#sunlit youth

[catsquishy]

Local Natives - Sunlit Youth Stimboard!

🪴 | 🪴 | 🪴 🪴 | 💙 | 🪴  🪴 | 🪴 | 🪴

[sqtorux]

jjk 266 did something to me so here's a megumi drabble along the chapter. sfw, angst to awakening? lmao, gn!reader.

megumi couldn't tell if time was passing or not. he'd been lying here, unmoving, and unfeeling, within the depths of the four armed monster's soul.

the shadows he was so familiar with were now looming over him and weighing him down. is it his own doing? he doesn't think far and quite frankly, couldn't care less.

what was left to fight for? the king of curses was too strong against he, who craved nothing but a normal life with the people he holds close to his heart.

the people he loved.

"what are you thinking about?" that voice. it was the same voice that called on his name so tenderly and whispered affections he didn't think he was deserving of.

"sorry, i was just... zoning out" another voice that sounded a lot like his own. perhaps it was—it had been a long while since he'd even heard his own voice.

megumi glances around, the breeze was cool and the sun was just about to set—reflecting a canvas of gradient hues across the sky.

"i think you've been asleep for too long" he felt your hands slowly lace with his own, fitting into the slots so perfectly as if they'd always belonged there.

"we're waiting— all of us are." megumi finally has the courage to look at your face, the lines and contours slowly blurring, but he can tell it was you. he always could.

"come find us in the future, hm?" as you faded away and the darkness enveloped him again, megumi gets an epiphany.

how could he forget? there are still people out there fighting regardless of their loss and the odds upon odds stacked against them. but if they think there's even a tiny possibility, then what's stopping him from fighting either?

it's anticlimactic, really — the answer he gave himself. he wants to live.

he wants to eat meals that were made out of habit; modest but filling both the soul and his stomach.

he wants to watch the sunlit laundry that were hung out to dry. he had always loved how they smelled like the sun afterwards.

he wants to walk side by side with his best friend without a care in the world, like the kids they are, without having their youth stolen from them.

maybe along the way he also wants to see his sister off; cheering for her and offering her a home she could always return to.

becoming a little greedy, megumi wants to see you beside him for a long long time. doing mundane tasks and just simply living sounds like a dream if it meant getting to do it with you.

suddenly his body doesn't seem so heavy anymore and moved like his own, as they always have. the shadows returned to his command.

fushiguro megumi fights back.

[moistvonlipwig]

okay back to utena. one of rgu's many best aspects imo is how it recognizes that adults who prey on teenagers are by and large not 'pedophiles' who are specifically sexually attracted to children because there's something medically wrong with them, but rather pathetic losers who want to be the one with power in a relationship so they pursue & predate on people who are much younger and less experienced and in a position of less power than they are. akio doesn't even fucking LIKE kids he thinks they're insipid and stupid he's just too much of a pathetic coward to face the real world outside ohtori so he constructs a world he can control inside ohtori instead. and while he does romanticize the youth of his victims it's also fairly clear that what he is really romanticizing is his OWN youth, his own sunlit garden that he cannot help but be nostalgic for despite the disdain he claims to have for his younger self's idealism. akio is not a 'pedophile,' he does not have any kind of abnormal attraction to children, he is just a foul loser who grooms and abuses kids because it's easier than leaving his coffin. because that's what most predators actually are.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I would love a smut koing x reader,

Where like they were childhood friends to lover thing

Rekindled Flames

Pairing: Konig x reader

Warnings: FLUFF WITH SMUT

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, this is my first ever request and I genuinely hope you liked it (I’ve never wrote so much oh god) (also my birthday is in 2 days so I’m excited!)

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You couldn’t help but glance at your watch again, your heart thudding with each passing minute. The train was late. Typical, you thought, even as your mind tried to focus on anything but the reunion about to unfold. König was coming home, and you hadn’t seen him in person in years. Letters and phone calls had connected you across the distance, but nothing could quite fill the void he left behind.

You shifted on your feet, tugging the hem of your shirt nervously. Would he look different? Would he see you differently? The questions hung in the air, refusing to leave your mind until a shrill whistle pulled you back to the present. You turned, eiyes searching the crowd until you found him—towering, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably König. He scanned the platform, his face softening as his gaze settled on you.

A shy smile crept across his face as he made his way toward you, and for a moment, you were transported back to those sunlit days of your youth, when things had felt so much simpler.

It all started with your mothers’ friendship. Best friends since college, they’d practically planned your childhood for you. König was only a year older than you, and from the moment you could walk, you were both destined to be together, in some way.

You remembered the first day you met. He’d clung to his mother’s hand, hiding behind her leg and peeking out at you with wide, wary eyes. You’d been bolder, grabbing his hand with a grin and pulling him along to the sandbox in the backyard. From that day, he was by your side.

As you grew older, the two of you became a package deal. You were there for his scraped knees and awkward stammers, and he was there for your wild ideas and adventurous spirit. Nights were filled with hushed laughter as you lay side by side, pointing out constellations and dreaming of the future. In some ways, you had always been each other’s safe place.

By the time you hit high school, you couldn’t deny the spark that had always lingered between you. Sometimes it was in a gaze held just a second too long, or the comforting warmth of a hug that lasted just a bit longer than it needed to. You’d both dated other people, of course. It was never the right time. When you were single, König wasn’t, and vice versa, and somehow the right moment always seemed just out of reach.

Konig gazed at you from across the room, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief just like when you were kids. But there was something different now - a heat that made your breath catch. You'd been best friends since childhood, always inseparable. Now, after years apart at different colleges, you were finally reunited.

"Remember when we used to play knights and dragons in your backyard?" Konig asked with a grin, moving closer his blue eyes lighting up with a playful glint.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the memory bringing a fond warmth to your heart. "How could I forget? You always insisted on being the dragon."

“Of course,” he said with mock gravity. “Dragons are misunderstood creatures. The knights just don’t see it.”

You rolled your eyes. “You were a little too convincing, König. You made a pretty scary dragon, stomping around and growling. Sometimes I’d forget we were playing, and I’d get so scared.”

König’s grin widened. “Good, that was the plan. Besides, I was only trying to convince you to join me and be a dragon, too.”

A memory surfaced, making you chuckle. “There was that one time I managed to tie you to the tree with my scarf. Mom was horrified when she found you.”

He laughed, the sound filling the room. “I think I still have a scar from that battle,” he joked, rubbing his arm with mock seriousness.

“Serves you right for kidnapping me,” you teased. “You were always taking me to your dragon lair, stacking up pillows and chairs as your ‘fortress.’ I thought I was such a brave knight, charging in to rescue myself from your ‘evil clutches.’”

“Little did you know, I was just waiting for you to join my side,” he murmured, a hint of something deeper in his voice, “dragons always had tricks up their sleeves, and I’ve grown since then.”

“Oh? Have you now? What does that mean Mr. Dragon?” You’d asked him with your voice still holding that teasing tone to it.

"Well, I've learned some new tricks since then," he murmured, his voice low. König’s gaze settled on you, his expression softened by the warmth of the memories but there was something else lingering in those crystal hues —a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “do you ever think about those days?”

“All the time,” you replied honestly, your smile fading into something softer. “It was so simple back then. We just… fit.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a look on his face you couldn’t quite place—hopeful, maybe even vulnerable. It felt as if there were countless words and emotions swimming just beneath the surface, things neither of you had ever said.

“Remember when you’d chase me down, shouting about ‘brave knights’ and trying to ‘rescue’ me from my ‘evil dragon plans’?” he asked, his grin wide and boyish as he leaned in closer jumping back to the previous memory.

“Oh, I remember,” you replied, meeting his gaze, a laugh slipping from your lips. “You took your dragon role very seriously. I always enjoyed the way we played.”

“You were the only one I ever wanted to play with, The only knight I wanted to take. Maybe I just wanted you for myself,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly the air between you felt charged. Before you could respond, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. His gaze held yours, and for a moment, the years and distance melted away. The warmth in his eyes was familiar, but there was a new intensity that sent a flutter through your chest. Your heart raced as years of buried feelings came rushing to the surface.

Your breath hitched at his touch. "Konig," you whispered, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

He leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. "I've missed you," he breathed. "More than you know."

Time seemed to stand still as you teetered on the edge of this moment. Part of you wanted to pull away, to preserve the friendship you'd cherished for so long. But a stronger part longed to close the distance between you, to finally act on the attraction that had simmered beneath the surface for years.

Konig's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you gently towards him. Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss. A jolt of electricity shot through you at the contact. The kiss deepened as years of pent-up longing poured out.

You leaned into his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers made contact. when you pulled yourself back from his feverish kiss words slipped past you for a moment before you recalled his previously mention of some ‘new tricks’ You found your voice, though it was barely a whisper. “You mentioned something earlier… about new tricks?”

