room steeped in a quiet intimacy.  

Marcus exhaled deeply, as if the act of speaking had been weighing on him. He set his cup down on the nearby table across from you, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as though bearing the weight of Rome itself. “To hear wives and mothers mourning their dead on that beach of Numidia…” His voice was low, rough with emotion. He scoffed bitterly and ran a hand through his hair. “No more. I will not waste another generation of young men for their vanity. If I fight another campaign…” His gaze hardened, a fire igniting in his eyes. “It must be to depose them.”

Your breath hitched at the words. “You’re telling me this… why?” you asked carefully. “We’ve met only briefly. Why would you trust me with something so dangerous?”  

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “Am I wrong to assume that Senator Gracchus and Lucilla have been whispering thoughts not unlike my own? That Rome deserves better than two tyrants playing at being gods?”  

You hesitated, your lips quirking slightly to the side as you considered your answer. Finally, you gave him a small nod. “You’re not wrong. The whispers grow louder with each passing day.”  

For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth. You licked your lips nervously and took a steadying breath. Meeting his eyes, you asked, “When will your troops arrive?”  

“They’ll land in Ostia in ten days,” he replied, his voice low and firm.  

You nodded, your mind already calculating the implications. “How many will be loyal to you? To you alone?”  

“All of them,” he said without hesitation. “Many of them owe their lives to you, as I’ve heard it. Your words of wisdom, your care in the camps—they remember. Soldiers don’t forget kindness, especially in a world so devoid of it.”  

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you pressed on. “The emperors have lost the people’s support,” you said, your voice heavy with conviction. “The citizens are weary of their madness, their tyranny. What is the dream of Rome if our people are not free?”  

Marcus let out a long sigh, the weight of the truth settling over him. “A dream deferred,” he murmured. “But not lost. Not yet.”  

The silence that followed was charged, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing upon both of you. You searched his face, seeing the resolute determination of a soldier but also the quiet yearning of a man who had seen too much, endured too much.  

“And what of you?” he asked, his voice softer now. “If the tide turns, if the gods will it… what would your dream of Rome be?”  

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “A Rome where compassion isn’t a weakness. Where the people, not the emperors, hold the power. A Rome where no child grows up in fear of a tyrant’s whim.”  

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the hardened lines of his face eased. “That’s a dream worth fighting for,” he said quietly.  

You gave him a small, tentative smile. “And worth surviving for.”  

The words lingered in the air between you, a shared understanding forming in the flickering light. Neither of you dared to say it outright, but the unspoken promise was clear: whatever lay ahead, you would not face it alone.  

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 4.5

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: porn with some plot kinda, this yoongi is very horny and is a very methodical masturbator (?) in the way he set the mood for himself (could be canon, amirite), let’s fix that boner you left him with, and let’s soothe your weary minds from that Dispatch article, POV switch after the article headline, idk if you know that one video of yoongi in d-day during the piano break in life goes on he does this thing with his tongue… it’s written in here somewhere

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.5k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: December 15, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ A/N: Surprise! I kid you not, this was written within a span of like 8 hours? So if it sucks, that’s probably why, lol. Lucky for y’all I am too impatient to wait for notes milestones before I upload the next part, so here you go. 🎁 Also, @glossdebut, you know what you did. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |  Masterlist

“Fuck me…” Yoongi sighs, leaning further back into the computer chair. He runs both hands through his hair as the preliminary pinpricks of pleasure makes his cock spring to life under his sweatpants.

His phone is now propped on his half-empty coffee mug, of which the screen—maxed out in its brightness settings—is projecting the photo you sent through its 2x dynamic galaxy amoled display—of which his dick would personally like to thank his Samsung sponsors.

He is so horny he might just die if he doesn’t get off in the next five minutes. 

It’s your fault. Of course, it is.

God you’re so fucking sexy, do you even know that? Do you even realize what you do to him? He is literally about to masturbate in his multi-million won worth studio to the pitiful pixels you have afforded him with.

He stands up, curses you under his breath as he pulls his pants down to pool around his ankles. He drops to his chair, about to slip a clammy hand inside his boxers when he decides to adjust the view juuuust a little, zooming the photo closer…closer…  and that’s it.

Just the view he needs. (Sue him for having astigmatism.)

He grabs the aircon remote and adjusts the temp to a balmy 24 ‘cause it’d be hella annoying if he can’t get hard because his studio is an igloo.

Some velvety track with soft percussions filter out from his speakers.

A pump of lube from his hidden drawer, wet wipes at the ready for the inevitable clean up, and he’s off to the fuckin’ races. 

His fist wraps the base of his cock, coating his entire shaft with the gel. It's cold, but it immediately warms up to his body temperature as his palm slides up and down his semi. 

Greedy eyes rake your body on his phone screen. Your tits. They’re a vision. He can see just the ghost of your nipples, peaking in the slightest way against your silky top and suddenly his mouth is dry. What would they look like if they’re not hiding from him? For sure they’re puffy. Pretty jet-puffed marshmallows that he’s gonna be putting in his mouth and sucking until you’re falling apart and creaming with just that. He smirks. Yeah, he could do that.

He tugs at his cock faster, licking his bottom lip as he imagines the texture of your pebbled nipples against his tongue. He shivers, increasing the pace of his ministrations, cock now fully hard.

Back to the photo.

Huh. You knew what you were doing—squeezing your breast with your hand. The way the mound of flesh is about to spill over, and your areola is just kissing the edge of the fabric is actually killing him. It’s diabolical. Pure torture.

Had you been here, he’s scooping out that breast, the one you’re holding out to him, so it’s hanging generously from your top, wobbling as he bounces you on his fat dick. 

He feels his eyes crossing, caught in the spell of the hypnotic movements playing out in his mind. He moves his hand faster, cock throbbing and aching for release.

But he’s not there yet.

Closing his eyes, Yoongi lets himself sink back into the memory, rewinding the moments from just hours ago. The sensation of your weight against him is the first thing he recalls—the way your ass fits so perfectly in his lap, warm and soft, like you were made to be there. The way your body had melted into his touch, so pliant, so eager, grinding slightly like you were inviting him to ruin you, and he was more than willing to oblige.

Your lips—he can still taste them if he focuses hard enough—sweet, intoxicating, like the lingering memory of his favorite whisky. And your neck, the way it arched so perfectly for him, leaving him no choice but to press his mouth against it, the faint hint of your skin still ghosting on his lips even now.

If he concentrates, he can almost smell you again, that sweet, delicate perfume that drove him insane. It’s like you’ve imprinted yourself on him. Or maybe it’s the faint traces of your scent that linger on his hoodie, the one you pressed yourself into while straddling him and he could feel the perfect ass against his crotch. 

The thought is enough to send his pulse ticking faster, his head leaning back against the chair as a low, frustrated groan escapes him. He needs you. Fervently. Urgently. Needs you like he has never needed another person ever. 

Jaw slack, tongue dangling from the corner of his mouth, he imagines licking your nipples from side to side and his mouth stretches into a smile. He can almost hear you moan oh yoongi and wow what an ego boost to have you unraveling for him when in reality it’s he who is actually unraveling in his own damn hands. His cock is getting heavier, balls tighter at his impending demise. He tugs and tugs, collecting some of the lube that gathered on the base and pushing it back towards his angry tip, concentrating his movements there.

You’re not in the room but you might as well be with the way your name keeps tumbling from his lips. He is whining like a little bitch in heat, but he doesn’t give a shit. He hasn’t had a satisfying jerk-off like this in a while. He can’t even remember sex being this good. Nothing remotely like the way this fog of lust has him ascending to another plane of existence right now, because you’re so fucking sexy and so good to him and he likes you so damn much and suddenly he’s coming, warm spurts of cum oozes from his throbbing cock decorating his fingers like the rings he used to wear to the knuckle, and fuck he’s still going, there’s so much and god dammit his boxers are soaked but it feels phenomenal.

Chest heaving as if he ran a marathon, he stares at his ceiling, waiting for his heart rate to slow down.

Not long after, he laughs at his stupidity, pulling a wipe from the packet and proceeds to clean up. He sobers up from his horny thoughts, but not by a whole lot. Not when the photo that started it all is still bright and beautiful from his phone. Shit. He cannot wait to fuck you for real. 

Little did he know, something was gonna fuck him up come morning.

AllKpop Scoop:

Confirmed: SUGA of BTS Dating Actress Lee Sung Kyung

Eagle-eyed fans are convinced the duo has been hiding their relationship in plain sight, pointing to their undeniable chemistry during a past Suchwita episode, where sparks were reportedly flying between the two.

The story was everywhere. News sites, entertainment shows, gossip columns, social media—each one milking it for all it was worth. 

Darling of the press, K-drama royalty, multi-awarded thespian Lee Sung Kyung, had resurfaced from her mysterious hiatus, and of course, the headlines couldn’t resist pairing her name with “infamous idol Min Yoongi.” You roll your eyes so far back your head they almost didn’t come back.

The South Korean media was having an absolute field day.

And as much as it hurt to see it, your first instinct wasn’t to dwell on the sting of the rumors. It was to scan every word, every post, every thread, checking if Haneul had been dragged into the mess.

Thankfully, he hadn’t been. You’d be devastated if your little sarang had been implicated in any of these stories. You don’t know the first thing about how to protect the poor baby from these trolls, but you will be damned if you don’t try.

The photo that sparked the frenzy was everywhere—a shot of Sung Kyung leaving Yoongi’s Hannam apartment. That was it. No Yoongi, no Haneul, not even a hint of context. Never mind that the building housed countless tenants or that there was zero proof they were together. It was enough to send the internet spiraling into speculation.

You were scrolling through the comments under one of the reposts, your stomach churning at the sheer creativity of the assumptions being thrown around, when your screen suddenly switched to an incoming call.

Yoongi.

You didn’t hesitate, swiping to pick up almost immediately.

“Sarang,” he starts, his voice soft and familiar, like he already knows he needs to tread lightly. Bro’s really starting with the buttering up.

“Where’s Han?” Was your first question.

“My parents drove him up to Daegu this morning. It’s better if he’s there for now.”

You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your temple as you sit back. “Just answer one question, Yoongi: is it true or not?”

“It’s a big fuckin’ lie,” he says without missing a beat, his voice steady and firm. “None of it is true.”

“So it’s all bullshit?”

“YES.” he replies emphatically.

The tension in your shoulders eases slightly, and you exhale, nodding to yourself. This is fine for now. “Okay.”

“Okay?” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice, like he wasn’t expecting you to let it go so easily.

“Yes. Just get your ass here by 7 and not a minute later.” You say, firm.

A pause. Then, with the faintest hint of a chuckle, he replies, “Yes, ma’am.”

A/N: So???? I don't know what that first part was. It just took a life of its own. Anyway, as per ush, please let me know what you thought about the chapter. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you so much for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo

See you in the next half! :)

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[chelseeebe]

never leave (nevermind)

18+ mdni. canon compliant sorta kinda. takes place during the events of s4. violent scenes described. r and eddie are exes. reader gets vecna'd. lots of angst.

a/n: i've been writing this on and off for what feels like months and it's definitely noticeable in parts where my writing improves drastically. howeverrr, i've been wanting to write something s4 related for a while bc most of my fics are au's and as fun as they are, the canon material is also v fun (just very difficult to translate into a fic)

8.9k words.

being home for spring break meant one thing; avoiding eddie munson like the plague. 

it wasn’t exactly easy what with being practically neighbours but you’d certainly tried to make yourself invisible around the trailer park. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you hadn’t seen him for eleven months, not even a trace of that wild hair until one friday night when his van screamed down the gravel road, music bleating loud enough for you to hear inside. you’d known it was d&d night, he still held the club at the high school and no doubt would still be in charge of it, even after he eventually graduates. 

you shouldn’t have even looked. it’s not like you wanted to see him. just curious as to why he felt the need to make so much noise so late at night. 

that’s when your eyes saw her, green hawkins high skirt and the fluffy ponytail to match, flouncing out of the van without a care in the world. 

chrissy cunningham wasn’t exactly who you’d imagined eddie would go for. she was prim and proper, wasn’t into smoking weed and talking about ozzy osbourne but pom poms and cheer routines instead. 

it shouldn’t even hurt. 

you’d been broken up for the best part of a year, away to college, living what was supposed to be your best life. 

but it does. 

pangs through your chest in insurmountable waves, rushing to duck down beneath the window before either of them saw you peeking. 

you don’t dare look out again, maybe it was the fear of being caught or more likely for fear of hurting yourself anymore. 

eddie’s single, he can do what or whomever he likes. 

slinking back into the couch, hoping the crackly tv would drown out any of the lingering thoughts. 

a sharp, stabbing sensation rings through your head, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to shut it down. 

only since you’d been back here, in hawkins had you felt it. people always whispered about how this town was cursed, perhaps it was you after all, bringing the bad luck to the innocent people of this shit hole. 

you drag your feet along the corridor to your bedroom, deciding that being buried beneath your blanket was better than constantly punishing yourself with sly glances out the window. 

-

a multitude of fists pummel at your door, sunlight just barely breaking through the clouds as your eyes open. 

nothing in this world could be so important to cause this reaction, especially not at this time of the day. 

you slink to the door, grumbling your way through the trailer. 

the door swings open, revealing a very out of breath dustin henderson and max mayfield, looking frantic as they pant on your doorstep. 

“what the hell? it’s nine am,” you grunt, wondering how the two even knew you were home. 

being with eddie had meant you’d come to adopt the gaggle of kids he played d&d with, driving them to and from games, offering a place to stay when their parents thought they were at each others houses while they were actually fighting monsters. 

the usual. 

the monster stuff was secondary, getting thrown into the deep end last summer after what was supposed to be a shitty mall job to save up for college, had turned into slimy monsters trying to kill you. 

eddie had only really seen the aftermath, the piles of what remained of starcourt on the floor and the cuts that littered your limbs. you had told him that night what had actually happened, terrified that the government were listening at your door, ready and waiting to throw you in jail for speaking about what you’d seen. 

dustin had made it very clear that you had to be careful not to talk too openly about it, delving into the whole world that rumbled beneath your town. 

you weren’t exactly eager to relive that night in the mall, a haze of slobbering monsters and telekinetic little girls. putting it to the back of your mind as some weird fever dream, a symptom of living in hawkins. 

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin frowns, “is your mom here?” forcing himself into the trailer, max at his heels. 

“no she’s not-” closing the door behind the rude tweens, “i’m sorry- what’d you say?” hoping you’d misheard him. 

he peers down the hall, lousily checking the perimeter, “eddie’s in trouble,” completely serious. 

“and what does that have to do with me?” putting your hands on your hips, hoping to display some sort of authority, though it rendered useless against their stubborn attitudes. 

“remember the mall?” he deadpans, grabbing the phone from your wall as max pulls out a list of numbers. 

“yeah? i’m still not.. why’re you here? you can’t help him at his trailer?” 

dustin sighs, long and exaggerated, “he’s not at his trailer. we don’t know where he is,” aggressively punching in numbers, “and why didn’t you tell me you were back? i thought we were friends!” ever the sarcastic little dweeb you’d always had a soft spot for. 

“i didn’t tell anyone,” shrugging as you slink into the kitchen, deciding that if they were going to stay, you were at least going to need coffee, “i still don’t understand what’s going on!” 

“we’ll explain later,” max yells, fumbling around in her backpack. 

you tut, relieved that the pounding in your head had subsided at least. 

-

you’re somehow roped into driving the two to family video, receiving the details on the drive over. 

cops had swarmed the trailer park by the time you were ready, piling into wayne’s trailer, talking in hushed voices and yelling at anyone that dared to leave their own homes. 

wayne had come back from work this morning to find chrissy cunningham’s body on his floor. limbs broken and her eyes weeping with blood. 

any sane human would assume it was eddie’s doing. he didn’t exactly hold the best reputation in this damned town, but you knew murder wasn’t anything he was capable of. 

“that monster, from the mall,” dustin continues, leaning over the centre console, “that has something to do with this, i know it,” speaking with such confidence that you had no choice but to believe him. 

“how do you know that?” you question wearily, pulling into the parking lot, “i’m not saying i don’t believe you, but how do you know for sure?”

“well,” he buffers, “i don’t, but i’m 99.9 percent certain,” hopping out of the car before you can get another word in. 

you contemplate just waiting in the car for them to be done with whatever the fuck it is they’re even doing. not keen on seeing more people you really didn’t want to. 

you follow them in either way, ducking your head in some half-assed disguise. 

“-dustin!” robin squeals, reaching out to grab his arm, “those are my returns, you dweeb!” 

she and steve turn to you, perfectly in-sync, “when the hell did you get back?” speaking in unison. it’d be unsettling if you hadn’t spent the entirety of last summer with them both. 

you shake your head, “uh..” regretting your decision not to just wait in the car, “a few days ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” robin huffs, thankfully distracted with the mess dustin was inflicting upon her store to chastise you too badly. 

“sorry,” you say meekly, picking up the fallen tapes from the floor as a shitty kind of apology. 

she smiles gently at you, before turning back to dustin with a seeding hatred in her eyes, “what are you little nerds even doing here? do you not have anyone else to piss off on a saturday morning?”

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin repeats for what is probably the thousandth time today, holding the receiver up to his ear. 

“oh eddie?” steve quips, “what’d he do this time?”

dustin holds his finger up to shush him, unloading his rehearsed spiel down the phone to whoever. 

steve looks over to you for some clarity but you just shrug, not really any wiser on what was actually going than he was. 

this goes on for what feels like hours, listening to dustin and max inquire about eddie to each and every person on their call list, just to end up with a dejected frown when absolutely nobody has heard from him. 

“rick,” dustin nods, drumming his fingers against the desk, “rick! he said he was going to meet rick today! d’you know where reefer rick lives?” swivelling in his chair to glare at you. 

“reefer rick?” robin repeats with such disdain, it’d honestly have been nicer if she’d just laughed in his face. 

you shrug, “i don’t know.. maybe?” offering absolutely zero insight whatsoever. 

“you know, you were only together for four years,” he snarls, doing nothing to help his cause. 

“oh i’m so sorry that i can’t remember every single place we went together,” you hiss back. 

dustin eyes the empty computer and you can almost see the lightbulb go off above his head. tapping into the family video system as if he had any right to be here. 

“you’re not supposed to be on that!” robin hollers, reaching for the mouse though his hands are quicker. 

“stop it!” he screeches, typing rapidly into the computer, “jesus christ, how many rick’s are there?” scrolling the plethora of rick names that had appeared. 

he figures it out pretty quickly. 

realising that reefer rick probably wasn’t using the local video rental store to watch sixteen candles or risky business. 

“you know where that is?” he asks steve, tapping the address on screen. 

“uh.. i think so,” steve wavers, squinting his eyes. 

“great,” dustin shoots up, grabbing his backpack without a second thought, “you drive,” pointing at steve, “you follow,” turning to you, giving zero alternative or chance to protest before he’s out the door, tugging at the handle of steve’s car. 

-

you do as he says, obviously. fearing that if he were to be left alone with robin for too long, she might just wring his neck. 

eddie’s nowhere to be found, the house looks empty and his van isn’t here leaving you back at square one. 

“he has to be here,” dustin frets, pointing at the large shed on the other side of the yard, “let’s just have a look.. you wanna find him don’t you?” turning to you specifically. 

a few years ago you would’ve said yes with zero hesitation but now you’re not sure if you even care. the thought of seeing eddie again makes you a little nauseous. not even owing to the fact that he was a potential murder suspect. 

“why’re you looking at me?” you scowl, “i think we should just leave this to the police.”

“no!” stopping dead in his tracks, “they’ll kill him and you know that,” his eyes sharp as everyone falls into silence. 

he was right, as he often is. which makes this all the more irritating. 

you nod, gesturing for him to continue to the rundown shack behind the house. 

there’s nothing in there, at least no signs of one eddie munson. 

it all just seems useless. if eddie had used the neglected brain in his head, he’d be far away 

from hawkins by now. he was nifty enough to survive on his own, you were sure about that. 

steve jabs at the tarpaulin as you peer out of the door and into the quickly darkening night sky, spinning rapidly as the tarp crinkles and something comes flying out. 

eddie. 

with his hands now pinning steve back against the wall, chest heaving with sheer, seething anger. 

only dropping his hold on him when it registers who it actually is, eyes wide and startled. 

a million and one feelings rush through your veins. you hadn’t prepared to actually see him again, to now be stilled by the sight of him locking eyes with you. 

the slow realisation dawns on him, quickly forgetting that he was a wanted man, all encompassed by your presence in this suddenly stifling shed. 

steve gasps for air, breaking the tension and pulling the attention back to him. robin’s quick to soothe his arm while dustin launches into a quick scolding for eddie. 

it’s not long before he moves onto the next phase of his master plan, dragging max to the corner to loudly discuss what they should do. 

“when’d you get back?” eddie asks, leaning against the dusty wood panelling, “i haven’t seen you..” his voice cracks but he’s unwavering. 

good, you thought. though really it was all useless now. 

“couple’a days ago..” picking at the wood splinter on the wall, “when’d you start murdering teenagers?” hoping it wasn’t too harsh of a dig. 

“ha ha,” he deadpans, running his hand over his face, “you don’t think i did it, do you?” worry seeping through his tone. 

you shake your head no, choosing to meet his eyes, a little reassurance that even if you did think he was a loser, you definitely didn’t think he was a murderer too. 

he nods, sighing into his palm, “fuck,” deflated, exhausted by the day he had endured, “they’re gonna kill me,” shrunken into himself, resembling a dejected little puppy. 

“they’re not gonna kill you,” but your voice shakes a little, not unnoticed by eddie. 

“you don’t sound so sure,” he chuckles, turning his gaze to the rotting floorboards. he looked horrible, to put it nicely. the bags under his eyes were dark and his hair an even wilder mess than usual. 

“i’m not really,” refusing to lie to him, even now. 

he looks up again, unwavering melancholy in his eye, “how’d you find me?” 

you glance over at dustin’s busybody, passionately explaining the next steps to an exhausted looking steve, his hands gesturing for a fight. “he tracked down rick’s address from family video and then wouldn’t let us leave until we found you.” 

eddie grin grows, finding the motivation to get himself off of the dirty floor, “yeah.. sounds about right.” 

you’re too close for comfort now that you’re eye to eye, uncomfortably close while your relationship was still so fragile. 

he breaks away first, striding over to dustin, “what’s the plan? i really need you to save my ass, dude.” 

dustin nods, vowing to keep eddie alive, no matter what it takes. 

-

dustin doesn’t hang around. 

the minute the suns risen, he’s pounding on the bedroom door, waking the sleeping pile of limbs you’d collapsed in. 

“i’m gonna kill him.. i’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” robin grumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, staring daggers at the door. 

“eddie’s not answering!” he hollers, busting through the door, “we have to go back to rick’s! now!” pulling at nancy’s arm, presuming that steve had told him no to driving him around this early. 

you rouse just enough to really see the panicked look on his face, swinging your legs off of the bed to grab his shoulders, “what happened? we can go i just need five minutes.”

“he’s not answering,” panting between his words, “i told him to check in at six! it’s nearly six thirty.. something’s wrong.”

“okay,” you nod, trying to wake yourself up, “okay.. let me get dressed,” finding your discarded pants and practically jumping into them. 

dustin’s in the passenger seat before you can even run a brush through your hair, only just able to brush your teeth before he’s got his fist on the horn. 

“jesus christ dude,” you exclaim, shoving the keys into the ignition and speeding off before he has the chance to chastise you again. 

you’re grateful that it’s still early and the chances of getting a ticket are slim because you most definitely had broken some kind of speed limit, but truthfully it was mostly to get dustin to shut the hell up. 

knowing eddie meant that you knew he was probably fast asleep, ignoring the cracklings of the walkie for the sake of a couple extra minutes of shuteye. 

you turn down the long wooded drive, wondering if rick was back yet and just how he’d react to eddie’s ex-girlfriend and some random kid showing up on his doorstep at seven in the morning. 

you’re forced to slam on the breaks, almost sending dustin through the windscreen as eddie’s face appears before you, his hands slam the hood, screaming something nonsensical. 

“ohmygodohmygod,” he rushes, throwing himself into the backseat of your car, “you need to drive!”

“what the hell happened?” dustin probes as you turn around, only now seeing the barrage of cars parked outside of the house. 

“jason..” he gasps, “those fucking meatheads he hangs around with.. they just showed up,” sliding down into the footwell just as jason rounds the corner of the house, yelling something about your car as you hightail the fuck out of there. 

“they.. they- they think i’m the devil or some shit,” eddie gasps, his petrified face appearing in the gap between your seats, “they’re fucking crazy man.. fuck!” 

your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, hoping to speed away before they got wise enough to follow you. 

jason wasn’t much but his lackeys would have zero issue beating the shit out of eddie, or you for that matter. 

you instinctively go to the first place you can think of, which in hindsight seems like a mistake now the gravel is crunching beneath your wheels. 

forest hills was still crawling with cops trying to determine who or what had killed chrissy, though thankfully at daybreak their presence seemed to have dwindled a little. 

“we should be okay here for a while.. stay in the car until i get the door open,” flashing him a harsh glare to make sure he really understands. 

the three of you barrel into your trailer, grateful for the silence, unsure of how you’d ever explain this entire situation to your mom. 

“shit man,” eddie marvels the walls, mouth hung open, “haven’t seen the inside of this thing for.. a while,” a sadness to his tone. 

“yup,” choosing to ignore his glum cadence in favour of keeping the peace, “you can sleep in my bed,” tossing your keys into the bowl. 

“you sure?” eddie asks, though he’s already making his way up the hall, all too familiar with your trailer. 

“knock yourself out,” collapsing onto the couch to resume your own interrupted slumber. in a time not so long ago, you’d have relished crawling up next to eddie in bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to tuck you up under his armpit. 

you brush off the glum feeling, wrapping your own arms around your body instead. 

dustin gets to alerting the wheeler residence, informing them all that eddie’s okay and you were going to hang out here until he came up with some plan.  

it’s almost noon before eddie rises again, asking if he can take a shower before dustin unleashes his plan. 

that horrid buzzing niggles it’s way back into your brain. a dull pain that quickly becomes sharp, stabbing at the sides of your head. 

“are you okay?” dustin questions nervously, ditching his notebook to step closer with caution. 

your fingers clutch your temple, unable to form a coherent sentence as the pain throbs through your frontal lobe. features screwed up in searing pain. 

“eddie!” he screeches, his fists pummelling against the bathroom door. 

eddie emerges, towel slung around his waist, barely able to turn the water on yet, “what? what the hell is going on?” quickly shutting up when he sees your sorry state. “are you okay? what happened?” rushing over without a second thought. 

dustin stands in horror just behind, watching as eddie’s thumb swipes the underside of your nose, coming back an unexpected shade of maroon. 

“she just dropped! i-i don’t.. i’ve never seen this before!”

“you’re bleeding,” eddie fuses, “dustin.. tissue now,” tilting your chin upwards. 

the pain subsides slightly, allowing your eyes to reopen and meet his, “there’s.. tylenol in the drawer,” letting him keep your chin between his fingers.

dustin speeds around the room, collecting supplies as your laboured breaths become easier, the ache dissipating as quickly as it came on. 

eddie dabs at your nose until it’s clean, shaking out two of the pills onto his palm for you to take. “what the hell was that?” nagging yet concerned all rolled into one. 

“i dunno, i’ve been getting these.. headaches, since i’ve been back,” looking between dustin’s horrified face and eddie’s distressed one.  “it’s probably nothing.” 

“that didn’t look like nothing,” dustin adds, still wary of your state. with all of the supernatural happenings at the moment, he had right to be. 

“it’s fine,” shrugging them both off before the questions got too much. “what’s the plan dustin?”

he and eddie share another glance, pretending that you weren’t right there in front of them. “uh..” erring the line of caution before jumping right into it, “okay so we need to go down.. down there.”

-

it’s stupid, reckless even. 

but what other choice do you have when the world is caving in and your ex-boyfriend is on the run from the police? 

eddie climbs through the window of the rv, pulling your eyes away with a quickness as his shirt rises up to reveal his lower back. 

the door swings open some moments later, gesturing for you all to climb inside as he gets to hot-wiring the gargantuan vehicle. 

you pile into the back, ducking below the windows while his fingers fiddle with the live wires. 

“do you even know what you’re doing?” nancy asks, her eyebrow raised in quiet concern. 

“nancy please,” eddie huffs, “while your dad was teaching you how to ride a bike, my dad was teaching me how to hot-wire a car.. i know what i’m doing.” 

she hums, settling into the passenger seat without another word. 

it shouldn’t be attractive. you should think it’s utterly reprehensible to steal and engage with such criminal behaviour. 

but you can’t. 

not with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth like that, his hands whirring away as robin looks on with a screwed up face. 

the engine roars loud, alerting the entire trailer park to your existence. eddie hightails it into the back, choosing the empty spot next to you as he yells for steve to drive. 

this all so ridiculous, flying about the back of the rv as steve speeds out of town. finding somewhere solitary for you all to prepare. 

-

everyone seems to be in cahoots about something, scarpering from the rv the second you walk inside. leaving you and eddie to navigate through the uncomfortable tension alone. 

you take a seat anyway, picking up the discarded knife on the table, running your finger along the dull blade with a sigh. 

you’d never imagined that the two of you could ever be so awkward together, having been close for the entirety of your lives, it felt awful to not even want to look at him now. 