Konig's eyes darkened as he stepped even closer, the heat from his body enveloping you. "The kind that might make a knight surrender willingly to a dragon," he said, his lips curving into a seductive smile.

Your pulse quickened as memories flooded back - stolen glances, lingering hugs, the ache of wanting more but never daring to cross that line. Now, the years of separation had stripped away your hesitation, leaving only raw desire in its wake.

"I think I'd like to see these new tricks of yours," you said boldly, surprising yourself with your forwardness.

Konig's eyebrows rose, a mixture of surprise and hunger flashing across his face. He slid his hands down to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky. "Once we cross this line, there's no going back."

You wound your arms around his neck, reveling in the solid warmth of him. You nodded, your heart pounding. "I'm sure. I've wanted this - wanted you - for so long. I've never been more sure of anything," you breathed.

With a low growl, Konig captured your lips again in a searing kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth as his hands roamed your body, igniting sparks wherever he touched. You threaded your fingers through his hair, reveling in the softness as you pulled him closer.

"I've dreamed of this for so long," Konig murmured against your skin. His hands roamed your body, igniting sparks everywhere they touched. Konig broke the kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw to your ear. "I've dreamed of this," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “Of touching you like this, of finally showing you that dragons… never let go.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine as he nipped gently at your earlobe causing your breath to be caught as König's words sent a shiver down your spine.. You gasped, arching into him as his hands slid under your shirt, tracing patterns on your bare skin. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You tilted your head, giving him better access as your fingers tightened in his hair.

"König," you gasped, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes dark with desire as they met yours. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Say my name."

"König," you breathed, savoring the way it felt on your tongue after so long you breathed out his name once more, your head spinning with desire. "I want..."

"Tell me," he urged, his voice low and husky. "Tell me what you want."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, seeing your own longing reflected in his eyes. "I want you," you said firmly. "All of you. No more holding back."

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face and a growl rumbled in his chest as he claimed your lips again, the kiss deep and possessive. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes, igniting a desperate need for more. He separates from you, pulling you into his arms, lifting you with ease over his shoulder and a gentle tap to your ass as he carried you towards the bedroom, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

He laid you gently on the bed, hovering over you with a look of pure adoration. His fingers trailed along your cheek, down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes roaming your face as if memorizing every detail.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "I can't believe this is really happening," you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips.

König leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, before capturing your lips once more. This kiss was slower, deeper, filled with years of longing and unspoken feelings. His hand slid under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach before inching higher.

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping you. König took the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck,

König's lips blazed a trail down your neck, pausing to suck gently at your pulse point.

You gasped, arching into him as pleasure coursed through your body. His hand continued its upward journey under your shirt, fingers skimming the underside of your breast.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your skin, ever the gentleman even in the throes of passion.

"Yes," you breathed, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "More than okay."

He sat up, quickly pulling his shirt over his head before helping you out of yours. His eyes roamed your newly exposed skin hungrily, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he said, voice filled with awe.

You reached for him, pulling him back down to you. The feeling of skin on skin was electrifying, and you both gasped at the contact.

This feeling was almost ethereal, just the two of you as König’s hands, rough with years of experience carved into every callus, explored your body. His lips travel down your neck, going further south down your body with his lips leaving marks everywhere on your body it made contact.

His hands traveled further to your pants as his tongue slides out and circles your nipple. Audible pops are heard as he undoes the buttons and he slides them off, his hands resting at the edge of your underwear as he switches now giving your other nipple his attention with your back arched at the feeling. He looks up at you through his lashes before releasing your nipple with an audible pop. He steps back as tiny pants escape from your lips, admiring you and the wet spot in between your legs. König's hands wander down your body, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake. He pauses at the waistband of your underwear, fingers toying with the elastic.

"May I?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, breathless with anticipation. Slowly, teasingly, he slides them down your legs, revealing you completely to his hungry gaze.

A breath is sucked in on your part as he just stands and admires you before kneeling in front of you, gently wrapping his hands on your legs before pulling you to him.

"Exquisite," he murmurs, drinking in the sight of you. His hands skim up your thighs, thumbs brushing maddeningly close to where you need him most. A kiss is left on the inside of your legs refusing to give you more.

Relief isn’t immediate, instead he teases you. Kisses are left on your thighs, his nose nudged your bud before ignoring it once more and kissing around your waist. A whine leaves you as your hips thrust upwards towards his face before one of his hands pin your waist against the mattress and he says “I’ve waited for you for so long, I plan to take my time with you meine liebe”

His mouth follows the path of his hands, lips and tongue worshipping your skin. He takes his time, mapping out the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts.

You writhe beneath him, lost in sensation. His hair tickles your skin as he travels lower, teeth grazing your sensitive flesh.

"König, please..." you whimper, hands fisting in the sheets.

"Please what?" he teases, breath ghosting over your core. "Use your words, Liebling."

"Touch me," you beg, hips canting upwards. "Make me yours."

A low growl rumbles in his chest. "As you wish."

His tongue delves between your folds, licking and stroking until you're trembling on the brink of release. Just as you're about to shatter, he pulls back, leaving you desperate and aching.

"Not yet," he commands, voice rough with desire. "I want to be inside you when you come undone."

He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your slick folds. You're so wet, so ready for him.

"Look at me," he demands, blue eyes boring into yours. "I want to see every expression as I claim you."

Slowly, inch by tortuous inch, he sinks into your heat. You gasp at the stretch, walls clenching around him. He groans, head falling forward to rest against your neck.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he pants, hips twitching as he tries to maintain control. "So tight, so perfect. Made just for me."

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. He responds with a fierce thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.

He sets a relentless pace, each snap of his hips driving you closer to the edge. The bed creaks beneath you, headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts.

"That's it, take it," he growls, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you. "Take everything I give you."

Your orgasm builds, coiling tighter with each passing second. König leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You moan into his mouth, tongue tangling with his as your bodies move together.

"Come for me," he commands against your lips. "Let go, Liebling. I've got you."

With a final thrust, he sends you flying over the edge. Your vision whites out, pleasure consuming you as you shatter in his arms. König follows soon after, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural groan.

For a long moment, you simply cling to each other, chests heaving as you come down from the high. König presses tender kisses to your face, murmuring words of praise and devotion.

"I love you," he whispers, voice rough with emotion. "I love you so much it hurts."

You cup his face, coaxing his mouth to yours for a soft, sweet kiss. "I love you too," you breathe against his lips. "Always have, always will."

“Be my knight?” He asks as he caresses your hair, admiring you.

“Anything for you my dangerous dragon. Just come home to me?” You say as you rest your head on his chest.

He smiles, the expression so full of love and contentment that it makes your heart ache. “I’ll always come home to you, even if it means I have to set a castle on fire” he says and you both laugh before kissing each other once more. This is everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever needed. Your König, your soulmate, your forever, now he's finally yours.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[jiminiecrickets]

HEAVEN'S SHEATH. KTH / M!READER

summary. a wealthy lord's pacifist son finds friendship and affection in a poor soldier, unremarkable except for the fact that he is the lone survivor of a massacre. fate has different plans for them.

wc. 10k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, virgin!reader with a big dick (lol), reader is described as tall/strong, descriptions of blood/injuries/death, sex while injured (reader), riding, multiple orgasms, 2/3rds is only worldbuilding oops im just like that!!

a cloud of dust billows beneath the heavy black hooves of a friesian stallion, sturdy and strong-chested. the well-travelled dirt path swings over rolling green knolls, past flocks of white sheep herded into valleys and heavy brown cows grazing along the hillside. the untouched countryside is marked by clusters of tall green trees along the road and they shade the large river snaking through the vale. 

amongst the verdant growth, throned between the river and the hills, lies a large manor built strong with stone and brick. other buildings lay scattered around its feet, and life is most evident here – servants hurry about, ushering goats into their wooden pens and their young ones out of the way of the black horse's brisk high trot. the little children stare with big eyes up at the regal stallion's wavy mane, watching how it falls softly over its long neck with each step. it is a horse that carries great presence and elegance, and its rider is no different.

at the manor's grand front entrance, an older man stands in wait, both hands resting on a cane tipped at both ends with gold. his hair is almost fully grey. his steely eyes track the horse and the dust and pollen dirtying its fine feathering on the lower legs.

"you've been sorely missed, son," he says in an unreadable tone, light enough for politeness but darkened by his heavy gaze. "does wartime make for a better view?"

the rider dismounts, hushing the horse as it snorts and tosses its head, hooves stamping. it yearns for the freedom of the run. he pets its soft mane. his voice is deep and monotone with disinterest. "certainly. it's quieter."

the man's eyes narrow. "you left all the kitchen girls alone, who i know you've a fondness for. you should be at home to protect them, taehyung, not gallivanting off to paint your pictures."

silently, taehyung passes off the reins to the stablehand, and turns to stare up at his father from the bottom of the steps. he tugs off his kid-leather riding gloves and places them in the pocket of his navy blue coat. "what do i know of war and fighting? you were the general, not i. i'd say you are much better suited to protecting these frail women from suffering under the hands of conquerors."