“i’m sorry.. about chrissy,” you swallow, still sharpening the knife, hoping he won’t say something to make you drive it into his throat. 

the rest of the group ‘prepare’ loudly outside. dustin screeching at the top of his lungs for steve to put him down while robin tuts in annoyance. 

eddie looks up, a little glum, “yeah.. she was a good girl, she didn’t deserve that,” dropping his own knife on the table in front of you with a clatter. 

“i didn’t realise you two were.. together or whatever,” the look on his face immediately forces you to regret your words, hoping the ground would just swallow you whole. 

he scoffs, “together?” knocking his knee into yours softly, “you thought we were together?” 

oh my god. it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. cheeks burning as your eyes meet his, “oh! i thought.. someone said.. i don’t- i don’t know,” clinging onto the knife with sweaty palms, deciding whether to slice your own mouth off so nothing else could fall out of it. 

“she was buying weed,” he laughs quietly, “pretty girl but.. not really my type, you know?” 

you nod, looking back at the table in hopes that he’d just drop it now. so much for being the nonchalant, cool ex. all you’d done is solidify your psycho status. 

“i haven’t really..” he begins again, never knowing when to leave well enough alone, “i haven’t moved on, i guess,” shrugging as his own gaze slips. 

if you were going to live through the end of the world, you hoped it’d come soon. the tension in this cramped rv was enough to make whatever was happening with the underworld seem like a dream. 

“oh!” is all you can conjure up. unsure of what response he was expecting from you. the breakup had been amicable.. sort of. to you, it made sense to breakup. you were away to college and he was repeating senior year again. you had almost died in the town you grew up in, he hadn’t. 

it was a multitude of happenings that forced you apart. grief and it’s intertwining webs of despair had proved too much for your relationship. too much for you to handle on your own. 

eddie hadn’t agreed. 

he couldn’t understand it, why you needed out of hawkins so bad. but he wasn’t there, hadn’t seen the things you had. 

the guilt had wrecked you for the first few months, afraid that you’d abandoned him in that very town for a new life after promising for so long that you wouldn’t. 

“sorry, i shouldn’t have said that- i didn’t mean anything by it,” he fumbles, pulling on his bottom lip, “well i did! just.. not the time or place, you get me?” digging himself further into his hole. 

your eyes meet his again, gnawing at the skin on your bottom lip, “it’s okay.. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” 

“i think what i meant to say was that i missed you.. i’m glad you’re back,” eddie coughs, un-jumbling his words at last. 

it’s simple enough and really shouldn’t make your heart swell the way it does. you weren’t together. he wasn’t yours. that was that. 

but maybe there’s something about experiencing the end of the world with someone that makes you a little reminiscent. 

“i missed you too,” you smile, hoping that the overwhelming feeling of adrenaline is just from the interdimensional monster that lay beneath you and absolutely nothing to do with his doe eyes and plump lips. 

his eyes flicker, trailing from your eyes to your lips. the air seems to shift around you, leaving the room at an expedient rate. 

“you missed me?” eddie growls, looking back into your eyes, “then why’d you leave me here?” a deep set frown forming on his lips that wasn’t there a minute earlier. 

“what?” you question, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanour. 

“you left me. you left me here to die after you told me you wouldn’t,” he snarls, leaning closer. 

his eyes are glossy now, glazed over with what looks like tears. 

“i didn’t.. no,” backing away from him, “you were supposed to come with me.. you.. you..” shaking your head. 

eddie’s eyes change completely now, pupils turning a slick grey. a dark cloud fills the room, overflowing out of the tiny window, covering the furniture and your body with the thick smog. 

“it’s your fault,” the voice rumbles, no longer bearing any semblance to eddie’s, the walls decay in front of your eyes, wallpaper rotting as they crack and crumble. 

“it’s your fault,” it repeats, louder this time, “he’s going to die,” it cackles, filling the room with the booming voice. 

“no,” you scream into the void, thrashing around to find the source, “take me! take me instead!” yelling as loud as your throat would allow, but it’s futile. 

there’s no one here. 

eddie had gone. crumbled into a pile of ash on the floor, left on your own in some barren wasteland, the blood-curdling screams of menacing creatures travel through your body. 

“you can’t save yourself,” the voice booms, pulling your eyes to the horrific humanoid figure stood amongst the ruins. 

“what do you want?” you scream, stepping backwards over the rubble. 

the man.. thing just smiles, “i’ve been watching you for some time, you shouldn’t have come back here,” walking towards your cowering frame. 

“w-why? who are you?” fingers trembling as you attempt to grab onto something, anything to bring you back to earth. 

everything you grasp crumbles into ashes, disappearing before your eyes as you struggle to breathe. wheezing through the dark clouds, not an inch of relief. 

“we’ve met before,” completely ominous, “you don’t remember me?” tilting his head to the side. 

it feels like you’ve seen it before, somewhere in a far away dreamland. 

that’s when it clicks. 

the bad dreams you’d been having, there had always been something there, a presence you couldn’t ever see clearly. 

but now it makes sense. 

“h-how did you do that? how did you get into my dreams?” the rubble beneath your feet disappeared with every step. 

his head shakes and the landscape rumbles, a clattering of stones fall to the ground, jolting your body backwards. 

“you let me in,” he rumbles, stepping closer, “you’re the reason any of this is happening.. it’s time for you to pay.” 

his spindly fingers reach out, forcing you further and further back until your foot catches against  a stone, sending you flying backwards into a sudden abyss. 

you awaken with a harsh gasp, eyes opening to find eddie towering above, his brows threaded together in fear as the others screech around you. 

“she’s awake! are you okay?” eddie rushes, holding your face between his palms, “oh my god,” as white as a sheet, shock rippling through his body. 

you nod, blinking in the sudden bright light, exhausted from doing nothing at all. nothing felt real except eddie’s fingers brushing over your worn skin. 

too tired for tears, too afraid to speak. your eyes shut on their own, trying to ground yourself back in this reality. 

you relax into his hold, your breathing falling into line with his as their voices turn into humming background noise, focusing on the path of eddie’s fingertips instead. 

-

eddie hadn’t dared to leave your side, following you around like a lost puppy, watchful eyes widening every time you moved or breathed too loud. 

it would’ve felt suffocating if you weren’t scared to death. instead, it was a welcome comfort. a sense of familiarity in the most awful time. 

you felt immense guilt, knowing that the end of the world had to happen for you to speak to him again. the man you’d gotten married to a thousand times in your head, the man you’d had a plethora of baby names with. it was all so insane. 

dustin hadn’t exactly instilled much confidence in you. with news of fred benson and patrick mckinney’s deaths, he had figured out the pattern of attack. 

they’d all died the same way, eyes burst and their limbs snapped one by one. 

eddie had recalled how chrissy went into a similar trance, her eyes glossed over, completely unresponsive. though the moment he’d said it, his heart sank, realising that chrissy wasn’t the only one he’d witnessed like that. 

logically, that meant that you were next. 

dustin had uncovered what was essentially a countdown to your death. nobody wanted to say it, or even acknowledge it, but you weren’t stupid. 

that meant that whatever plan he had, he had to perfect tonight, ready to attack tomorrow. 

before it’s too late. 

he’d said the quiet part out loud. a shared grimace encompassing the room, pitiful glances in your direction. 

despite the fact that your demise was quickly approaching, you had felt a strange sense of peace. perhaps actually knowing your fate was better than not knowing. 

there would be an end to all of this. 

-

steve had offered his house for you all, his parents away on some trip for the next week meaning eddie could hide out in peace. a much better arrangement than the wheeler’s house again, ted had started to despise the groups of teenagers in his basement. 

sleeping bags and blankets strewn across his gigantic living room, sleeping bodies filling every spare inch of carpet. none of you wanted to be apart for more than five minutes. sleeping on top one another was the ultimate comfort. 

eddie had volunteered for first watch, keeping his eye steady on you from the corner of the room. 

it’s a little difficult to fall asleep knowing that he was watching you like a hawk, surveying every tiny change and movement. 

dustin was supposed to take over at some point in the early hours, but judging by the sounds of his rumbling snore, that wouldn’t be happening. 

you sit up, shuffling over to eddie’s perch, avoiding your sleeping friends on the ground. 

his eyes dart to the floor, as if he hadn’t been staring intensely at you for the last hour.

“d’you have a cigarette?” you whisper, knocking your knee into his. 

he nods, raising his brow, “you don’t smoke?” baffled by your question. 

you shrug, smiling into the darkness, “how would you know?” hoping it didn’t come across as snappy as it seemed. 

he doesn’t reply, just shuffles around in his pocket, producing the scuffed up box with his lighter. 

you nod towards the door, getting up from the floor with a small groan. limbs still aching and weary from your run in with death earlier. 

he follows behind, glancing at the room of sleeping teens before slipping out onto the porch with you. 

steve’s house was secluded, the massive back yard and the trees that surrounded it made sure that no one would find him here. 

you perch on one of the lounge chairs, gesturing for eddie to join you, watching the steam from the pool dissipate into the chilly march night air. despite being in the same tiny town, his house was worlds apart from the trailer park you two grew up on. 

he places a cigarette in your palm before sliding one between his own lips, passing you the lighter first. 

it’s a silent exchange, unsure if you could talk about anything without crying, though it’s meaningful. eddie had been selfish plenty of times during your relationship but at his core, he’d put you before himself each and every time. 

you light the cigarette, gazing off into the distance. hoping to god that he wouldn’t bring what had happened earlier up. 

“when’d you start smoking?” he asks, keeping a respectable distance between you though he wishes that wasn’t something he had to worry about. 

“when i found out that i was dying tomorrow,” exhaling slow, trying not to let your voice wobble. 

he sighs, “you’re not gonna die,” with less conviction than you’d have liked, “you can’t die,” shaking his head at such a ridiculous thought, “you won’t.. you won’t,” mostly for his own sake. 

your eyes squeeze shut, heart aching, squeezing your chest tight. last week you’d been terrified about your literature final and now none of it even mattered. 

“what if i do?” you ask earnestly, finally meeting his eyes, “everyone else has? we don’t know if dustin’s right.. if we can beat him,” shrugging helplessly. 

chrissy had died, patrick had died, fred had died. that meant you were next. 

his jaw clenches, wishing you’d stop, “you’re not,” throwing his cigarette butt to the side, “i won’t let you, okay?” 

you nod, albeit not believing a word he said. it was difficult to be so optimistic when the only evidence you had, said otherwise. 

“this vecna..” eddie begins again, “he doesn’t know what’s about to hit him,” sounding slightly more confident than before, “we’re gonna kill him and you’re.. you’re gonna live and graduate and do all that great shit you still have to do.” 

you don’t mistake the pain in his voice, the knowing that he should be there for all of that and that it had been his own fault for now being a footnote in the story of your life. 

“i really do miss you,” you clarify, “i’m not sure how much of our conversation earlier was a vision or not..” 

eddie chuckles, breath shaky and unstable, “no.. you said that before, you know- before you got possessed,” bumping his shoulder into yours, thankfully injecting his fucked up humour into the otherwise dark conversation. 

“was it scary?” 

he scoffs, almost offended that you’d even ask, “i shit my pants,” smiling with the side of his mouth, not fully committed, “reminded me of that stupid movie you made me watch.” 

he had never liked horror movies, this tough guy exterior that exclusively listened to metal was all a guise. he’d watched the film through his fingers, clinging onto your arm. 

“you were very brave though,” letting your cigarette fall to the floor, sure to be lectured by steve in the morning. 

he shies away, looking down for a brief second, “i’m not gonna let what happened to chrissy happen to you too..” meeting your gaze once more, “i promise.” 

“i don’t think you can promise that,” sharing a meaningful glance. 

“i can and i will.”

you nod hesitantly. his words, as much as you’d like to believe them, meant nothing when the supernatural was at play. 

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just like they used to so many months ago. but you don’t pull back, only leaning in further. 

if you lived past tomorrow, you’d no doubt regret this but as that wasn’t looking at all likely, what was a kiss between traumatised exes? 

eddie makes the first real move, his palm coming to cradle your cheek. you hope to god this isn’t another vision, that he won’t be cruelly torn away from you this time. 

“is this real?” you can’t stop yourself from asking, sighing as you do. 

“this is real,” he assures, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “d’you want to stop?” 

“no,” closing the already dwindling space between you, placing your hand on his in such earnest intimacy, a sensation you’d missed so deeply for an entire year. 

your lips touch, your eyes falling shut as his breaths start to steady, humming into your mouth in satisfaction. 

it didn’t feel so bad now, nothing could be so utterly terrifying while you’re touching him like this. 

eddie breaks away first, only a few inches of distance, just to gaze into your starry eyes, “i never thought i’d be able to do that again,” with utmost sincerity. 

“you weren’t supposed to,” shaking your head. if things had gone according to your plan, you’d have never seen him again. 

but it doesn’t work that way. 

fate had other plans for you. 

his lips twitch into a small smile, thumb drawing over your tired cheeks, “can i do it again?” 

“please.” 

connecting your lips once more, the cold tip of his nose bumping softly against yours. it was impossible not to notice how well you fit together, moving in synchronicity and with such tenderly care. 

inside, dustin wakes up in a cold sweat. looking over at the empty spot on the floor where you should be, but now we’re not. 

“shitshitshit,” he panics, whispering loudly to himself as he crashes around the house, stepping over the sleeping bodies. 

dustin’s panicked face shoots up from the window, gawping at the barely visible sight, straining to make out what the fuck he was even seeing. 

it only dawns on him when your lips leave eddie’s, foreheads resting together that it would be in his best interest to not interject and end up with his ass beat. 

you come back in some twenty minutes later, after a plethora of shared kisses and soothing words. deciding to settle in the same empty spot on the floor, his hand only comfortable enough to grace your waist, under the blanket. 

now wasn’t the time for questions or prying eyes judging your decision. you weren’t even too sure yourself. 

it’s the only time you’ve felt comfortable enough to sleep tonight, watching his chest rise and fall, knowing that he was here, alive and that for right now, you were too. 

-

the carnage pulls you from your sleep, people yelling over pancakes and glass clattering as max’s shrill voice scolds lucas for being too loud. 

you look around at the mess of blankets and empty sleeping bags, the door to the living room was closed though it made no difference. 

you’d have preferred to stay in the empty room, unwilling to address the situation with eddie last night but your stomach rumbles, pulling you out of the room and into the bright, bustling hallway. 

robin swings out of the kitchen at the sound of your presence. she’d clearly tried to help with the breakfast efforts, though unsuccessfully, emerging with flour down her shirt, jeans and somehow in her hair. she smiles gently at your weary eyes, “we didn’t wanna wake you.. you were knocked out.”