"you are the son of a general," he replies sharply. "the youth must carry on what their fathers forged."

"hate and subjugation, of course," taehyung sighs, shifting his bag of paints in one arm and his canvas in another. "humanity's pinnacle."

"stay your wit, boy. you'll find no friends with it."

he slips past him through the open doors of the manor, his paints clinking in its leather saddlebag. "yes, my lord." 

upstairs in a large, sunlit room, he sets it all down with a soft huff. he glances around at the canvases lining the walls, leaning against cupboards and drawers full of paint thinners and varnishes. portraits of one woman dominate most of them – slender, pale, with dark hair, full lips, and a soft curving nose. in some, she sits primly on a chair amongst vases of flowers and goblets of wine, and in others, on chaises in simple dresses with a needle and thread in her hands, glowing with the early summer light blooming behind her.

these are the ones hung up or placed atop chests of drawers. not one touches the ground – that place, on the edge between floor and wall, is reserved for simpler landscapes and still lifes. 

"i remember i told you to take down those portraits. do you find joy in antagonising me?"

taehyung turns. his father stands on the threshold, cane by his side. after he returned from the last war with a limp and new scars, he has not worn any other colour but black.

he turns back to his saddlebags, indifferent as he slowly pulls his paints and brushes one at a time from the bag. "no. i find no joy in speaking to you at all."

his father's expression tightens. "i did not make her ill. it was chance and nature. your hatred of me will not bring her back, no matter how intense. it is time to move on, son. lingering on it breeds only worse things."

"'worse things'?" taehyung snaps, gripping a put of paint so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i am not one of your soldiers, so don't speak to me like one. i don't need your pragmatism, your war-bred heartlessness. all she wanted was you. all she asked for was you, and you never came."

he has had this argument many times over since that winter. it festers hot fury in his chest just thinking of it, and it has not burned dimmer with time. 

he turns and approaches his father, eye-to-eye. he is not a boy anymore. he surveys him for a moment. "war may have reforged you, made you richer and cleverer, but it burned away all that she loved. you never once held her again, felt her breath on your cheek." taehyung brushes his knuckles over his jaw. he shakes his head and begins to walk down the hall. "don't touch those portraits."

back for only a few minutes and taehyung already cannot stand the solemn weight of the air within these walls. he pushes open the front doors with more force than necessary and wanders through the large, walled estate, stone brick encompassing the major centres of activity. 

mindlessly, he travels past the cowherds and shepherds leading in the meat for supper, and the stablemaster tending to his friesian, and the beekeepers. he passes the wall and almost reaches the wheat farm. 

hushed whispers float up from the riverbank. he stops in his tracks.

by the water, the girls and women who work with the granary from the farm are crowded around something on the bank. the linens of their dresses are dark with water up to their knees, where they hold it back.

he notices the expressions on the girls' faces – bright with nervousness and fear, but tinged with… curiosity? they whisper amongst themselves behind their hands. 

he approaches, ducking under a branch of the oak they shelter beneath. "what is so interesting?" 

they startle, several sets of eyes turning towards him. one of the older girls, about his age, drops into a fumbled curtsy. "oh, young master—! we weren't doing nothin' bad, sir, but we was hiding from the sun when we found something the lord sir might need know. we found 'im caught up on the root branches here."

him?

taehyung steps past her. his eyes widen.

a young soldier, skin tinged grey, lies on his back on the riverbank, the water lapping at his calves. his boots have come off somewhere in the water. he wears an unfamiliar uniform: a mixture of thick fabrics to stave off the cold adorned with a strangely-patterned leather jerkin.

it is a poor man's armour, he realises, made of what he can scrounge up and what fits from the garrison's armoury. despite his lack of wealth, taehyung can tell he is a big man – tall, strong in ways only a life of hard work can create. he is fair of face, too, handsomer than many young nobles taehyung has met. perhaps a blacksmith's apprentice, or a baker's boy?

"which… which army is he from, master taehyung? can you tell?"

the question awakens him from his daze. he blinks. "ah – bring him higher on the bank, get his legs out of the water. let me closer."

he crouches by the body, pulling at the heavy cloth draped over the torso. at the neck, where the cloth is bunched and rolled to pack in heat, he finds a small red patch. 

taehyung sighs and presses the soaked cloth back into place. "this man is very, very far from home."

the girls glance at each other uncertainly. "what does that mean, master?"

"many years ago, his homeland was seized, and now his people are under southern rule. he was an infantryman. simple cannon fodder." with a soft exhale, he leans over the torso and pulls him onto his side to reach the lashes holding together his water-heavy coat. "perhaps i can bury him someplace high, so that his soul may be reminded of home."

the body jerks and chokes out a lungful of water with a ragged groan.

the girls yelp, stumbling back. taehyung would have had he not already been on his knees. his eyes widen as the soldier's face pinches in pain, eyes still shut. taehyung reaches for the oldest girl, gesturing frantically towards the manor on the horizon. "find my father and tell him what you've found! you've my permission to leave the farm and all of that – he's alive!"

—

it is dark. everything hurts. this is hell – this is punishment, eternal and unforgiving. this is deserved for desertion.

then – light. light rings against bone and flesh.

velvet. mahogany. silk and down.

there is a girl beside you, leaning over you. her linen dress is plain but clean with a white apron over it.

your side explodes with pain. you launch upright with a violent shout, gasping and clutching the hot ache under your ribs. cries of shock throb in your skull.

you blink, hard, eyes adjusting dizzily to the brightness of the room. your torso is wrapped in cloth, which you can feel flat and taut against your skin. your hand comes away clean, and for several unthinking moments, you wonder why. your thoughts are slow and heavy.

"you ought to relax, master," echoes a soft voice beside you. her vowels are round and elongated, the accent so different from your own that you barely recognise it, much less understand it. you stare up unseeingly at her youthful face, framed by dark curls held back by a bonnet. she steps forward, a damp sponge in her hand. that is why your limbs feel cold. "your injuries are quite severe."

"where am i?" you mumble, your tongue thick in your mouth. words are unfamiliar. "who're you?"

she glances up at the other maids, huddling by the door. she sets down the sponge and extends a hand, though you flinch from it. she does not try again. "you are in the northern highlands. hadria. my name is aemma."

"aemma," you murmur. the sounds are soft and round, like a river pebble. like a river, you realise, you are damp and naked, save for a single sheet of folded cloth across your lap. you feel your face grow hot and you clutch it close, folding your legs towards your body for security. "m-may i – where are my clothes?"

aemma gestures for one of the other girls, who quickly scoops up a folded pile of clothes from atop the chest at the base of the lavish bed. the rest of the bedroom is similarly luxurious, with a dark palette that soaks up sunlight to warm its wood. the walls are pale, though framed by polished wooden frames embracing the room.

"here," she replies. "the lord father has gifted you some riding clothes to wear in their stead. they were to be given to the young master when he turned of age, but…" she pauses. she shakes her head and curtsies. "you're to meet the lord father and his son shortly. we were to inform them when you were to wake eventually."

"eventually…" you trail off. "how long have i been here?"

"two days, master."

your head begins to pound. you cradle it, wincing, and reach for the offered clothes. they are clean and soft under your callused fingertips. "ah… i'm no lord, miss."

aemma smiles briefly, folding her hands over her stomach. "the lord father requires it, master."

you have no heart to push. in fact, you would much rather lay down for another two days, though knowing you are under the roof of a lord churns up too much fear to do so. if northern men were anything like southern ones, you would do anything to keep your name clean.

"i'd like to dress," you say softly, glancing briefly at the maids watching you from the corner of the room. "alone, if the lasses would allow it."

with another curtsy, aemma ushers the other girls out of the room and closes the door after them. you do not miss how they sent you curious glances as they left. she now stands where they once were, watching you with badly-disguised intrigue. 

you clear your throat and feel your cheeks and neck blaze, folding the cloth around your hips tighter. "i'm sorry. i meant entirely."

perhaps it is your imagination, but you think you spot a tinge of pink wash over her features. she finds sudden interest in the knots and grain of the floor. "the lord father instructed that you were not to be left alone in case you required immediate medical attention. you are evidently still in pain, so i must protest."

"ah." you swallow, and your mouth is dry. "p-perhaps… you could turn around, then?"

she glances up, as if to say something, but eventually nods, bobbing in a small curtsy before turning to face the wall. 

as quickly as your aching body will allow, you shuffle off of the bed and dress yourself in finer clothes than you have ever worn before. the cloth is soft and sits finely against your skin like a baby's breath. you are so used to abrasive linens that you almost feel more naked than before.

"you found my boots."

aemma turns around – she almost regrets it, spying the last sliver of skin before white cloth falls over it like the pull of curtains. it is more titillating than seeing the entirety of you bare. "o-oh – yes, one of the servant boys found them downstream."

"ah, thank you. and my uniform, miss," you glance up at her, leaning heavily against the bed poster to slip on your boots, "do you know what happened to it?"

"they're with the hold's tailor. i heard it took quite the beating."

"that could be said," you mumble, straightening up at last. your side twinges with pain, but you attempt a smile. "well, s'pose it's time to meet your lord. i've got to thank my saviours."

it is just turning to twilight, and the hazy golden sun on the horizon feels like little more than a memory. candles light the path past gold-spun tapestries and gleaming windows. aemma leads you to a grand dining room, reminiscent of castles and times long gone. she halts by the entrance, curtsies to you, and hurries away without another word, which you find strange as she had been a pleasant conversationalist when helping you through the halls and down the stairs.

"the soldier awakens at last. how do you feel?"

you glance away from aemma's retreating figure. at the head of the long dining table is an older man with sharp eyes and a natural severity about him. seated beside him is a younger man, around your age, staring into his plate with his hands folded in his lap. you step forward cautiously, and a male servant pulls out a chair on the older man's other side. the lord gestures at it, watching you carefully.

"well, milord; thank you," you answer, taking a seat and quietly thanking the servant who readied it in the first place. he bows but does not otherwise acknowledge you, his gaze on the ground as he slinks back into the shadows of the dining room.

"you were asleep for quite some time. my son doubted you would live." he gestures to the young man across from you, whose romantic dark curls are loose over his forehead. "i am glad you are feeling strong enough to join us for supper. i trust that the girls took care of you?"

"yes, milord," you reply, glancing over the table almost longingly. you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. silver platters are laden heavy with dark ox roasts, honeyed lamb shanks, roasted salmon fillets, sausages and baked potatoes, and braised vegetable stews steaming hot. ruby wine is poured into silver goblets. you have never seen so much food at once in your life. 

"the war has yet to touch us. we have plenty to share," the lord informs, his voice almost kind. "how long has it been since you have last eaten, soldier?"

your throat bobs before speaking. "ah… four days, maybe, including my time spent here."

the man's brow arches. "your general did not feed you before battle?"

"no, milord. they ambushed us before our rations were due." you glance at the young man. he has yet to look up, or indeed even move. "we… had issues with our supplies. weevils in the grain, rats in the captains' meat. we turned from two meals a day, to one a day, then one every two." you pause. "i don't think one more meal would have saved us."

the room falls silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the stillness. green wood pops in the flames.

"well, don't wait for me to begin," says the lord suddenly, shifting comfortably in his seat and reaching for a leg of ox, stabbing it with a knife and lifting it onto his plate. he piles his plate high with potatoes and mash. the action seems to spur on his son, who jolts into motion like a creaking old waterwheel, movements slow and measured. "tell us your name, soldier. i'd like to know the name and story of our guest. now, news comes to us slowly in this isolated place. how fares the war effort?"

glancing down, you realise exactly how many pieces of cutlery there are. knives and forks, spoons and little spoons, all slightly different in shape or size. you pause, hand hovering over the knives, nerves tightening in your chest. 

a soft cough. you glance up.

across from you, the son rests his delicate fingers on the outermost knife and fork, using them to carry a richly-glazed steak onto his plate. he chooses a large spoon, fingers lingering on it where it sits on the table, and places it into his bowl of stew.

his gaze lifts to meet yours and just as quickly, a butterfly's flap of wings, he glances away. his cheeks are dusted pink, the rosy colour like gold on his sun-warmed skin. 

you copy him. you take a slab of steak from the dish right in front of you. you are starving, but everything about this manor makes you feel small, and you fear taking more than you are offered. you give them your name, for it is the only thing you truly own in these foreign lands.

"the war?" you continue, trying to shake the tremor from your voice. "i wouldn't know, milord. the captains don't tell us much. it's all the same – i've fought in three different battles. this was the third. they give their speeches about king and country, and then we fight. it is noble," you say hastily, "but i am not a warrior. not many of us were. the enemy outnumbered us, outskilled us, and when the poppy fields lay silent, they piled the bodies of all our fallen and made pyres out of us."

"such would explain the scorch marks on your clothes." the lord nods. he leans in, and you fight the urge to lean away. "i shall ask the question we all ask ourselves, if you would not mind. how did you survive such a massacre?"

you glance at the son. he eats quietly, forking small chunks of meat into his mouth. you glance away. "i remember a spear. it was tipped… with a blue and white flag. it waved in the black sky as i looked up at it." you frown. "i'd never seen one like it before."

"the temerian lilies," he replies, almost approvingly. "you must have been some opponent – if the flagbearer loses his flag, it is a great shame to the army. it must be held aloft at all times. he would rather die than lose it to the enemy."

you lift a shoulder. the other aches too much to try. "they pulled it out of me after, then dragged me to a pile of corpses. i… don't remember much, but i remember them squabbling over another soldier's brooch for a while. i only wanted to escape the stench of death." you survey the feast laid out before you. "i s'pose i have."

"then we shall celebrate that," hums the lord, lifting his goblet of wine. "my son was the one who found you floating down the river. he said you were cold as ice and only recognised you from the flag you had sewn into your coat. it is brave to carry your homeland's colours when fighting for their conquerors."

"it was a small creature comfort," you respond as nonchalantly as you can. "they could punish me all they liked, but could never kill me. they needed every man in their ranks."

the lord raises his brows, and something like admiration crosses his features. he glances at his son and that admiration turns into a tiny downturn of the lips. he turns back to you. "not a warrior, you say, yet you stand with the united courage of a battalion. who was your father?"

you notice how his son stills, holding the steak on his tongue behind his lips for a long moment. he closes his eyes and with a deep inhale, resumes eating, as if unaffected. 

"just a farmer," you say, diverting your gaze. "dead, long past. my ma raised the rest of us – six boys. i was their second. when the army came knocking, askin' for sons, i went, gave them my name. my older brother knew how to count, how to run the mill. i couldn't let them take him, especially not from the little ones – after da died and ma got sick, he was all they had." you tap the edge of the silver plate with your finger thoughtfully. "i imagined i'd either die or be done after one battle, so i'd be brought home quick regardless. now… it's been four years."

then, the servants bring out a round white cake, slices set down around the table – what a perfect intermission. you have made it rather impossible to return to frivolity with your story, and you gaze down at the cake in front of you. you assume this is their dessert, so quaint and pretty on its little silver plate, but you have little idea of how to go about eating one. something so small must require a similarly-sized utensil. is it the tiny spoon? the tiny knife?

you lift your eyes to the young man across from you. he is already watching, eyes large and dark.  he picks up a small three-tined fork from the inner edge, tilting it towards you to show you its appearance, the little notch on the left prong. this time, he doesn't look away, and you have enough time to offer a grateful smile, however brief. he blinks owlishly, almost in surprise, before lowering his gaze again.

it is unfortunate. you would not mind looking at him more. he is undoubtedly beautiful, almost pretty, the sort of face people would immortalise in myths and paintings on temple walls – a kind of elven face, like those that turn goddesses to jealousy and gods to obsession. 

you spend the rest of the meal stealing glances at each other when you think the other is not watching. he is far more successful than you.

—

from behind a balcony's closed doors, taehyung gazes up at the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by pale stars glittering in the blanket of darkness. he cannot stop thinking about the shy farmer's boy, his accent unfamiliarly pleasant – the vowels are soft and blurred, with each consonant crisp and clear. it makes for a bouncing sort of melody to his voice, one that draws taehyung deeper into his song.

he sighs softly and turns away from the night's landscape, uncrossing his arms and meandering through the empty halls. most of the servants are already tucked away, and his father drowns himself alone in old letters and wine.

in loose trousers and a looser white shirt, the vee of the collared neck laced with string, he finds himself in his library, rich and warm from a hearth already lit. curious. he shuts the open double doors behind him quietly to keep the heat from dissipating into the night. 

his silent feet carry him through the aisles, where the shelves brush the ceiling with books and ladders. a walkway surrounds the room, essentially giving it a second level. 

silhouetted black against the white glow of the moon beyond the arched window, a familiarly unfamiliar figure stands in silence, gaze turned up towards the heavens beyond the lines of books and old tomes. 

standing in this still and quiet room, statue-esque in the way of classics, taehyung cannot help the journey of his gaze wandering up and down the planes of your body, painting to himself the sturdiness of your shoulders, the perfect balance between your booted feet. there is a severity about you he recognises in his own father – he sees it in your arms, tucked behind your back, and the practised way of standing that arches the spine just so to emphasise the broadness of the chest. yet, he knows gentleness when he sees it, and he finds it in the almost childlike awe in your expression, aimed up at his personal collection. 

he steps out, the shadows melting from him like the shedding feathers of a raven. "what are you doing in my library?"

you startle, and taehyung almost regrets interrupting you. coward that he is, he would rather watch from afar than bring you out of that handsome serenity.