“thanks rob,” even though their incessant arguing and yelling did eventually rouse you from your sleep. 

in the kitchen, dustin sits with his feet swinging off the tall stool, a too-wide, toothy grin growing on his face the second he spots you, “well good morning! how’d you sleep?” a sarcastic little quip that you know holds something deeper. 

“great thanks, you?” narrowing your eyes as you fill a mug with coffee. 

he waits for steve to exit the room, turning back to you with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, “yeah, really good,” he twists his body to peer out of the door, ensuring no one could hear, “so you and eddie huh?” 

“me and eddie what?” refusing to entertain his cryptic questions. 

“i saw you two last night, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” wiggling his stupid brows as he shovels yet another pancake into his uncontrollable, jabbering mouth. 

“and i saw you wet the bed last year, do you want to go there?” flinging his taunting right back at him. 

dustin’s mouth falls open, “you can be a real bitch, you know that?” taking his heaped plate back into the living room. 

steve strolls back in, staring down dustin’s scowl before his eyes trail to you, “what’s wrong with him?” 

you smile, tight-lipped and fully loaded as you pour a cup of coffee, “oh nothing,” looking over the food with slight disgust. the hunger hadn’t really hit you yet, too occupied with trying not to die to care about pancakes. 

eddie interrupts your noisy brain, cackling as he comes into the kitchen, “maybe you should stop being such a smart-ass then,” immediately quietening down when he spots you. 

you don’t speak, instead communicating with a shared look before you focus on the cup of coffee in your hand. 

steve looks slowly between the two of you, “you good?” 

“yeah.”

“yup.” 

you both simultaneously reply, refusing to acknowledge the tension in the empty kitchen. 

“o-kay,” steve whistles, deciding that sitting with dustin and his terrible attitude would be far better than whatever this was. 

it’s not supposed to be awkward. 

it was just a kiss. or multiple. 

a few kisses between exes during the end of the world. that’s all. 

“d’you sleep okay?” he dares to ask, feeling comfortable enough to make eye contact now that steve had left. 

“yeah.. thank you, for looking after me,” smiling gently at the bleary eyed boy. 

“i told you i would,” he reaffirms, “you’re not doing this on your own.” 

“i know,” you nod, swallowing the growing lump, “but i’m scared eds.. i don’t want you to die because of me.” 

eddie tuts, rounding the counter to place his hand on your arm, “that’s not-,”

dustin hollers, falling through the kitchen door, giving away the groups prying position, “ow shithead!” shoving lucas backwards as they materialise one by one. 

dustin, lucas, max, erica. 

in that order.

“are you fucking serious?” you screech, throwing your arms into the air. 

this was low even for dustin. 

“sorry! sorry! go back to confessing your love or whatever the hell was happening!” scurrying off to finish his pancakes and no doubt inform robin and steve what they’d witnessed. 

“i can’t believe him,” you frown, turning to eddie who’s stifling his laugh. “it’s not funny,” but your lips twitch anyway. 

“it’s kinda funny,” his hand still lingering on your arm, his smile reaching his eyes, “you don’t care if they know.. do you?” 

you shrug, perhaps you did care a little bit. you were the one who’d broken up with him, deserted him for college. maybe you didn’t deserve a second chance. 

“it’s okay..” he nods, as understanding as always, “this is weird, i get it," as understanding as he was, he wasn't able to conceal the dejected puppy gleam in his eye.

"it's not that," pathetically reaching for his hand, "i'm just.. i'm supposed to die today, i don't want to.. lead you on, or get your hopes up or whatever," putting your finger up to stop eddie from interrupting, "i don't need you to tell me that i'm not. just let me spiral about this," smiling as you speak, truly a means to soothe yourself, not just eddie.

"o..okay," his whole speech shut down, leaving him with nothing. his eyes flit over to the mountains of food steve had whipped up, "you should eat.. you've got a busy day of not dying to get through," smirking right through your snide glare.

-

something feels off, a nervous twisting in your stomach that makes you want to call the entire thing off. 

you could go down there and fight this with them. screw whatever prophetic visions you’d had. 

eddie hadn’t even wanted to go, desperate to stay in the attic with you, watching over in fear of losing you again. 

“what if.. what if something happens and they don’t know how to fix it? they’re kids.” he’d pleaded, sat on the porch outside of the large house in your final moments of peace. 

“dustin can’t do this on his own,” you cooed, only slightly wishing that he could execute this plan on his own. “you have to go. i’ll be okay..okay?” not entirely certain about the truthfulness of your words. 

he takes a sharp intake of breath, fingers forming a weak fist, “you better be,” the moon reflecting off of his caramel iris’, capturing the entire universe in two tiny orbs, “i don’t want to lose you again.” 

your head dips, quickly losing the ability to look him in the eye, overwhelmed with guilt and the reminder that you had been the one to end things. 

“it’s okay,” grabbing your hand to place on his bouncing knee, “i’m not.. mad about it, or upset and you shouldn’t be either,” squeezing your fingers in a bid to draw your eyes back to him. 

“i don’t-,” huffing a frustrated sigh, unable to form a coherent thought when the impending battle loomed over your heads. “everything is so fucked and i don’t know if we’re gonna make it this time.” 

eddie’s fingers lace between yours, holding your hand tighter, “we’re gonna be fine.. okay? everyone is gonna be fine,” inching closer in the thick of the night, “i’m gonna be right back here, as soon as that bastard is dead.. i promise.” 

this time, you punctuate his sentence for him, springing forward to latch your lips to his, using your free hand to cradle his stubbly cheek. 

you long to kiss him forever, never escaping this embrace, knowing that there’s a chance it won’t happen again. his lips soft, desperate to stay attached to you, too. 

“oh! shit! uhm-,” robin stutters, clattering out of the door. 

you break apart, containing the low groan of disappointment, “sorry rob.. ‘s everything okay?” eddie’s as bashful as ever, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet, even in the darkness. 

“yeah! uh.. nancy told me to tell you that we’ve gotta go now or it’ll be too late,” swinging from the door as she speaks. 

he glances at you again, longing for just one more minute of this peace. one more second of your touch. 

but it doesn’t come. 

they leave in a hurry, cycling maniacally away to the trailer park, leaving you, lucas, max and erica to conduct the rest of the plan. only fragments of hope left as you watch them disappear over the hill, praying for someone, anyone to just keep him safe.

-

everything is eerily calm, far too silent for the situation at hand. 

you sit cross-legged in the attic, looking between lucas and max who had taken it upon themselves to converse through a notepad. 

they reminded you of you and eddie once upon a time, giggling teenagers trying to navigate love together. 

it’s sweet, full of the same adolescent innocence you were desperately trying to regain. 

eventually they break apart, lucas traipsing over the creaky floorboards to check on you, equally confused by the serenity. 

he turns to walk away, almost frozen as his brows furrow and his pupils dilate, “you killed them.” 

your mouth falls open, immediately hushing him so as to not screw up nancy and dustin’s carefully thought out plan. 

“you killed them all,” he parrots, a sinister air surrounding him. “eddie trusted you and you killed him.. you’re a murderer,” the venom flying off of his tongue, severing your heart in two. 

the plan had worked. you were back in wherever it was you were taken before, confirmed by the sudden darkness, the wallpaper splintering and putrid stench that had filled your nose. 

lucas isn’t lucas at all. 

a mimic to the higher power cursing your town, only a small part of his master plan to destroy hawkins. 

your surroundings melt away, lucas nor max no longer appearing before you. instead, you’re faced with a flash of red, and a maniacal cackle. 

henry, as you’d since learnt he was called, begins his tirade, just as you’d planned. 

“why didn’t you stop them?” he booms, appearing in the corner, “you let them go after everything i showed you.”

he didn’t scare you, not anymore. when the time was right, lucas would slide max’s walkman over your ears and pull you right out of this hellscape. 

“they’re going to kill you,” standing stoic, resistant under his thumb. “you can’t hurt anybody else.. not anymore,” gritting your teeth, such determination to have him hear you. 

his burnt frame disappears right before your eyes, a loud, blaring laugh appears from behind. 

once again turning to darkness, only this time it’s accompanied by a chorus of screeching. feral creatures and familiar voices circle around your head. 

his torment is ruthless, voices, namely eddie’s rattle around your brain, wailing and screaming, loud enough to make your ears ring and your head ache. 

your eyes open to your trailer, watching yourself argue and cry at eddie. 

the day you broke up. 

“you’re just gonna leave me?” he despairs, just as feeble as the first time he’d said it. 

“i can’t stay here eddie! you don’t get it! i nearly died.. i can’t do that again,” and yet, here you are. 

a shrill, shrieking sound fills the room before the scene crumbles before your eyes leaving you to the decaying scene you bore witness to before. remnants of the creel house float through the scarlet sky, threatening to crash into each other. 

“maybe i can’t hurt you, but you can hurt yourself,” vecna’s voice squawks, flashing forward to a scene you’ve never seen before. 

eddie, with his back against a door, you can only assume he’s trying to keep something out. a grotesque mix of blood, sweat and tears seep down his cheeks, the door beginning to thump from the pressure of whatever was on the other side. 

“this all could’ve been so easy,” rapidly wiping the imagine from your view, only to appear mere inches away, decrepit hand rising above your face. “don’t you wish you had just listened? don’t you wish that you had just come with me?” now mocking with his tone, condescending even though he’d gotten you exactly where you’d wanted. 

“no.. no no no,” arms suddenly restricted by a slimy tendril, forcing your face to meet his, “you’re not real.. you’re not-“ a sudden, awful constriction wraps around your lungs, squeezing the air from your body. 

“i’m not.. real?” he mocks, the corners of his mouth creep upwards, “i didn’t want this to happen this way but you’ve left me no choice.” 

you gasp loudly for breath, struggling within his grasp for a means out of it. where was lucas? or max? what happened to the plan? 

over the last few days, you’d become quite comfortable with the idea of dying. it became fact, an inevitable consequence of getting yourself tangled up in this entire thing. 

but now, as it looms over your head, you want out. 

you want to be with eddie. you want a dozen kids and a quaint house on the corner of maple. maybe a dog or a cat that he’d picked up on the side of the road. slow dancing in the kitchen after a day of warm sun. 

you want to live. 

his fist closes, leaving your lips blue and begging for oxygen. “this is what had to happen.. your time-“ his rambling cut off by a ground shattering boom, the tendril dropping your body at once. 

he stumbles backwards, grabbing onto his chest. your vision too blurry to coherently make out what was happening, a mixture of colours that swirls away quickly. 

your aching bones thump to the floor, gasping for air as the familiarity of the creel’s attic fills your peripheral. 

max and lucas swarm your body, muttering over one another, their small hands shaking in fear as your head is placed on max’s lap. 

“what the fuck? what the fuck do we do? lucas!” she hollers at lucas, as if either of them had any idea. 

they shouldn’t have to be concerned with any of this, nor tasked with the pressure of keeping you alive. your breathing steadies though your chest still heaves, leaving the comfort of her hold to scan the room. making sure that this was real, that you were home. 

four pairs of feet appear before you and not one of them the dusty pair of reebok’s you were waiting to see. 

collapsing once again, in a crumpled heap on the dusty floorboards, your voice cracks, broken as you speak. still reeling from the onslaught of abuse you’d endured. 

“where’s eddie?” 

[luvvixu]

the end

synopsis: the end of your relationship was inevitable. that's why both of you and gojo satoru individually prepare yourselves against the pain and separation of an upcoming divorce. and when that thing came, you suddenly found yourselves trapped inside the circle of your marriage where denial is present, and acceptance is absent. let us all see how the marriage walk through the end.

tags: divorce!au, ex-husband!gojo, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentioned of death, mentioned of trauma, read at your own risk

a/n: here's an almost 8k words of oneshot about gojo marriage again. i've mentioned this before but im taking a very small break and will be back on june 5 with an update regarding to the chapter of mind over matter ff. be sure to check out the announcement!

it was a peaceful morning on your balcony with satoru gojo, your husband for almost two years. you are reading your newly purchased book with your glasses on to help you see the letters.

you take a second peek at your husband who was already gazing at you from the beginning. his gaze was painted with a mixture of sadness and adoration towards you. looks like he had something to say, and you're right, he did have something to say when he mumbles your name.

oh god, you knew where this conversation would be. keeping your eyes bore on him, you fully turned your attention to him and waited for him to speak what's on his heart and mind.

"i think we should file a divorce."

his voice was monotonous and yet you knew it really wasn't, his face also did the same since you also didn't hold one either. your expression still remained calm like he was not asking for a divorce as you closed your book and then put it back on the coffee table.

meanwhile, satoru couldn't read you at this moment because you were quiet, too quiet for his liking. were you so shocked that you couldn't react to his sudden cut of ties? or was it just you already expected this the moment when you woke up?

probably, the most accurate reason and answer was the second one. satoru watches you lean on the seat with your hands clasp on your lap. he also never fails to see the neutral glaze in your eyes.

"if you are wondering why i didn't hold any emotion as you speak, that's because i already reacted a year ago." a sigh escalated from your lips as you removed your glasses also and put it on the table.

"you expected that this day would come?" he said in silence while secretly fiddling with the calluses on his hand—a hidden and canonical habit of satoru whenever he feels anxious and worried.

before this day would come, the two of you got married when both of you were twenty. a young, dumb, and somehow not stupid but definitely reckless who took a big tramp of change among themselves.

satoru was the one who asked you to get married after almost four years of being inside an on and off relationship. that was very fast and very reckless at that time—but of course you agreed because you are a fool to get yourself blinded by your love towards him.

so, the two of you got married and with only some people whom you both held close dearly attended the said wedding. it was simple and civil, but to you, it was your everything. the wedding and this marriage mean so much to you.

your marriage went pretty well in your first few months of being married. both of you got yourself a house with a nice garden that you absolutely adore, you also got yourselves a work almost instantly too. satoru got more missions since he was now a graduate, while you work in your own cafe and occasionally take jujutsu stuff.

things were really fine with heaven as the witness. until one night during your almost first anniversary, you caught him going home around three to four o'clock in the morning with a smell of alcohol and woman's perfume that's definitely not yours. he's really drunk, which was weird because he hates alcohol. you wondered what's the occasion or any celebration that should be celebrated and whatnots, but you can't think of any. so that leads you to silently crying.

you did not confront him about your first suspicion of cheating, you want him to admit it himself, but that doesn't mean you're going to tolerate that piece of shit because for god's sake! there's a fucking hickey on his neck that night, you knew it wasn't yours since you've barely had an intercourse due to both of your busy schedules.

you remember asking him about his whereabouts that night like you weren't aware, but his answer just disappoints you, he told you that he had an emergency mission and needed him in action asap at kyoto around 11pm and it took him some time to finish it. as mentioned before, his answer disappoints you, because your assumption has been partially proven.

satoru was clearly lying about his whereabouts that night but still the cheating allegations were not clear. maybe the seemingly foreign hickeys on his neck was already evidence but you're probably still in denial, so you didn't instantly conclude that he was really cheating with you.

but you still couldn't shake off his illicit affairs. why? because satoru was lying about the emergency mission on kyoto. he wasn't there, you knew that because you were the one who took the mission, not him. satoru actually rejected the mission because he's busy with other matters so you took it yourself without even telling him.

all of these things that are happening leads you back to that day when he proposed to you. it was so sudden that it made you a little bit skeptical. but when you asked him why he suddenly asked you to get married? easy, you didn't know.

however, you had your hypothesis that after geto disappeared and went on his rebellious phase, you let gojo use you to relieve his grief. that is why when you realize that this marriage is meant to not last long, you secretly cry to yourself during your first year anniversary as a married couple.

meanwhile, satoru knew to himself that he couldn't stand a long-term relationship. though he also started to feel bad for making things go very quickly with you, his love towards you is pure and genuine. in fact, he would do anything just to keep you safe and happy. but he wasn't able to do that when you're the opposite of him.

he is selfish and you are selfless.

no matter how hard he tried to change or even make things up for you, he just couldn't do it. there's this invisible dark string that pulls him inside the void of darkness. and he couldn't afford to bring you down with him. the thing that geto did really left a scar, a permanent scar to his chest that creates an inescapable hole that keeps on growing bigger and sucking his life in the process.

while you, you fully commit yourself to him. that's why everything would be pointless for satoru to let himself get hurt just to protect you. because you would literally throw yourself in the fire when he's burning.

it was like the two of you are a magnet with the same pole. you can't attract each other no matter how hard you try to let them collide.

back to reality, your head was faced downward. your husband sought for your eyes by calling your name meticulously, but you refused. an internal laugh at your pathetic figure rang through your mind, you are laughing at yourself for believing that you are already prepared for this moment, turns out, you're not—you’ll never be.

satoru mumbles your name again. and all of the sudden, you just let out a nod, followed by a small sigh. you let yourself look at him again despite the unnoticed tears in your eyes.

"okay, but let's spend this whole day as husband and wife for the last time. let's do the things we usually do during our free time." you said, and satoru agrees with you almost instantly. he thinks this is the least thing he could do for you before setting each other free.

everything went normal for the rest of the day. satoru takes you out for lunch, visits your favorite cafe for desserts, and even goes to the park where he asked you out to be his wife.

and right now, the two of you are in the cemetery, specifically in haibara's graveyard. the sun was proceeding to its dusk, making the place a bit solemn because of its ambience.

"do you think he'll be mad at my decision?" your soon-to-be ex-husband asked you with his small tired voice. haibara was your bestest friend of all and he actually talked to gojo when he's still alive about his relationship with you. he would like gojo to take care of you and treat you more than you deserve in your entire life.

"i don't think so. haibara only wants the best for us. he's a man of freedom, after all. and yet, how ironic because he, himself, has no freedom during his time in the jujutsu." you answered him as you watched the candle burn itself.

satoru looked at you. "how about you, y/n? are you mad at my decision?" he asked you a bit hesitant.

you just smiled at him and said, "i will answer that later, satoru." satoru nodded at your answer, he understood that you had a lot to say to him later.

after some time, you two decided to go home to your shared apartment. the journey back was fun and relaxing, it was filled with smiles and laughter that will soon vanish as the dawn is coming.

6:00 PM

both of you arrived at home. you helped satoru hang his coat on the raker like you usually do whenever he comes home during winter. this small act is something that would be definitely missed by him dearly, since you will not be around to do it.

"thanks for agreeing to go out with me." you said to him with a smile that almost reached your eyes. the only thing that stops you from giving your bestest smile was the divorce, but you subside because this is your last day as a married couple. you have to enjoy it to the extent.

"that was the least thing i could do for you before…nevermind." he said. satoru was not cheerful enough to make you smile whenever your eyes met. you also noticed that he was downhearted since you visited haibara's graveyard.

though as you were heading in your shared apartment, he was smiling and laughing. guess you didn't overlook him at all and you failed to notice his hidden pain.

you watched him lay down on the couch. "you looked bothered. was it because i didn't answer your question earlier?" you said quietly.

satoru didn't say anything, and according to his vocabulary, silence means yes. you sigh to yourself and take a seat on the same couch where your husband was lying in.

your hand reached out for his face, cupping it as satoru looked at you with his hooded eyelids. those magical six blue eyes are staring at you with known emotion, pain and agony.

"you didn't ask me why i suddenly wanted to get divorce…" he mumbles, nestling his head in your palm.

"you agreed without questioning me. i don't even see you cry about this. why y/n? are you hurting yourself by keeping your emotions inside you?" he continued. the pain in his voice breaks your heart into bits of pieces. satoru looked so vulnerable, his true emotions are showing exclusively for you.

you let out a small but bitter chuckle. "crying is not part of the things we usually do during our free time together, toru." his eyes widened at your answer. a droplet of tears slide down on your palm. satoru was crying, and you let him weep because you knew he's pent up.

"and i'm not mad at you. i also didn't ask you any questions because i know you know what you are doing and i respect your decision." you added.

"although, i admit. i want to bawl my eyes out. i want to scream because my heart is aching for believing that i was prepared for this moment." your breathings started to become shaky also just by watching satoru weep under your touch.

you refused to cry. at least not now.

"but i don't want to ruin this day by crying. i want both of us to savor this moment with smiles and laughter. so that when we part our ways, we wouldn't have any regrets to hold."

"so, satoru…let's continue to spend the rest of our night happily, hmm?" you let yourself smile for him to be motivated to stop from crying. however, he did the opposite. satoru cried even harder.

your hand is being cradled by him. you could feel his tears on your palm followed by his little hiccups. this scene alone in front of was usually enough to make you cry even harder than him. it was utterly heartbroken to see your man cry like this.

"hush, my…" love, that's the word you would like to say but forbids you to do so. satoru also noticed it too and he absolutely hates the feeling of it.

"l-love. call me love. c-call me like you used to call me before. first name basis is not part of the things we usually do during our free time together." he mimicked your words earlier. though it may sound like a joke, it isn't. satoru has been dead serious since the beginning of the day.

"my love…"

"y-yes, my sweetheart?" he responded.

your lips quiver from the overflowing emotions in your chest, but you still refuse to let yourself cry even when you're all by yourself. god, you are hopeless and devastated.

but dear me, it felt so good to hear him call you with endearing words. oh how you wish this kind of moment would last forever. maybe in another life, it would be. only if fate would be kind enough to give satoru to you again, maybe it will and it would be.

8:00 PM

satoru was all alone. his eyes were puffy from crying and stuff. he was such a mess. and if anyone would see, they would probably think that he's a zombie because of how low energy he was.

it took him almost an hour to stop crying. and you declared that this is the first and would be the last time that you would see him cry very hard.

right now, he was currently packing his things as he was about to move out tonight while playing betty by taylor swift. somehow, his mood got even more affected by this song, for every lyric hits him hard and he doesn't know why.

"♪ you heard the rumors from inez, you can't believe a word she says ♪" the radio sang. a shaky sigh came out from his mouth, he felt like crying again.

“♪ most times, but this time, it was true ♪”

"let me help you pack your things." you suddenly barge inside your onced shared bedroom after cleaning up for tonight. you are also in your sleep wear when satoru looks at you.

“♪ the worst thing that i ever did, was what i did to you ♪”

you didn't fail to notice that he is listening to one of your favorite artist's songs. a flashback hits you, it was the moment where you persuade him to listen to it with you. now, he has grown invested in their songs.

he mumbles a small okay as he watches you sit down beside him and redo the messy clothes he just stuffed inside his luggage. most of his clothes were luxurious like polo shirts, slacks pants, coats, and his favorite, blindfolds.

your eyes soften when you come across a small pouch that contains hair ties and bobby pins you onced bought for him as a prank. you still remembered the moment he let you tie his messy white locks with colorful pins and he looked so incredibly pretty with it. you couldn't help but to feel yourself getting emotional again.

don't cry. don't cry. don't cry.

meanwhile, satoru remained very quiet, for he was staring at the photo in his hand. it was your wedding photo where the both of you are wearing traditional japanese attire. he couldn't help but stare at your smiling face for too long. you looked so beautiful.

the wedding was very simple, but satoru describes it as one of his happiest days, and he is not lying to himself whenever he would say that. because he onced dreamed of getting married to you, and it came true. he also had the same state as you, both on the verge of crying.

"i wonder…would you get remarried someday?" he asked out of the sudden. you shifted your gaze to him and found him staring at your wedding photo. instantly, your eyes went soft.

"i am not sure." you replied silently as you closed his luggage and proceeded to the other one.

your hands momentarily stop working as you stare at them and watch it shake. "but if i do, it would probably take me a decade or so to find another husband to love." you said. but truth to be told, you had no motivation left to find another husband.

"you're twenty-two right now. so like…you'll be thirty plus by then when that happens," he calculated. "how about you? would you consider getting remarried also?" you asked him the same question.

he thinks for a moment before nodding slightly. "probably yes." your heart let out a wince but you tried your best to hide it. those words unintentionally hurt you and cut you deeper than a knife.

"w-well, i just wished good luck for both of us in the future." the crack in your voice didn't go unnoticed by satoru. he was about to reach you but then eventually dropped it. "me too…" was all he could say.

"anyway, do you mind if i ask…where are you staying after this?" you trailed off.

"i'll stay with higuruma for a day before moving out to my new apartment. speaking of that man, i told him to be here around midnight. so we still have four hours to be together." he answered

"...yeah."

10:00 PM

the two of you are sitting on the same seat just like this morning in the balcony. you are wearing your favorite cardigan as satoru was in his coat to fight the cold weather of the night.

all of his things were already packed and ready to leave. soon, you'll be alone and this house will not be lively as usual because his presence will be missed.

both of you refuse to say a word, yet. because you two are scared to have another breakdown that made this marriage even harder to break. especially satoru, he was aware that deep inside him he was not ready to let you go. he was just lying to himself because he is aware that he can heal if he gives himself some time.

"y/n, can i hold you here in my arms?" satoru swallowed all of the bitterness he felt for leaving you just to hold you again, for one last time. you slowly stood up from your and came towards in front of him.

your soon-to-be ex-husband gazes upon you. however, you refuse to meet those warm eyes that you loved the most. satoru slowly pulls you into his lap and cradles you like his greatest treasure, which you definitely is.

when your face hits his shoulder, you couldn't help but to hide your face deeper into his neck. "the place i'm going to stay afterwards is far from here. are you sure you will be okay?" he whispers in your ears.

"yeah, i'll be fine." you nodded solemnly. "i also planned to stop from my work for a while." you added.

"why?" satoru raises his eyebrow. he thought you loved your job as a barista. you enjoyed making coffee and wherever there's extra pastries left in the cafe, you would take it home for him to try it.

"don't worry, i had a lot of fortune that could last for a century. and besides, you even said i had a midas touch, so surviving won't be too hard for me." when your parents died, they left all of their fortune to you. so that makes you an instant millionaire and nobody knows that beside your husband.

satoru gently pushes you to meet his eyes. "i think this moment is perfect to give all of my secrets away. i don't need any perfect lies to hide from you anymore." he tucked the loose hair on the back of your ear, admiring your beautiful frame under the pale moonlight.

he gulped nervously, and for some reason, you're becoming very anxious about what he's going to tell. all you had to do was to wait for him to speak his thoughts out.

"the reason why i want to divorce is to have a new life and forget about the past. that includes you, y/n." though he only started, millions of knives already stabbed your poor heart. your eyes stared at him, a bit widely.

satoru couldn't bear to look at your pained expression, but he forced himself to look at you. so that you would feel his sincerity. "before suguru disappeared, he once told me to choose another path of life. he told me to run away from the jujutsu, run away from my life." he said, almost whispering.

"although, i want you to come with me. but…"

"i somehow got myself involved with the jujutsu too?" you continued it for him. satoru falls silent, so that means yes, it is true.

satoru cups your face. "i'm sorry, y/n. i really, really love you. but this is not the right path for us. you'll get more hurt if you continue to get tangled with me. so, after a lot of thinking and consideration…"

"i became selfish once again. i chose myself over you, y/n."

for the nth time, the walls you have been building around your emotional state are starting to shake once more. you could feel the hot tears building in your eyes.

you will not cry. you will not cry. you will not cry.

"i-i understand…although, you don't have to apologize for choosing what is the best for you. i'm actually glad that you're finally doing it." you plant your palms over his hands on your cheeks, closing your eyes to swallow up those annoying tears.

"i'm such a bad husband, aren't i?" satoru chuckles weakly. what has he done to deserve you like this? your understandment is something that he greatly admires in you. your heart is pure like an angel from above.

an angel like you can't fly down hell with him.

but god, you're making yourself willing to go down with him without any hesitation and that is just completely wrong.

and for the past years, satoru would make a mistake and you are there to correct him patiently. he would always tell himself to make something and make everything up for you. but who would have thought a divorce is the best thing to do?

"to be honest, not at all. remember what i told you before we got married? you are the fire and i'm the—"

"gasoline?"

"no silly, that's a song." your laugh brightens up the atmosphere. satoru smiled at your happy demure, he likes seeing you this joyful.

"you are the fire and i'm the fireman. a fireman would not function completely when there is no fire. meaning, why would i, a fireman, be here if there's no you, a fire." you raised your fingers to help you visualize your point.

"does that make sense to you?"

satoru shook his head. "no."

you snapped your finger. "exactly! you think i'm bad at explaining things, while i think of myself as great at explaining things. that's the same as you thinking you're a bad husband, while i think of you as a great husband."

"..."

"i made you speechless, meaning you agree and i'm great at philosophy!" you boosted yourself by imagining a crowd was giving you a round of applause.

your husband wonders for a moment before cackling a laugh. "that still didn't make sense to me but it brought a lot of comfort to me. thank you, y/n."

"come on! just admit you love my philosophical nonsense." you pouted, hitting his shoulder playfully.

satoru laughed once again, pulling you by waist as he buried his face in your hair. "of course i do. i love everything about you." and he would still do, always and forever.

"i'm going to miss this." you mumbled as you relaxed on his touch. satoru also agrees, kissing your head all over again.

"and i'm going to miss you too, a lot." he said sincerely. the two of you held the longest stare on this day. you just let yourselves drown with each other's enticing orbs.

satoru was the first one to break the record by sighing and rubbing his eyes. the truth is, he couldn't bear to look at you any longer because he could see how broken you looked through your eyes just because of him. instead, he hides his face once more on your neck.