"f-forgive me, sir," you stammer, twisting your hands together as you incline in an awkward half-bow, half-stumble, evidently having forgotten the extent of your injuries as your expression tightens and your hand brushes over your side. "i didn't know it was yours. the – the doors were open, and i—"

"invited yourself in," he finishes.

"i – yes, sir…"

before you, he stands perfectly still. you could fool yourself into thinking his heart does not beat, for he is pale in the moonlight and beautifully dark-haired, with eyes like midnight lakes and lips like a rose. 

you tear your gaze from his, breaking your trance. you begin to move past him. "forgive me, milord. i shan't interrupt you."

his hand darts out, wrapping itself around your wrist. serpentine, it slides up your arm and grips your bicep, forming creases in the cloth.

"you shouldn't move so quickly. you're injured." he turns his gaze on you. "you'd leave so soon?"

"ah…" you flounder, helpless. "if the lord wish it so."

his searching gaze strips your body bare. you feel it prod your soul when his eyes meet yours. his eyes scan your face, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing it lightly against the slope of your jaw. his skin is warm and tender-soft. your breath hitches. 

"the maids missed a spot when shaving," he mutters, pressing his fingers against the patch of half-shorn stubble left on the soft underside of your chin. "a man would do it better."

all at once, he drops his hand and looks away. "i am no lord," he replies, his low, rich voice like waves lapping at the sides of a ship, almost careless. "just his son."

you hesitate, your heartbeat still in your ears. "th-then what should i call you, sir?"

he glances down where bandages hide the hole in your body. "just 'taehyung' will do," he says softly, eyes lifting again. he unravels his arm from yours, turning fully towards you. "you may stay – as long as you are quiet."

he moves away, so graceful he may as well have floated. his fingers glide over the covers like bumps of the spine, and they pluck a small yellow book from the shelf. he opens it, already turning to the first page even before he finds a chair to sit in. he curls up in front of the grand fireplace, the furry hide of a brown bear thrown across the floor in front of it. 

for a while, you simply watch him and listen to the crackling of the fire. his slim fingers glide across the pages to turn them, the edge of the page caught gently on the pad of his thumb. 

bathed in the yellow and orange hues of the fire, the lord's son is every bit as regal as northerners are said to be – hair like calligraphy ink, cheekbones fine, slim bodies tall and lithe. you could lose yourself in his cold, gentle darkness.  

that burbling feeling of being out of place rises to the surface, worse than when you sat before the lord at his table. you and your callused palms, your worn and labour-worked body. you should not be here.

"you know you can choose a book, yes? i don't mind." he glances up. "forgive the mess. i can help. what do you like to read?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you murmur, averting your gaze. "i can't read."

it seems he'd forgotten your roots. he blinks. "oh. my apologies. but if not to read, what interested you about my library?"

"ah," you chuckle, scratching your head. "i've just never seen so many books in one place. travelling merchants would display some, but never like this."

"i see." he surveys you intensely, then glances away and clears his throat. he shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs. at last, he says stiffly, "if you'd like… i can… read to you."

the silence is thick with more than just the fire's heat. it is hard to know taehyung's hot face is not because of the fire, and he is grateful.

"if milord wishes to," you reply quietly, watching him for any twitch of his expression that may give him away.

"of course. i wouldn't offer it if i didn't." he gestures to the chaise beside him. "sit."

you step into the semicircle of light afforded by the fireplace, licked by tendrils of warmth, and ease yourself into the chair with a soft grunt, holding your side. "milord is as kind as he is beautiful."

his eyes flicker down to your lap. "i wish you wouldn't call me that," he says suddenly, a little sharper. "can i not be called my own name in my home?"

your mouth opens and closes. after a moment, you reply softly, "i meant no offence. it just feels… wrong."

slowly, he exhales, closing his eyes and his book. he places a hand over its cover. "all of my life has felt wrong. everything is wrong no matter what i do – who i wish to be, the company i keep, the fears i carry… the love i desire." he pauses, opening his eyes to your earnest expression. he diverts his gaze to the yellow-gold cover of the book. "what more can one last wrong hurt?"

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "perhaps i can start over." you straighten slightly, offering a crooked half-smile. "what do you want to read to me, taehyung?"

he does not disagree that his name sounds strange coming from another's mouth, but he cannot remember the last time it was used by anyone else. he hums and rises to his feet, coming to stand over you in front of the fire; his shadow cast over your body deepens the maturity of your features.

"when you said i was beautiful," he asks, "did you mean it?"

staring up at him, you can do nothing but tilt your head in bewilderment. "yes. you are fair and handsome."

taehyung chooses his next words carefully. "if… i were a girl," he decides, clasping his book over his stomach with straight arms, "would it be a different sort of beauty?"

you frown, shaping an approximation of a girl with taehyung's features in your mind. "maybe. but she would still be beautiful if she was you." you shake your head, dispelling morphing images of regal dark-haired daughters. you hide your warm cheeks behind an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. i don't know much. i don't usually deal with such thoughts."

but it was enough for taehyung. slowly, as if not to frighten you, he lowers himself, grasping the chaise's rests and draping himself gently over your lap. he watches your face all the while, his heart beating faster at the shock and nervousness that cross your face in a single second. 

"is this… is this alright?" he whispers, placing his hand against your chest. 

your adam's apple bobs, your hands hovering an inch off of his body as if he is made of glass. gently, you place one on taehyung's knee and the other behind his back, and glance up at him.

"perhaps you can sit closer," you murmur, eyes wide and searching, "so you may not fall."

taehyung smiles, then – the first smile of his you have ever seen. it is sweet, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. it makes your heart swell.

he hides his smile in his chest, his knuckles brushing the corner of his lips. he lifts his eyes, and a sliver of hope twinkles in them. "shall i read to you, then? i will give you a synopsis of each story so you may choose your favourite."

"please," you murmur, settling back in the chair and sliding your hand higher up taehyung's thigh so he may be more comfortable. "do whatever you wish."

"'whatever'?" he hums, and with a flippant little kick, throws off his boots to the ground, where they thump carelessly. he meets your eyes and falls into a nervous smile, tucking his bare feet against your leg and resting his temple against your shoulder. his hair is still slightly damp at the ends from his earlier evening bath. "then you wouldn't mind this, would you?"

"of course not," you whisper, biting back a shy, embarrassed smile. you are too old to be acting like this, especially with the only son of a wealthy lord, but the rush of excitement from seeing such a reticent man blossom and show his petals to you is too much to keep you away. "i am only a farmer's boy, taehyung. anything with someone like you is… a dream."

at the mention of his name, his smile widens slightly and a pinkness warms the apples of his cheeks. he busies himself with opening the book and flipping through its contents to find the correct page. he presses his thumb against the spine between the pages.

"here." he taps the words on the page. "this story is one my mother used to read to me. a princess is trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon in an ever-changing thorn maze, and a brave, handsome knight rescues her. they are married and live happily ever after."

he looks up at you, searching for a reaction, and you can only give a breathy laugh in return, still dizzy with the idea that someone like taehyung could ever be interested in someone like you. "are you sure you should be telling me these stories? i'm not a princess or a brave knight. i'm plain."

"perhaps. but do you know who else was seen as plain?" he taps your chest. "the dragon, disguised as a statue. and you, strong dragon, will protect the princess," he taps his own chest, "from all the boredom and politics of castle life."

"don't you have other, richer boys chasing you?" you ask, because you know your place. "your own knight? i don't see what i offer that they can't."

he licks his lips, setting aside the small book on a round side table and swinging his legs over your lap to straddle you. reading it is the last thing on his mind. "i do, of course. but it is like you said – they are boys. when their wooden sword chips, they get a new one." he trails his fingers lightly down the centre of your chest, wide and strong, and tentatively cups what is between your legs. he leans in, long-lashed brown eyes flickering down to your lips. "i want more than that."

"i—" your breath hitches as he squeezes gently, learning its shape and heft with deft fingers. "a-are we allowed to…? i am a stranger in strange lands with nothing to my name."

he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. his soft hair curtains your eyes. "allowed? no. but when a handsome soldier from far away falls into my lap, what else is a man to do?" he draws his thumb over your jawline, stroking your cheek. he lowers his lips to yours, hot breath sweet with honeyed treats. with the faintest thread of a breath, he whispers, "may i?"

with your heartbeat thudding in your ears, your head inclines, and taehyung wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes his lips to yours. 

his moan is sweet and starved as you kiss back to the best of your ability, your hands falling naturally about his waist. his lips are plump and warm, pillowy, and slicken with saliva as he deepens it, cupping the back of your head and pressing himself higher onto your body. he is desperate and dominating, sitting in your lap and rolling his hips into yours. you can feel his excitement through the cotton of his trousers. 

when you part regretfully, gulping down air, he cups your face, his eyes dark yet gentle. he licks his shining lips, parted to pant. "you seem apprehensive.��have you ever done this with a man?"

you wipe your lips with your thumb, tongue swiping over them in an almost bewildered motion. your eyes are wide. "a-ah… no. not with… anyone…"

"not even a girl?" he cannot help the surprise that coats his tone.

you shake your head, face aflame. "i never… my older brother had my father's charm. he was the one they all wanted, strong but lean. i was too much of a bull. they had fantasies of princes, and he was closer to it than i."

deeply and tenderly, he kisses you again. "it only means i won't have to fight anyone to call you mine." he brushes his thumb over your lips. "that suits me just fine. i was never the fighting sort."

he sits up on your lap, thighs bracketing yours. his bare feet tuck beneath him under his knees. when his palm grazes the front of your trousers, your breath hitches in your chest, and taehyung gives you a soft, if coy, grin. "i'll be gentle," he promises. he tugs slightly on the laces of the waist. "may i?"

mutely, you nod, your words sinking into the whirling depths of his eyes. his deft fingers undo the laces with ease and he pulls the thick cloth down your waist, tracing the vee of your hips with a pleased breath. he reaches in, lifting his gaze to gauge your expression. your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your knuckles are tensed on the chaise's armrest. the other arm is tucked tightly by your side.

"don't be nervous," he whispers, stroking you gently in your trousers. it twitches in his palm. "place your hands on my waist, darling. good. very good."

hesitantly, your hands graze his hips, sliding up to grip his slender waist. you splay a hand beside his waist, measuring it against him with fascination. he is slim and lovely… like the city nobles' soft-palmed daughters. you had noticed his hands during supper but hadn't the room to mull over them then, though now you do. they are square, masculine, but slender and fine-veined. his nails are clean and cut short, with a thin crescent of white at the ends.

he could not have been more perfect if he tried.

he slides his fist up to the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb against the slit and the smooth skin. you are mostly soft, but still impressive – the number of taehyung's clandestine trysts have lent him a certain experience when it comes to men.

you have reinforced your place as his favourite. 

"i see why they call you a bull," he says slyly, squeezing your shaft as his fist sinks down on it. "they just don't know how to tame you."

your face floods with heat as you stutter meaninglessly. your grip tightens on taehyung's hips and a single slant of a thought marvels at how delicate he feels in your palms.

"be still, my darling," he murmurs, "and be at ease. you are no longer at war. you can close your eyes and hold me without fear. nothing will happen unless we want it to."

his voice, like syrup, melts the frantic whirlwind of thoughts in your head. you cannot help but want to believe him. "you make it sound so simple. i want to believe you."

"why can't it be?" he tilts his head, glancing down and stroking you contentedly. he swipes his thumb over the slit, where a bead of precome bubbles. oil – from a small bottle you only now spot in taehyung's palm – smooths each stroke of your shaft. "the world is so complicated. affection can afford to be simple." 

he lets go for a moment to step back, sliding his trousers down his hips and calves and tossing them aside on the chaise. he flicks his dark hair and tucks a lock over his ear as he reassumes his place on your lap, pressing his chest against yours and tugging your cock to throb against the curve of his ass. the silk of his white shirt is cool and light against your hot skin.

his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as his hips roll languidly. he whispers, "do you want this?"

do you want more? the question is unasked, but you hear it anyway.

"i do, yes. please," you reply immediately, your voice rough with desire. your hands trail over his hips and tuck beneath the long hem of his shirt to caress his warm, creamy thighs, a feeling that traps your breath in your throat. you force out a sigh, shaky, and rest your forehead against taehyung's shoulder. he hushes you and cups the back of your head, reaching with his other hand behind himself to ease you inside his warmth.

taehyung's head tips back with a slow exhale, shuddering as you pulse with heat inside of him. he watches you closely, committing to memory the way your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as your grasp tightens, trembling, around his waist. 

"do you like that?" he whispers, breathy. he bounces shallowly, grinding his hips into yours. "how do you feel?"

"good," you choke out through a groan. your hand slides down to the dip in his back, trying not to seem too eager as it cups his ass. "oh, fuck…"

"don't hold back for me," he murmurs, hips quickening. he moans in surprise as you buck up into him, thighs meeting his ass. the slap of your balls against his ass is obscene, and he scrambles to cling onto your shoulders for balance.

"wait – wait, wait," he gasps, lashes fluttering as your cock kisses that spot inside of him that burns pleasure through his guts.

you stop immediately, sliding your hand up his side. "i'm sorry! are you alright?"

he huffs a laugh, panting softly, and nods. "you're injured, darling. don't waste the good work we put into putting you back together. sit back – i will take care of you, understand?"

"a-ah…" your face burns with heat. "all right. whatever milord desires."

"very good." he presses down on your hips gently, his hands between his thighs. he lifts himself off of your cock until only the tip rests against his hole, then sinks down on it in one smooth motion. a strangled noise escapes your throat as you scramble to hold onto him. his heat grips your shaft like a vice, gummy walls clamping down around you with each drop of his hips. 

he moans when your fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his hips, sweat gathering in the small of his back. the fireplace crackles softly, the air warm and sweet with the smell of sex.

he gathers his shirt in his hands about his ribs, revealing his dusky cock, swollen with need. he takes your hand and curls your fingers around his shaft, his eyes fluttering and lips parting as you tighten it. your callused palms drag deliciously against his veins and he grips your wrist with a soft groan, bouncing on your lap in such a way that he thrusts into the warm tunnel of your fist. 

carefully, you stroke his cock, cautious about rubbing raw or tearing his skin. wealthy boys are a different breed – so much softer, easier to hurt. the smell of him, sweet and musky, hangs in the air around him, enveloping you when he draws close – crushed petals, herbs, leaves. it seems foreign, or at least the mixture does, for you cannot quite place your finger on it – then again, what do you know of luxuries like this?

"you are doing well," taehyung praises, gasping as you flick the head of his cock with your thumb. "oh, yes… f-fast learner, hm? oh!"

a jerk of your hips has him jolting forward, his cock spurting a sudden white rope onto your stomach. he purrs, bracing against your chest and slamming his hips down on your cock to slicken him with your pleasure. it works, and he seems unduly proud of himself when your cock throbs and leaks, forming a white ring around the hilt that thickens with each bounce of his ass. 

"milord – milord," you gasp, a tiny pathetic noise that does not match your appearance, "please – i'm—"

"let go," he demands, a breathy moan escaping his lips. he closes his eyes and lets out a punched groan as your cock carves into his insides, deeper than any other man had ever touched. his reddened cock throbs, slit pouring precome over his belly and thighs. the pleasure curls around his thoughts, his head spinning from it, and he feels your stomach tense under his palms.

you spill into him with a deep, satisfied growl, head tipping back as he arches against you. your hips roll up against his and the coil tightening in his belly snaps at the sight of you so wrecked from so little. he cries out, ropes of white streaking across your shirt, and his hips stutter and roll, milking your pleasure for his own like a succubus. he presses his ass into your lap, white teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, and his eyes roll as the thick warmth fills him up to the brim. 

at last, he slumps against your chest, thighs trembling and tensing as he hums softly into your neck. he buries his nose in the soft, warm skin, and cups your cheek to place a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw. 

"mm… good," he purrs, smiling with tender satisfaction. "i – i shall bring you to your… mm… room. it is just down the hall from my own... should you wish to see me, you only need to knock." his breath hitches as he raises his hips slowly, hole twitching around your shaft, and when it pops out, a steady stream of come leaks from him, staining his tanned skin. he sighs, closing his eyes to the slowing of your heartbeat. "but i think i will stay here for a time, if you don't mind. just until i – until i regain feeling and control of my legs."

"is that… is that normal?" you ask, a tiny panting tremor in your voice. "to lose feeling like that?"

taehyung laughs into your neck, eyes crinkling. "sometimes, when i feel overwhelmed. it is no fault of yours – you are just… big. don't worry. i liked it."

he shifts in your lap to get comfortable but pauses as something pokes his thigh. a sly smile spreads across his fine features, his fingers lifting to trace your jaw and tip your gaze to his own. he purrs, "is that for me, love? excited again?"

you gulp, unable to tear your stare from his despite the embarrassment clawing at your throat. "i – i…"

"handsome and energetic. i'm a lucky man." he laughs softly, reaching behind himself and groping your hard cock with a low moan. "i myself have been told i'm rather voracious. perhaps you will be the first to keep up with me."

he lowers himself on your cock, head tipping back as he teases himself with the thick head. his dick twitches.