“i'm really, really, really sorry, y/n. i'm so sorry for using you. i’m so sorry for cheating on you. i’m so sorry for hurting you. i'm so sorry for not choosing you again. i'm so sorry for being selfish. i'm so sorry for everything." there it is, again. his hot tears are back and now drenching your shoulder.

"i used you as a getaway from my sins and from the grief that day, y/n. you should've said no when i asked you to marry me, but why did you do the opposite?" his voice became slightly thicker, he's definitely frustrated.

"i did it for love, satoru." you answered without hesitation.

satoru momentarily stopped crying as his breath hitch. "yes, i'm already aware of your true intentions that day. but i still chose to marry you because i love you. i know it sounds so dumb but it's true." you continued.

you could feel his arms around your body tighten, scared of letting you go from nothing. it was like he was begging the gods, if there was one seeing the both of them right now, to let him be delusional and not take you away from him.

"let me ask you this time, do you regret marrying me?" you whispered.

your husband looked at you with unshed tears. "i don't. but i regret that this is the end of us."

why is it always the time where someone would tell their true feelings when everything is falling apart? so if this divorce wouldn't happen, does that mean his word would be forever kept inside him?

"i've always wanted to tell you that i was actually glad that you became my wife. i thought you would be my endgame. instead, you became the reason why i am still here and breathing."

the void of regret is slowly pulling him inside. but you are there to make sure that he would survive the gravitational pull. you just loved him so you will help to let you go.

"i love you, my sweetheart, my y/n, m-my wife..."

12:00 AM

it was quiet, really, really quiet. higuruma was looking at the two of you all over again. his eyes showed sympathy for both of you and he was sad because this is the end for you and satoru.

right now, both of you are staring blankly at the divorce paper on the table. no one was making a first move by signing it.

you let out a sigh, a heavy feeling was buried deep in your heart. your whole body feels so numb and you still haven't cried for today. everything feels so wrong, yet at the same time it feels right. you don't know what to do anymore.

as you recall your conversation with him, you just wished it didn't end and would continue forever. because you know you'll never get tired of hearing his voice, his laugh, and his philosophical nonsense too.

not to mention, you've also dreamed of building a family with him. a mini satoru and mini y/n sounds nice, doesn't it? as your eyes wandered across this apartment, you can depict your children with him running around. god, if you were dreaming, please don't wake up.

"higuruma, can you please just wait for me in the car…? i-i would like to have a final conversation with my wife." satoru suddenly spoke and nanami left without hesitation.

"so this is it?"

"yeah, t-this is the end." satoru chuckles breathlessly. there was like a big chuck on his throat that made him feel suffocating. truth to be told, he doesn't want this to be the end. but again, he has to.

"thank you for giving me a total of the best six years of my life, toru. i mean it, thank you." you counted the first four years of your relationship and the two years of your marriage. playing with your hands to mend the shakiness, it was a constant reminder that only a few minutes left before the surname satoru would be stripped of your name.

"thank you too, y/n. i also had so much fun and love these past six years. thank you for all of the things you have done for me." he said silently.

all this time, you are the only one looking at him because his eyes were focused on the paper in front of him. "good luck on your new path. i wish you the best." you intentionally called his attention.

"you're really staying here in this apartment…alone?" satoru asked you.

you let yourself smile slightly as you shifted into a more comfortable position. "yeah… just in case you feel homesick, this would be a reminder that you still have a home…only if you want to." the air in this room is very thick and it's suffocating you.

"t-thank you, y/n, really." he expressed his gratitude once again.

a nagging feeling tells you that satoru was about to go back on his decision at any minute. and you too would probably go back to your decisions you had set for both of you. it would be more devastating for you if satoru didn't achieve his plans for himself in the near future.

"let's not make higuruma wait."

satoru falls silent. now he was stuck in a madness of a dilemma. in short, he was starting to rethink his decision to the point that he didn't notice he was staining the divorce paper with tears. his hands began to shake violently along with his cries becoming louder any minute.

satoru finally lost his cool as he wailed loudly in front of you. the sound of his sobs made you clench your lip as your chest tightened once more.

you on the other hand, you're trying your best not to slip any tears down from your cheeks. you successfully stopped them from falling this morning, you couldn't afford to cry not because there's only a few minutes left before you would let yourself fall into a pit of sadness.

sensing that neither of you would make a move, you are aware that satoru couldn't bring himself to do it even though he had to. so, you gently steal the paper away from him.

divorce agreement…it read. oh how you despise those two words.

"satoru, i mentioned to you a while ago that the reason why i want to spend this last day as a married couple is because i want us to leave without holding any regrets." you started with your pen touching the paper. satoru's eyes widened, he wanted to stop you from doing it but nothing was coming out from his mouth.

"i can see it in your eyes, you're doubting your decisions." you continued as you wrote your name. in satoru's horror, only your signature is needed and everything would be over for him.

however, you stopped writing. you tapped the table to gather his attention to you. there he saw you smiling dearly at him.

"did you have fun spending time with me this whole day?" satoru knows your intention. you are encouraging him to do what he was supposed to do even if it means leaving you.

"yes…yes i do, i enjoyed being with you." he stuttered. the tears were still streaming down his face and he was using his sleeve to wipe it. you reached for the tissue and gave it to satoru as you watched him wiped his eyes and blow his nose.

"that's good to hear. i also had fun being with you. not only for this day, but the whole time i was with you, i enjoyed it." you grabbed his hands to soothe it by massaging those long and calloused fingers. satoru watches you and eventually becomes slightly calm by your actions.

you inched your lips into his fingers and kissed it delicately just like he used to do with you before. everything went blur to him and only the sound of your sweet nothing was audible into his messy world.

"i know you'll be doing great with or without me. so satoru, put more faith in yourself. this is another big step for us, and i want you to be ready just like i am." you swiftly slide the divorce paper in front of him. but this time, it has your signature on it.

satoru felt like he was being showered by the cold water as he stared at the paper with pure horror evident on his face. you finally did it, so there is no turning back now.

"h-how—when…! when did you sign it?" his voice cracked due to his frazzled emotions firing him repeatedly. satoru reaches the highest point of heartbreak he ever experienced in his life.

"when i gave you the tissue." you whispered weakly. to your dismay tears are only a slip away from your eyes a thousand times today.

"i don't want to sign it. i don't want to! i don't want to leave you anymore y/n!" he yelled. you accepted his lash out with open arms, but you can't do anything anymore. you finally signed the divorce settlement, and this paper wouldn't go if there's no signature of satoru.

you suddenly pull him into a passionate yet heartbroken kiss to shut him up. satoru eventually responds to your kiss, becoming more emotional than ever. while you are busy keeping him in company, you sneakily put the pen in his hand.

satoru felt an object in his palm, he knew you're telepathically telling him to sign the paper but he still refuses to acknowledge it, at least not yet. as he continues to devour your lips, his eyes are still producing salt tears that add more emotions in the atmosphere.

"i could see a bright future ahead of you, satoru." you muttered between the kisses.

"mhmp—you should grab it, please." you continued to deepen the kiss to lure him. but he voluntarily stepped away just to make a counter argument for that.

"but i could lose you if i do that." he whispers solemnly.

"we've already lost each other when we realized that everything was going too fast for both of us." you chuckled bitterly at your statement. "that it why it is time to face the consequences, by setting us free." you added.

"do…do you really want to do this?" he hiccups.

"this is what fate wants us to do." your voice is soothing as hell. it held no grudges nor resentment, just pure calm and adoration towards him.

but satoru still didn't bug and he still doesn't want to sign the papers.

your gaze never leaves him as satoru buries his face on his palm, weeping so quietly that you could almost hear a pin drop. it was getting so hard to watch so you looked away and slowly walked away.

"i am going out for a bit." you mumbled quietly, not waiting for him to reply or look as you walked away with your whole body shaking.

outside, there you saw higuruma leaning on his car exterior. "hey…" you greeted weakly. higuruma looked at you with a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

"hey…how did it go?" higuruma asked, his gaze falling on the papers in your hands.

"emotional." you joked.

"so, that's the end now?"

"...yep, that's the end now."

silence engulfed both of you, just your almost steady breathings and his observing orbs burning through your skin.

"never thought satoru could cry harder than he did when geto-san…you know." higuruma said, sighing as he tucks his hands on his pockets.

you nodded. "i know. satoru lost suguru literally, while he only lost me through relationship. he'd become more vulnerable around me, and that scares the hell out of me."

"i, his weakness, has become more exposed to his enemies. i know sooner or later, they would swoon to get me just to make him fall on his knees. we don't want that to happen, i don't want to be a bait nor a cause of his downfall. temporarily or permanently, satoru must not fall, no, not anymore." you continued.

"y/n-san, i hope you would also realize that failures, downfalls, mistakes, and damages are unavoidable, gojo-kun is no exception to all of that." higuruma argues.

"satoru is going to live a good life and have a future that he deserves, so who am i to halt it?” you ignored what he said because you know he was right.

“this is a big step for both of you. i just wished that everything would go well for the two of you.” higuruma smiled at you.

“we will, eventually.” you return the smile and then excuse yourself to go back inside, just to see satoru still crying nonstop.

approaching his figure, you wrapped your arms around his body to console the man. “don't go back to me now, satoru. if you cannot bring yourself to let go, then i will help you.” you whispered into his hair.

satoru pulled away just to look at you with his teary eyes. “i’m sorry, y/n. i’m really sorry.” he keeps on apologizing to you, while you just smile at him and wipe the tears in his eyes.

���it's alright, satoru. i already forgave you a long time ago.” you said.

“i can't sign it. i don't want to sign that anymore.” he confessed. a small form made its way to your temple” “but this is for both of us. don't you want to have a brand new start? how can we thrive when we both have shackles on our feet?”

“i-i thought everything was easy. i thought i could l-let you go that easily. but i was wrong. it's so hard to let go of us, y/n. and as much as i would like to do what i meant to do, it's just so hard to see us disappear from our now individual lives.” satoru buries his face on your stomach. your hands immediately made its way towards his hair as tears are threatening you once again.

“it's hard to let you go too, satoru. but it would be harder to see you suffer more when you're here with me.” it was getting late and satoru was still amidst the crisis, but you are determined to get him out of there.

“look at me, toru.” you cupped his cheeks and made him look at you. “you’ve still got a whole world to see. so don't you ever get worried about me because i’ll be more happy to see you free without any worries.

“go live a life that you weren't able to do when we were still kids. do what you always wanted to do.”

“and just so you know, i will always love you and you will always have a special place in my home.” you put his hand to your left chest where your heart lies. “here, satoru. you'll always be here.”

satoru pulled you into the tightest hug since it was literally the last and you wouldn't mind. reciprocating the hug, you finally smiled whole-heartedly and it even reached your eyes.

“whatever happens, i love you, y/n. i love you more than anything. i have loved you since the first time i saw you. and i will always love you even if this would be the last time i would see you.” throughout the six years that you two had been together, from boyfriend-girfriend relationship until to marriage—this was the very first time he declared his love to you with so much intensity.

your eyes nearly gave up on how long you've been trying to hold your tears. but you still swore that night that you'll never shed a tear unless satoru is out of the scene because you knew how much effect your crying causes him.

to hide your emotions, you pull him closer and share the last and passionate kiss as two persons who share the same surname are binded by the law. both of you could feel the emotions begin to overflow as things become more sensitive.

you were the first one to pull away as satoru was still crying. cradling his cheeks, you connected your foreheads together and said again, “let's not make higuruma wait any further.”

satoru knew it was time, time for him to finally sign the divorce paper that he's been planning for a month now.

he expected this one too just like you, so it shouldn't hurt, but why is his heart still aching? with a final stroke of his signature, satoru felt so empty. his soul feels like missing and something was taken away from him.

both have done it—a trial away and the marriage will no longer be valid. there would be no mr. and mrs. gojo now because both will live differently.

grabbing the paper with your shaky hands, you turn around at satoru and give him the final hug with a final kiss. “good luck on your new life, satoru. i’ll always cheer for you and support you until the end.”

“thank you so much, y/n. i really mean it.”

and with that, you and satoru shared the same sad smile you could utter at that moment. sure, this night will end bittersweet, but tomorrow is a brand new start.

you watched satoru walk solemnly towards the car. he looked like a ghost wandering around the vicinity without any will to search for the true paradise for him to rest. it really broke your heart that this is the end for both of you.

and with now fully signatured divorce paper on his hands, satoru felt that each step he took, he felt like fainting on the spot because of how devastating he felt.

but you cannot undo everything now. satoru had officially become your sweet memory and a stranger on the street at the same time. just as he was about to go inside the car, you called out for his name one last time.

your ex-husband looked at you with tired, red, and puffy eyes. you let yourself give the bestest smile you could offer at this moment. a smile entitled one last smile before saying a goodbye.

"if we found each other in another world, let me be your wife again!"

satoru's eyes glisten with tears once more. nevertheless, he also offers you the bestest smile he could manage. he is now letting his broken heart go out of your grasp. forcing himself to swallow and accept that in this lifetime, you are no longer his.

but if the two of you would be reborn or somewhere in the multiverse, he would pray that the two of you got the life you onced failed to build, and that was something he would wish for forever.

"of course! and i will choose you this time. we would make a family that we once dreamt of, and i will give you the honor to name our children." satoru yelled back, making your smile widen.

you could finally rest knowing that there would be a lifetime waiting for both of you somewhere in the future. and this time, you are not being delusional because you know it'll be going to happen and you'll make it happen.

"emi!"

"what?" satoru halted his steps to focus his attention on you.

"i want our first born daughter to be named emi." you've actually dreamed of having a child with him, in that dream, her name is emi. it was like a sign to you, so when you woke up, you immediately searched its meaning and found out that emi means blessed.

you are blessed.

both of you definitely feel blessed to have each other.

that being said, you have kept that name for a while now. sooner, you wished that name would be used with satoru's surname entangled to it.

because in this life, it was unfortunate not to use the name emi. you only want to use that name with him and only him. for you lived with him, loved him, and dreamed with him.

but patience is a virtue. you are willing to wait for that dream, for him. time is not a problem to you because you'd be fully patient just for him.

"have a safe journey, gojo satoru. i will be waiting for you in our next lives." you gently bow your head to send your wish for his safety.

with that, satoru enters the car without looking at you anymore. he was afraid that if he looked at you, he might find himself running back into your loving arms again.

"we'll be going now, y/n." higuruma rolled the window and waved a farewell to you.

you just nod at him while you watch the car slowly disappear from your eyesight. sad but true, you will be waking up all alone from now on 'till your thirties.

no more satoru to wake you up with cuddles. no more satoru who would make corny jokes randomly. no more satoru to who would always remind you that you have a husband. just no more satoru gojo—

drip…

a tear, followed by another, and another until it just flows uncontrollably. you are finally a crying-mess. you're letting yourself cry and let your emotions out by a shout of pain escaping out from your lips.

it was all over.

satoru chooses his life over you, and you choose satoru over your life. with your knees planted on the pavement, your hand travels towards your mouth to cover your loud painful sobs.

all of the tears that you had been keeping since this morning, finally had their freedom to flow at your cheeks along with anguish scream that came out of your broken heart.

you finally lost this time.

[a special chapter will be posted soon, so stay tuned and just comment if you want to be added on the taglist for this one — ©luvvixu2024]

[lenakluthor]

totally random question but do you read supercorp fics? and if yes, which ones are your favorites?

i absolutely read supercorp fics! i've been devouring ao3 basically since i finished the show. here are a few of my faves: people will say we're in love by AKAWWJJD - this was recommended to me by a friend and was the second ever supercorp fic i read. it's angsty, but it's BEAUTIFUL and it's one of my favorite fics from any fandom, ever. it's basically a rewrite of crisis and the aftermath of that (with a heartbreaking, post-reveal beginning), and it's just so, so good. it really set the bar for me in terms of supercorp fics and i still think about it to this day. it's heartbreaking and poignant and just. perfect.

the banks of certain rivers and ever more light by @i-am-robie - these two go together, but if you only read one, read ever more light (although i highly suggest reading both). i found this one through a gifset based on the fic, and i am SO happy i did. this is the fic that made me believe in fluff again. i'm not kidding, before i found this fic, if it wasn't tagged as angst, i was not reading it. this one? completely changed my opinion. it's so soft and sweet and it gives you the same butterflies and good feelings kara gets around lena. i actually love these so much that i am in the process of binding them into a book.

same old blues by @searidings - this one is, in my opinion, hands down the best portayal of lena i've read so far. it captures her anger and hurt and emotions so well and it just feels exactly like lena. it picks up after the end of season four and is exactly how i imagine lena's reaction to kara being supergirl. obviously it's canon divergent, but this one just really nails lena. it's angsty and emotional and just SO good. the author describes it as "horny enemies to lovers" in their note and that really sums it up pretty well.

you're in my blood, like holy wine by @jazzfordshire - this one is one of my favorite AUs. it's a loose practical magic AU with witch!lena, but much more developed and fleshed out than in the show. not only does it have really well written supercorp, but it also showcases a really well done friendship between lena and sam. i'm gonna be real i'm very picky about AUs, but this one GOT me. i definitely recommend it.

i also highly recommend checking out all four of those authors' other works. robie has an AU that i really enjoyed, searidings has a fun little competitive supercorp one shot, jazzfordshire has one of my favorite smutty one shots, and AKAWWJJD has a mxy rewrite that is just wonderful.

i've read so many more that were really worth reading, so i highly recommend scrolling through the supercorp tag on ao3 and filtering out the results to find ones you might be into. i could've mentioned a bunch more that i enjoyed, but i figured i'd keep it to my top four and the honorable mentions because the authors all happened to have multiple i love. i've also got like, more than 40 open ao3 tabs currently, so i know my favorites list will definitely be growing.

[nartothelar]

I just had a thought while thinking about your possession au.

So I know you posted some joke art about Ingo confronting a Zoroark acting as his (possessed) brother, but what if the Zoroark WAS trying this time.

So imagine ; Ingo with maybe Lady Sneasler and Irida walking through the Alabaster Icelands, and they get confronted with a Zoroark. It takes Emmet's form and starts terrorizing Ingo, taunting him with "You'd never hurt me!" and everything F!Emmet said before.

And Irida watches as Ingo, her cool and collected if a tad lost warden just... shrink back in fear.

Now just about any sane person would be afraid of a Zoroark, but she can tell that this is MUCH more than just that. This is *personal*. He normally never hesitates fighting Zoroarks when they take the forms of others, but this time he is terrified of hurting the man behind the illusion, and of the man himself.

Judging from everything the illusion of Emmet is shouting (even illusions and how they behave have *some* truth to them), and the way Ingo is terrified, she deduces that maybe the place or family Ingo originally came from wasn't ideal, to say the least. Ingo frantically telling Irida that he loves his supposed abuser only reaffirms her concerns.

Eventually, this becomes somewhat of an open secret among both clans that Ingo's 'man in white' is, to say the least, not good. And how is Ingo supposed to dispute that? He loves this person, and he vaguely feels protective of him, but he also feels afraid whenever he think of him.

Cue Emmet somehow getting into Hisui.

For some extra angst, he took care of his F!Emmet situation, somehow. (Maybe when they both went to Dialga to go to Hisui, he went 'wait a moment, you're not supposed to be there' and separated them)

Naturally, when Irida finds out that the man in white is actually here, she panics. Everyone tries to a. Keep Emmet from finding out Ingo is even here (which doesn't work, he came here KNOWING Ingo is here so he can tell everyones lying to him), b. Know Emmet's location at all times, so that c. They can steer Ingo in the opposite direction of where Emmet is, for his own safety until they can either get Emmet to go back to where he came from, or do some (incredibly biased) investigation.

Cause Sinnoh help them if Emmet IS actually as bad as they suspect, cause if he is even half as good as Ingo, then the amount of people who could potentially stop him can he counted on one hand.

Sure, he SEEMS nice if a tad intense, worrying about his brother, but who's to say he's not just a good actor?

I dunno, maybe the climax is Emmet finding Ingo but the Ingo protection squad (consisting of Irida, Sneasler, etc.) is keeping him back and throwing the not completely baseless accusations at Emmet, him saying "hey I was possessed by a future alternate version of myself, but hes gone now I swear" ("well that's awfully convenient"), and Ingo has NO IDEA what do to (cause he said that once, didn't he? He said that the thing was gone, but then it wasn't, so he has no idea if he can fully trust him or not).

OR, F!Emmet arrives still in Emmet's body and just starts tearing through everything to find Ingo. He's an unstoppable force that will not stop until he finds his brother. And he is nearly everything that Zoroark showed Irida. They are desperately trying to keep Ingo away from him, to no avail.

What're your thoughts on this? Do with all this what you want, and thanks for reading my rant.

OK SO THIS WOULDN'T BE CANON PER SAY (more like an offshoot au?) BUT SOME INTROSPECTION ->

so i might have explored this very idea in a couple of discord dms! but for the most part, yes, ingo would be very much scared of the man in white/the zoroark since his last days with emmet were very much tainted with future emmet's influence, but i wouldn't say f!emmet went so far as to abuse him - emotionally torment for sure tho. still, ingo would very much react, even with amnesia, with a sense of fear and apprehension to seeing him. mixed and very confusing feelings

when emmet does finally get to ingo in hisui in the actual au, him and his future self has actually teamed up (as the last installation suggests). that isn't to say emmet is angry at his future self (bc he is FURIOUS even now at how his future self treated ingo and made the last few weeks he had with his sibling so miserable for everyone) but they have a sort of ceasefire since they want the same thing rn

but similar to your ask, ingo doesn't react positively. he still doesn't remember much but he knows that: 1) he knows this figure and that he is someone important to him 2) does not want any harm to come to him 3) he, for the life of him, is scared of him. the clan is rightfully ultra suspicious of them and maybe puts him on watch (and maybe subjecting him to various interrogative talks to get him to explain everything) that the emmets accept without much fight -> f!emmet feeling extremely guilty for what he has done and believes he deserves the treatment/deserves to not be forgiven + emmet knows that the clan is protecting his brother and can't fault them for handling the way they do

f!emmet and emmet both have a lot of work to do if they want things to go back to the way they were, if they even can

BUT YEAH VERRRRRRRY LONG RAMBLE BUT VERRRY INTERESTING NONETHELESS SKSKK

[hollowdeath]

tied down (hjp)

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader AU

summary: you and harry potter, the biggest flirt at hogwarts, have been secretly hooking up for weeks after playing hard to get. harry's been dragging his feet when it comes to making things official, so when his flirty tendencies get him in trouble, you decide to play him at his own game and win.

content warning: mentions of hooking up, toxic harry, alcohol, jealousy, angst. briefly edited, not book/movie/canon accurate.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: trying to write shorter blurbs between my longer requests, so please let me know if you like this! i also think it's my first sfw blurb, but trust that i'll be back w the smut in no time <3

harry was known to be a player around hogwarts. he definitely wasn't afraid to go after what he wanted, as he wasn't often rejected. girls seemed to fall for him before he even got the chance to flirt with them. however, that seemed to change when you came to hogwarts.

harry had immediately tried to hit on you, of course. but he knew there was something different about you right away. not only were you the prettiest girl he'd ever talked to, you were also the hardest to get.

you didn't fall for harry's tricks right away and saw through his act. at first you were a bit put off by his player attitude, but you thought he was cute, so you decided to keep him around to see how far he'd actually go for you. you weren't one to be charmed and dropped within a week. if harry really liked you, he'd have no problem working for you.

so, that's what he did. harry focused his attention on you, made time outside of his friends to be with you, and was actually starting to feel real feelings for you. with other girls there was just this instant attraction, which would then fizzle out after harry got what he wanted. with you, however, the feelings only got stronger the longer you kept him guessing. he found himself intrigued by your clever personality and completely enamored with your humor.

after a while of pining for you, you finally gave in to him a bit. it was hard to hold yourself back from something you also wanted, but it was worth making him fight for it.

harry had asked you to help him 'study', which of course meant you were actually working on your assignments while harry was drooling over you the entire time. you didn't mind for the most part, he can be pretty cute when he gets caught staring, but you weren't about to be the only one working.

"can't you focus on anything for more than 2 seconds?" you had asked harry with a laugh, turning to meet his gaze on you. you were sitting in the library in a secluded section, a dim light above your heads as the sun began setting outside of the windows next to you.

"you. all day." harry smirks, looking you up and down. you rolled your eyes, but harry saw the blush on your cheeks. "and you can't even do that without getting distracted." you tease him, smirking in return as you close your textbook.

"a guy runs into a pillar one time…" harry mumbles, annoyed. you're laughing at the memory, your hand covering your face. "it wasn't funny!" harry insists, but your laugh is making him crack a smile.

you look at him again, and he's enamored with the sight of you. giggling, blushing, the lighting so beautiful around you he swears he believes in angels now. you shake your head at him, still smirking and chuckling. "it was pretty funny." you told him, leaning towards him from laughing so hard in your seat.

"you're pretty." harry deadpans, his eyes searching you over and over. you really were pretty, prettier than harry could ever put into words.

you would normally roll your eyes or scoff at harry's attempt to flirt with you, but he wasn't flirting. he was being genuine. his eyes were honest and full of admiration for you in that moment.

so, you just leaned in and kissed him.

it was simple, sweet, and opened the gates to so much more over time. harry took it as an invite to start kissing you at random, intimate moments as well. nothing more than a kiss for a while, until you were the one to actually push it further by making out, giving harry love bites, touching over clothes, which then lead to touching under clothes…

within a few months you two were hooking up in secret nearly every week. harry had flings here and there before but never anything exclusive and extended like things have been with you. and while you found the secret hook ups to be exciting and fun at first, you didn't want to just be another girl on harry's roster. you were really starting to like him, and didn't want to see yourself get played.

whenever you tried to joke about becoming official, harry would laugh you off or ignore it completely. he knew it was starting to frustrate you, but he'd never been in a relationship before and he was afraid it wasn't what he really wanted. of course harry had feelings for you, feelings he's never felt for someone before, but he's always wanted to keep his options open. besides, he liked your casual hookups. was that so wrong of him?

he liked moments like right now, sitting across from you in the gryffindor common room, hanging out with a few friends and giving each other knowing looks between conversations. while everyone around you knew you two were definitely flirty towards one another, nobody really knew how much time you spent together. not just hooking up, but all the times the other has stayed the night talking for hours until the morning, or all the private study dates alone in the back of the library. you guys were definitely more than friends with benefits, but harry never acted like it when other people were around. he could tell you were starting to find it annoying rather than flattering.

your friends had been talking about a party someone was throwing that weekend when a couple girls walked through the room on their way out to leave. "guess i should start asking around for a date then, huh? what about you, you seem fun." harry's friend called towards one of the girls. they both turned to him, looked at each other, and laughed, making you laugh to yourself.

"what? i clean up nice!" he tried to redeem himself. the girls scoffed at him. "yeah, right," one of them said sarcastically. "yeah," the other said, still giggling as she looked towards harry. "besides, i'd rather go with your friend." she says in a flirtatious voice.

a few of your friends give you a side eye, but you just smirk and look at harry, waiting for his response. he glanced at you before looking at the girl and laughing nervously. his friend laughed heartily. "i don't think he's available that night..." he said, turning his head towards you.

harry throws his hands up defensively, a smirk on his face as he looks the girl up and down. "hey, you never know. i could be." he says with a chuckle. more eyes are drawn to you as you look at him with a curious expression.

"call me then." the girl says with a wink before leaving with her friend, giggling the entire way out the door.

there's a silence in the air as everyone looks between you and harry. he sees everyone's concerned eyes and becomes confused. "what?" he asks with a laugh.

you scoff at him, amused at his confusion. "what was that?" you asked, your tone still playful as you gesture to where the girls were. "what? it was a joke!" harry says, his hands raised in defense again. you click your tongue and roll your eyes, an evil smirk growing on your face. "oh, come on, [y/n]," harry says with an exasperated voice, leaning back in his seat.

"i don't know, harry, that was cold." harry's friend says with a nervous laugh. "yeah, [y/n]'s sitting right here." one of your friends reminds him.

you look back at harry, who's now rolling his eyes. "i was kidding. besides, we never said we were going together," he argues, pointing in your direction. all eyes fall back on you as a few "ooh"s are let out under breaths. you cross your arms, still giving harry that same evil smirk.

he looks at you again, his eyes softening at your expression. "stop, i'm not–""no, you're right. we never said that," you interrupt him with a sarcastic, knowing tone in your voice.

harry gave you a look, knowing what you were doing. "you never know, i could still find a date," you tell your friends, who start laughing with you. harry's friend looks towards him nervously, but his eyes were narrowed in on you. "right, harry?" you ask him innocently.

harry's tongue runs across his teeth, feeling his blood pressure rise just from thinking about you with another guy. however, he's not about to let you have the upper hand in front of everyone just like that. "yeah, sure. i could too." he says coldly.

still smirking, you nod your head and stand from your seat on the couch. "perfect, guess we gotta go find me a dress, yeah?" you ask your friends who eagerly jump up to join you on a shopping trip. on your way out, you wave a casual goodbye towards harry without another word.

harry's friend hits his shoulder, laughing at him. "you fucked up," he tells him. harry shrugs him off. "whatever, we're not even dating. besides, she won't actually bring another guy." harry tries to convince himself, still staring at the door. "if you're not dating then why would you care, mate?" harry's friend's still laughing at his misery when harry gets up to go to his room.

harry doesn't hear from you the rest of the week, and gets incredibly anxious the night of the party thinking you actually might show up with a date. by the time he's on his way with a few friends, all he wants is a drink to calm his nerves. because, well, so what if you showed up with a guy? you weren't his girlfriend, and that's how harry wanted it, right?