"what say you to a change of scenery?" he asks coyly, perfectly content with your ragged-breath silence. every word you might have said disintegrates on your tongue when he turns around, arching his back and pinning your cock to your stomach. shining precome smears along the cleft of his ass.

his body, carved out of shadows by the fire, rocks and rolls like a ship in the harbour when all its crew are asleep. with an encouraging smile, he takes your hands and places them on his hips, pressing on them to guide you to control his body. he hums softly as you squeeze his hips and spread his asscheeks, your breath shaky as he angles his messy hole against your leaking tip. 

he watches your face with gentle eyes as he sinks down on your cock, his warm, wet hole swallowing up your shaft like he was made for it. you jump slightly when his ass firmly meets your lap, taking you hungrily until the hilt, and if he were a lesser man, your expression alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge. he sears every line of your face, every edge and plane, into the backs of his eyelids. it will make for fine company on lonely nights. 

you speak for the first time in a while. "p-please…" you whisper hoarsely, blunt nails digging into his smooth, unmarred skin, leaving crescent moons in your wake. "please, move."

"ah, but you are badly hurt… i must take my time with you. mustn't alert the servants, either, for they'd certainly report to my father what they've seen." taehyung giggles to himself, gnawing on his lower lip in an effort to subdue his grin. he grinds down into your lap in circles, relishing in the pleasured, impatient groans that escape your throat. "he'd toss you out in an instant, and we cannot have that! i haven't yet had my fill of you."

"a-are you always so… playful with your men, taehyung?" you ask, voice slightly strained. you watch your cock vanish into him, over and over again. the sound that is made when he bounces on your lap is obscene and filthy. your heart stirs with desire.

"mmh – no. my past conquests have not been as – as alluring as you," he gasps, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock, thumb rubbing circles over the ridge of his tip. "mostly, they bore me. you, however – you're more than a cock i can use to please myself, if i may speak so crudely."

"i – ah – th-think i should be grateful, then…?" you reply uncertainly.

"yes. unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of game… but tonight is about simplicity," he breathes, his skin tingling where your rough palms glide over his thighs, soft as cream. "we have only so long until the sun rises and the servants wake. i want to spend that time with you – learning your homeland's ballads and epics, your favourite flower, where i can touch to make you melt…"

he looses an airy laugh as your grip tightens on his waist, his shirt folded up between your fingers to reveal the curve of his spine and ass. you drag him down onto your cock roughly and he keens, eyes rolling back briefly. "ooh, y-you like that, don't you? ah—!"

already he is so sensitive. nowhere else has he felt pleasure like this – where his body is treated as more than a means to an end. he had been completely content with that when he entered this library, agreeable to the idea that you might like him only for what he can give you. but he swears – he swears on the old gods and the new – that the way you press your nose into the curve of his neck, the way you stroke him thin and thick tight and loose – caring, properly, for his own high – means your attraction is more than fleeting. 

years of ending up alone in empty beds have made him soft. lonely. desperate. perhaps he is reading into things too deeply, as he always does – poor boy, always a poet. the backs of his eyes sting with hot tears as his tightly-controlled leash snaps, making him cry out, writhe, and shudder, knees and elbows buckling under the weight of his orgasm. 

you catch him in your arms before he can slip, pulling him backwards towards your chest. it is warm, your throat shining with sweat, and he can feel the burning fever of your body through your clothes. still, you do not let go, push him away – you cradle him close, your heart thudding through your ribcage and into his own. 

one of your hands tugs languidly at his cock, milking his pleasure from him. you watch quietly as it spills over your knuckles, your lips pressed against his sweat-slick shoulder, and help him lift his hips off of your cock. 

for the first time in what feels like hours, taehyung takes a deep, full breath of air. he cups your face in a hand and smiles, wide and content.

"i didn't believe you could be more beautiful," you murmur, words slightly clipped at the end from a lack of breath. "i've never been happier to be wrong."

he opens his eyes with a flutter of lashes, pleasantly surprised. "haven't i already let you take me?"

"what do you mean?" you ask with a frown, tilting your head. your thoughts are foggy with warm laziness. the fire's heat does not help. "taehyung?"

the sound of his name almost startles him. he sits up, and a pleasurable ache sparks up his spine. he sucks in a deep breath. "you really… truly think that of me?"

you blink slowly, like a cat, and the fire's flames dance in your eyes. "i am a simple soldier. lies are above a man like me."

"you're more than that," he replies immediately, turning around on your lap to face you properly. "if you were just a soldier, you would have died on that battlefield. forgive me, but you had all the time to die on your way down the river. still, you survived." his voice softens, and he fiddles with your collar, straightening it and folding it down. "i am glad you did. i am glad to have met you."

"ah…" gently, you tug his shirt down, allowing him the return of some of his dignity, though he does not seem to care. "that reminds me – i shouldn't waste much time here. i should report to the general."

"for what?" taehyung scoffs, and it sounds… hurt. he glances away. "am i so repugnant you would rather march thirty miles a day in mud-soaked boots than stay here with me?"

"no!" you protest, sitting up as best you can with the growing ache in your side. you had been too caught up in the moment to remember it, and now your body reminds you jealously. "t'ain't that, taehyung. you are intelligent and kind and if we were in my homeland, i wouldn't hesitate to ask your hand. but surely you have a girl you're supposed to marry?"

"no, not at the moment. despite what he says, my father still grieves my mother. it will be a while yet before he'll allow another woman into the house." he traces shapes into your skin. "i will free you from the servitude of the evil king who bound you, and together, princess and dragon will live freely, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs."

at first, you smile at the newfound softness of his voice, but freeze. "free… of servitude?"

taehyung watches you, draping his legs over the other side of the armchair, kicking his feet lazily. his eyes are dark and watchful. "as i know it, the king's oath swears that you are only relieved of your duty when you give your blood for his and fall in battle against his enemies. have you not satisfied these requirements?"

"i may be no scholar, but i'm near certain that to 'fall in battle' means to die in it."

"have you not satisfied these requirements?" he repeats, firmer. "our doctors and priests said you were dead when i brought you to them. they said you may have been alive when i found you, but somewhere between the riverbank and their stone table marked the spot where you died. as they proclaimed this, you coughed again, and nobody could deny me this time when i said you were very clearly alive."

"you are telling me that i died… and returned? like a saint?" you ask sceptically. 

"i only tell you what our doctors told me."

for a while, you are silent. determination creases taehyung's brow, and you cannot hold in the disbelieving laugh that erupts from you, though it morphs into a groan of pain in the middle. taehyung sits up and presses his palm to your cheek, his eyes so vivid and certain. 

"you have already died, and thus retain no obligations to the crown," he whispers. his gaze scours your face. "you are free. free to stay here. live here…"

with me.

your heart drops into your stomach. you grip his waist, shifting in the velvet chaise. "i'm…"

"agree. agree to it. even if i cannot bear your children, we will sleep in the same bed, take walks in the wheat fields, eat and drink every meal together. you won't fear for your life every day. and as soon as the war ends and they open the trade routes to your home, i shall book passage on a ship and take you there. you may stay, if you wish. i won't deny you."

"then why offer at all?" you ask quietly. "if you think i'll leave you the moment i can, why would you even try?"

"i can hope, can i not? by all accounts our kings have no desire to cease any time soon. perhaps you will learn to love me in time." he smiles, faint, and averts his gaze. "otherwise, i will be glad to help another soul. you will survive the war and return to your family, whole and healthy. out here, away from people, i have little chance to do something so good and noble."

"and if i grow restless? if i want to do something with my hands?"

he tilts his head thoughtfully. "how is your aim?"

"fair, i s'pose. haven't missed when it's important."

"the lord's hunter grows old," he proclaims. "he can teach you what he knows, and if you like, you may take up the title once he can no longer ride and shoot. besides that, there is always work to be done in the fields and granary – perhaps you'll find some comfort in the farms?"

you think about it, long and hard. in essence you would be a prisoner at his beck and call, though if taehyung tells the truth and is as earnest as he appears, perhaps you'll find freedom and enough work to fill your days with…

you give your answer, and taehyung's smile is like the sun.

[dehydrated-turtle]

Movies on a Sunday in a Sunlit Room

//warnings// +16, mdni

//contents// Jason Todd x transmasc!reader, vaginal fingering, squirting, fluff, a lot of fluff, light smut, from this ask from @nckcn <3 - wc: 1.5k

//synopsis// Both you and Jason love a good film, especially watching them together when Jason is forced (by you) to take some time off to heal from an injury. Maybe some light fingering tho when a suggestive scene comes on, oops.

//on ao3//

Finally, one of the rare weekends where you can actually do absolutely nothing but lounge around and snuggle up to your boyfriend, Jason. Luckily for you, he’s been benched by Batman because he “rolled” his ankle on patrol and Bruce got worried. Actually he broke it but he’s been walking on it for a couple of days and saying that he’s fine but he’s got a very obvious limp. You took a look at it just to make sure he’s not going to have to get his foot amputated due to neglect but to your surprise, it seemed to be healing just fine and the bruising went down quite a bit. You actually convinced him to take the day with you to just bum around and watch some movies which was your way of manipulating him into staying off his feet. Good thing he loves good cinema, otherwise you could not keep him in one spot, that man loves to wander. You decided to force him onto the couch that sunday with Good Will Hunting, one of his favourites to rewatch. 