"nervous about something, harry?" one of them asked, snickering with the others. "shut the fuck up." harry snaps, only making them laugh harder at him. "lighten up, mate. just shag someone else tonight and get over it." another teased him. harry just stayed quiet and ignored their taunts.

harry's already finished with his first drink before he notices you entering the room. you looked fucking incredible. the dress, the hair, the makeup, everything was perfect. any other time he would've been thrilled to see you so dolled up, but he knew you only did this tonight to spite him. you knew exactly what you were doing and you were doing it well.

you were laughing with a few friends and getting your first drink when you spotted harry, already staring you down. you instantly smirked and gave him a look from head to toe before turning away and following your friends to the other room to dance.

harry followed as well, his friends joining behind him to find girls to dance with. the music was too loud to think, but harry's mind was racing watching you sway your hips to the song as you joined the crowd of dancing students. he tried to keep an eye on you but you disappeared into the sea of faces.

"just have fun, mate." one of harry's friends yelled to him over the music, patting him on the shoulder. harry gave him a half smile, nodding in his direction. he was right. if you were going to be like that, harry could play along too. he was the player first, anyway.

scanning the rest of the room, harry finds a decently pretty girl on the edge of the crowd and begins talking her up. he's only half-interested in the conversation with the clearly tipsy girl, his eyes still searching the room to find you again.

he's about to give up and go looking for you when you suddenly come into his view, only a few feet away. you were dancing in front of some guy, he looked like a kid in harry's eyes. you were chatting with him, your hands messing with the bottle in your hand as your hips continued to sway. you weren't even close to him or seemed to be flirting with him at all, but just seeing you with another guy looking as good as you did made harry's fists clench. 

you glanced in his direction and he immediately turned to the girl in front of him and began laughing, nodding his head to the music, pretending he never saw you. once harry felt your gaze drift away, he looked back, and you were gone.

sighing, harry says his goodbyes to the drunk girl and gets another drink for himself, chugging half of it before coming back up for air. he stands by the table for a minute trying to let his heart rate slow before hearing your laugh entering into the room.

harry turns and sees you saying your goodbyes to a different guy than the one from before, some tall kid with terrible posture that harry could easily take on. as he leaves the room, it's just you and harry next to the drinks. you turn and see him, a surprised smile on your face. "hi," you say politely, stepping around him to grab another drink.

"how long were you planning on torturing me, exactly?" harry asked you, sounding angrier than he meant to. you just chuckled to yourself, a confused look on your face as you removed the cap from your next bottle. "what do you mean?" you asked innocently.

harry let out an angry huff, staring at you with his jaw set. "you know exactly what you're doing." harry deadpans. you look at him knowingly, taking a swig of your drink before shrugging. "i'm just having fun." you told him with a smirk. "yeah, i can see that." harry spits out. you're clearly reveling in his jealousy which is only frustrating him further.

he looks you up and down once more and can hardly contain himself. your skin looks so soft, and you smell even better than you look. he's never seen you in such a short dress and it's driving him insane knowing it's not just for him. don't these losers staring at you know harry's the only one that's seen what's under this dress? that he knows all your favorite spots to be kissed, your weaknesses, your fantasies? that he's been fucking pining over you for months to get your attention?

speaking of losers, another one comes into the room and walks straight up to you, ignoring harry like he was never there. "hello, beautiful," he said in a voice that made harry aggressively roll his eyes, turning his head to look away, his hands balling into fists again.

"saw you on the dancefloor and figured i'd ask for a song," he invites you, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles. "you've got every eye on you tonight, yeah?" the loser says, causing harry to lick his teeth and turn his angry stare back to you.

you were smiling at the guy politely, too politely for harry's taste, before turning him down gently. "no problem, maybe i'll win you over later." he says with a wink before leaving, never acknowledging harry once.

you looked back at harry with a smug smile. "really? i'm right here." he says incredulously, throwing his hands up. you can't help but laugh. "doesn't feel good, does it? at least i rejected him." you make your point with raised eyebrows, taking another drink.

harry sighs, the anger subsiding as he sets his drink down. "look, it was a bad joke, okay? i wanted to come with you this whole time, and i think you know that." he says with a pout. you just continue smirking. "i know." you say simply.

"then why? why are you doing this to me?" harry begs, a hint of anger still present behind his guilt. you laugh again, and it only makes harry more confused and upset. "just enjoy yourself, harry." you tell him, patting his shoulder like his friend did earlier as you left behind him.

harry downs the rest of his drink and half of his third before returning to the room with the music, seeing a few of his friends dancing with some random girls. as harry walks through the crowd, a girl grabs him by the shoulders and begins dancing with him to the beat of the music. harry looks at her, looks around, and sees you to his right.

dancing with yet another guy.

this time he was holding your hand as you swayed your hips to the music, watching you with a hunger in his eye. harry's rage immediately returned. he looked down at the girl who grabbed him and pulled her closer to him, moving his hips to the beat with her. after a moment he looked back at you and caught your eyes for just a second before you returned to dancing.

harry continued to move with the girl half heartedly in an attempt to get your attention for a few minutes before he saw you heading for the front door with your friends. just as harry broke away from the dancing girl to follow, a completely different guy cut him off to chase you out of the room.

harry could physically feel himself succumbing to his anger as he stomped towards the door. he entered the hallway and saw you standing just a few feet away, your back turned as your friends were dying laughing beside you.

as harry approaches, he sees the guy that just followed you out now in front of you, clearly drunk, asking you repeatedly if you'll give him your number. you're saying, "no, i'm sorry, no, thank you, though," with an uncomfortable laugh, trying to turn him down gently.

the guy literally drops to his knees in front of you, his hands in yours, begging for your number. "please, please, just gimme a chance, you're so–" he gets interrupted by a burp. "so pretty," he chokes out.

your friends are giggling amongst themselves before harry walks up to the guy, stunning them into silence. "she said no, fucking tosser," harry's voice bellows, picking the guy up by his collar from his knees. "now leave my girlfriend alone, yeah?" harry growls into his face before throwing him towards the door. the guy flips harry off before stumbling back into the party.

your friends gasp and laugh to themselves again, telling you they're gonna go before running off down the hall together giggling the entire way.

harry's breathing heavily, his fists still clenched staring at the door. "girlfriend?" your curious voice perks up behind him.

he turns to you, smiling at your shocked expression. his hands relaxed, as well as his mind. "yes, my girlfriend." he says matter-of-factly, taking a step towards you to put a hand on your waist. "i don't want any other guy looking at you the way they did tonight ever again. okay? you win. you're mine." harry says possessively, his hands gripping you closer to him.

you sighed. "i wasn't trying to make you mad tonight, i just wanted you to see that you're not the only one with options." you tell him smugly, your arms wrapping around his neck. "i want to be taken seriously, harry. that's all i ever wanted from you." you say genuinely, your eyes searching his.

harry looks down at you and smiles, admiring you for a moment. "you're all i've wanted since the moment i saw you," he admits, resting his forehead against yours. "i love you, [y/n]."

you smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. "i love you too, harry."

[olderthannetfic]

A short while ago you mentioned fic on AO3 that was written in the “AO3 style”, or something to that effect. I was wondering if you could elaborate on what that means/is?

--

Oh god. This topic comes around every 6 months or so. Others should feel free to help me out here, but basically...

A lot of fanfic sounds like the other fanfic and other stuff that the same communities consume. In a given era and sector of fandom, that leads to a samey style. It often has a lot of overlap with a specific sector and era of genre fiction with a heavy dose of watches-tv-does-not-read-books elements on top.

AO3 House Style is relatively similar to the height of LJ Western slash fandom. Other fanfic styles are often similar but start showing other influences the more distant you get.

There are some major strains, not always in the same works:

Transparent genre fiction prose that doesn't call too much attention to itself. It's there to convey plot, not make you notice the language qua language. You'll see something similar in, say, a Mercedes Lackey novel (along with the terrible editing and protagonist centered morality that are also common in fic, haha).

YA boom era YA vibes.

Kind of forced "snark" and samevoice from many characters in a way that tells you the author spent a little too much time watching Buffy.

World building and complex thriller/mystery/etc. plots that actually work typically take a back seat to pining, angst with a happy ending, and other more ship-focused, character interaction-focused, and emotions-focused things. The general idea of a mystery, vampire AU, etc. is often present, but it's more of a backdrop. (Depends on the part of fandom though!)

Huge focus on the internal psychological and emotional state of characters.

Lots of hurt/comfort, both physical and emotional.

Lots of serialized work that shows the traces of being written that way (dangling plot threads, inflated word count, returning to similar plot points in a way that wouldn't happen if the thing were completely written, revised, and then only posted serially).

Certain cliched phrases like "He smelled of __ and __ and something uniquely him", carding fingers through hair (thanks, commenters for researching this one a year or two ago and proving it's way more common in fic!), "Oh. Oh.", etc.

If the fic is more self-consciously literary, it's full of sentences that trail off to the point where you're almost not sure what actually happened.

Often lots of very short paragraphs and lots of scenes that are almost all dialogue

Frequently third person limited present tense. Some third person limited past tense. Less of other stuff unless you're looking at a fandom where canon is first person or you're looking at readerfic (which is on AO3 but is not really "AO3 House Style").

Honestly, some people would just say "sounds like fanfic", but if you go read primarily on SpaceBattles or something, you're going to find a lot of stories that don't sound quite the same as your prototypical AO3 fic.

[nattikay]

...hmm...just thinkin' about an Avatar "no angst" AU, y'know, like an AU where the characters who died in the first movie just...didn't? For example...

• Tsu'tey and Sylwanin are both alive and well. They officially tied the knot not long after the point when Sylwanin would've died in canon, and already have a child together by the time Jake arrives on Pandora.

• Eytukan also lives and therefore he and Mo'at are still leading the clan, though of course Tsu'tey and Sylwanin are next in line.

• Because the schoolhouse incident never happened in this AU, Grace was never kicked out of the village; her school is still running and she is on good terms with the Omatikaya.

• The RDA is overall less psychotic than they are in canon, and the Avatar Program has been largely successful in establishing diplomacy with the local clans. There is still some level of tension between the humans and the Na'vi of course, because the humans are ultimately still there to mine unobtainium and the Na'vi would prefer there was no mining at all, but in this AU the RDA is at least principled enough to not do things like bulldoze the Tree of Voices or bomb Hometree etc. (so, Hometree is still standing). Jake was never asked to spy on the Na'vi.

• Grace is actually the one to introduce Jake to Neytiri when she brings Jake and Norm along to the school one day. Neytiri is intrigued by the goofy non-scientist "warrior" dreamwalker and Jake finds himself equally intrigued by her; they begin spending more and more time together, and when Jake expresses curiosity about her way of life Neytiri just naturally kinda takes it upon herself to teach him the ways of the clan.

• Because Neytiri is neither tsakarem nor engaged to Tsu'tey in this AU, her romance with Jake is not quite as ~forbidden~ as it was in canon (and honestly they make zero effort to hide their feelings; the whole clan knows lol). The only remaining barrier is the fact that he's a dreamwalker and how that may affect things.

• Jake and Neytiri fall head over heels for each other about as fast as they do in canon; after three months Jake is already fully convinced that he wants remain with Neytiri and the clan for the rest of his life rather than ever go back to Earth, where there is nothing left for him. Even getting the spinal surgery to fix his legs no longer holds any interest for him, since of course his avatar body can walk just fine.

• By that point Neytiri begs Mo'at and Eytukan to let Jake do the coming-of-age ceremonies and become part of the clan so they can become mates. Mo'at and especially Eytukan are hesitant, but Mo'at consults Eywa and Eywa sends a sign of approval, so they allow it. Jake spends about an extra month preparing more specifically for Iknimaya and Uniltaron, and soon after completing those he and Neytiri actually get to have a proper mating ceremony. Jake does go through the permanent consciousness transfer at some point, though I haven't yet come up with the exact circumstances there...

• The Sully kids get to have more extended family! Grandpa Eytukan, Uncle Tsu'tey, and Aunt Sylwanin are all still around, along with a handful of cousins (Tsu'tey's and Sylwanin's kids).

• Quaritch never shot Grace in this AU, which means she never had to undergo the attempted consciousness transfer, which means Kiri wasn't conceived the way she was in canon. Buuuuuut I still want Kiri as part of the Sully family, so in this AU she is Jake and Neytiri's biological daughter and Neteyam's twin. She doesn't have the special Eywa powers that she has in canon, but does still have a spiritually-minded personality, and is a strong candidate for next tsakarem after Sylwanin. Grace still adores and dotes on her, especially when she shows interest in botany.

• Norm and Trudy are happy in a long-term relationship.

• There was no Battle at the Hallelujah Mountains, therefore Paz didn't die and was still around to raise Spider (undecided on how involved Quaritch was though).

• I like to imagine that in this AU Paz and Trudy are good friends, both being pilots and all. It's through Trudy that Paz and Spider become involved with folks from the Avatar program and Spider meets the Sully kids.

• Because she doesn't have the RDA-related traumas she has in canon, Neytiri is totally chill with Spider in this AU. She is mostly just curiously amused by the strange little human boy running around with his Na'vi friends.

• Spider is semi-trilingual English/Spanish/Na'vi. English is his go-to since everyone he knows can speak it, but he can also do some Spanish (Paz and maybe Trudy's influence) and quite a lot of Na'vi (Omatikaya influence, though Norm was thrilled to help when he caught wind that Spider was interested in learning). Sometimes he (subconsciously) mixes up a combination of any two or even all three and spews out mishmash sentences no one else understands immediately and has to stop and re-word.

• Because Quaritch is not the Big Bad Evil Guy the way he is in canon, Spider isn't really bothered by being called Miles. However, the nickname "Spider" somehow just stuck when he was very young so most people still call him that; it's mostly just Paz (and Quaritch) who call him Miles.

• Jake is not Toruk Makto in this AU, because with the RDA being more cooperative/less aggressive, he never needed to be. He and Neytiri are just normal (albeit well-liked/respected) hunters in the clan. Perhaps eventually a day will come when Toruk Makto is needed and Jake will have some reason to step up...but not yet. He's perfectly content being just a regular clan member.

• This has the side-effect of lessening Neteyam and Lo'ak's dramatic stunts as teenagers, because the legacy they're trying to live up to is simply "strong respectable hunter" rather than "legendary olo'eyktan Toruk Makto"