Jason sat down onto the huge squishy couch and fired up the TV while you got him some ice for his ankle and a whole butt load of snacks from the kitchen. When you got back, the movie was ready and he had gotten out the giant blanket you have designated for movie nights that covers the both of you effortlessly. The light from the youthful sun shone through the cracks in the curtains, illuminating the room with effervescence and a warm glow that calmed you both to your very cores. The warmth of his body reached you when you huffed down onto the couch and snuggled your way under the blanket. You put your legs in Jason’s lap and rested your head onto his shoulder before his cheek rested on your hair. He let out a well deserved heave of tiredness but moreover contentedness before kissing the crown of your head. 

“I love you.” he said, into your hair before pressing play on the film. 

“I love you, too.” 

“How in the world did I end up with the most perfect boyfriend ever in the history of everything ever.” 

“All I did was say ‘I love you’.” You say with a chuckle. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He smiled against your scalp, breathing in your scent which grounded him, knowing that you were there with him and that it’s just a lazy sunday, the voices can wait until monday to start badgering him. Nothing could ruin this. 

The movie continued and eventually, it got to the scene where Will’s therapist tells him over and over again that it’s not his fault. You were about to cry before you heard some sniffles from above you. You looked up to see Jason’s eyes full of tears and cheeks freshly wet, falling into his four day stubble. You reach for his hand gently and squeeze three times to wordlessly say ‘I love you’ while resting your head on his shoulder once more. He squeezed back and tugged you in closer, just a little bit. 

“That part always gets me…” he whispered, trying to justify his tears and wiping them away with his sleeve still holding your hand, not ready to let go yet. He looked at you, eyes glossed over, red and puffy but with love. You hate seeing him like this but you know that these tears are harmless so you place a small kiss on his shoulder then rest your head back on top of it. His warmth was comforting and the feeling of his relaxed muscles beneath you, relaxed you so deeply that your eyes started to get heavy and it was becoming difficult to keep them open so you let them shut. What feels like three seconds pass by but by the time you open your eyes up again, the movie is over and Jason is flipping through the catalogue for a new one. You rub your face groggily and blink a couple times, rejuvenating your eyes. 

“Mm, I think we should watch something funny now.” You groan in a raspy voice, your mouth tasting of that awful taste that you get when you just wake up. 

“I agree… Oh maybe Top Gun, it’s not really all that funny but it's a damn good movie.”

“Okay, always here for young Tom Cruise.” you both chuckle in agreement before pressing play on the film and the opening credits start. By this time, the sun has gotten lower and a deeper shade of yellow, almost an orange but nonetheless inviting and warm. You look up at Jason, his face illuminated by the light peeking in through the living room curtains, highlighting his scars, the ones on his neck that you always feel under lips, the ones on his face that you like to trace to wake him up, and the one that runs thin but deep into his hairline near his ear that he always tells you he thinks people are scared of and you always assure him that it’s nonsense. 

With your hand deep into the family size bag of fuzzy peaches, the film continues on and before long it gets to the quite suggestive scene for a PG-13 movie, you really weren’t complaining though. Apparently, neither was Jason because you felt one of his large palms on your upper thigh, sitting gently but his thumb was rubbing light circles on the fabric above your skin. You smiled gingerly to yourself as your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen, trying not to turn red. Even though you have been with Jason for a while now, you still get butterflies when he looks at you, let alone touches you. His fingers moved slowly closer to your inner thighs, gripping at your flesh which earned a familiar twang from your clit as you felt yourself begin to get wet. The heat building up caused you to let out a staggered breath as he inched closer. He quickly moved his hand away but before you could have any sort of reaction, his fingers found their way into your waistband and sunk in, gliding against your skin all the way to where you hoped he would land. He found your clit very easily and began to play gently and teasingly until you started to whine softly and grind into his fingers. Your mind had quickly abandoned the movie as your eyes were closed and you were nuzzling into Jason’s chest. 

“Fuck, Jay…” 

“Shh… It’s ok, baby I gotchu.” he whispered as his free hand played with your hair and massaged your scalp

“Please… fuck.” as if he could read your mind and knew exactly what you were asking for, he fingers slipped deeper and two of them glided into your folds with ease from how wet you already were. His digits slid along your walls, reaching spots you couldn’t reach if you tried because of his large hands. He curled up into your squishy flesh, pressing a pressure point of pleasure which earned a whole hearted moan from your throat, leaking into your boxers and practically drooling on Jason’s chest. 

“Gonna be a good boy for me, hm? Cum in my hand?” his velvet voice in your ear made you clench around his skilled fingers as you creeped steadily to an orgasm but no response came from your lips. “C’mon, honey… use your words.” 

“Y-yes… oh fuck- I’m gonna cum.” you repeated that last sentence a few more times, each one getting more and more incoherent before the heat and pressure that built up in your core finally came to a climax. You could feel the wetness spread in your PJs and down in between your legs as your eyes rolled back and your moans became loud yet muffled by Jason’s chest which you were still nuzzling into. 

“That’s it, mm… fuck you came so much, c’mon let’s get you all cleaned up, hm? We’ll worry about the couch later, I’m sure I can clean it.” He pulled off the blanket that was still covering the both of you and switched off the movie before picking you up and carrying you to your bedroom all the while you were giggling and holding on for dear life. He may be big and strong but it’s still weird being picked up sometimes. He set you down, standing up in front of the bed then continued to kneel down. 

“Is it ok if I take these off for you?” 

“Yeah,” you said with a chuckle before he tugged at the waistband and pulled your PJ pants down and off of you and straight into the hamper across the room. He then kissed your thighs so very gently before looking up at you with those innocent looking eyes that make you weak in the knees everytime he flashes them at you. 

“You’re so perfect, Corazón. Everything about you is immaculate just the way you are. Don’t let anybody tell you different, Ok?” 

“Ok.” you say as you help hip up off the ground. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Now… I’m going to go get in the shower, join me?” 

“Like I’d ever say no to that. I’ll be there in five minutes tops.” 

[justalittlelilac]

Four days.

You had four days to tell Qiu Lin you were in love with them, and you just missed your first opportunity.

Part 1

The rickety "hideout" fort creaked mournfully under you as you climbed its weathered wall, pulling yourself toward the top. Pale, sun-bleached wood like dry bones brushed your skin, and you were careful with your hand placement to avoid splinters for the thousandth time.

The fort was a skeleton of your childhood, each wooden beam a brittle rib holding together a heart that beat with memories. The wood was warping in some places, and every nail was colored with rust. At some point over the years, you had to get creative with your foot placement because the rock wall was missing its original number of steps.

You could still hear Mrs. Lin's voice from a year ago, requesting Mr. Lin to tear it down, calling it a "safety hazard." It absolutely was—is—but that didn't stop Qiu, Tamarack, and you from protesting incessantly over keeping it up. The two adults eventually relented, much to your trio's pleasure of keeping a piece of your childhood a bit longer.

As you reached the top, you thought distantly that it'd likely come down now that Qiu wouldn't be here, the true reason for it still standing gone. Nostalgic bitterness coated your throat like a sour film with the understanding that next fall, this yard would likely be empty, and this fort would be nothing but another memory.

"Hey stranger," a familiar voice called, pulling you back from the brink of your common stormy thoughts. Your eyes snapped up, and there they were—Qiu, grinning down at you with that easy, sunlit smile and amused dark eyes, crouched against the post of the opening.

It was like everything else dimmed. Your breath caught, and for a moment, your mind went blank, as if spooked by their very sight, as if you had forgotten why you were here.

They were just as beautiful as you remembered. Even more so. Their hair was half up, dark and loose, a few strands framing their face. Their grin settled into a gentle smile as they reached out a hand to help you up. Schooling your features to be more nonchalant, you readily grasped it, relishing the warmth that spread up your arm from the contact.

"Hey yourself," you replied cooly while climbing into the hideout. Your nose was filled with the scent of old wet wood and earth as you righted yourself and briefly took in the interior. The thing hadn't changed since the last time the three of you were in it—a shrine to simpler days.

The ceiling was bordered with a string of battery-operated twinkle lights—long since burned out, victims of time and the elements. A rouge blanket lay crumpled in the corner abandoned. Some well-worn comics and magazines were scattered around it haphazardly as if the group had left in a hurry and just never returned.

No time travel was involved, yet it felt like only yesterday—this time capsule of youth.

Qiu settled themselves against the far wall, stretching their legs, and you did the same across from them. There was no way the two of you could stand in the space anymore. That ended around age 14, but somehow, you kept coming back, all of you. It was like a touchstone, a headquarters.

Now, the small fort was comfortably cramped with your legs stacked side-by-side. Qiu shoved their hands in their jacket pockets and leaned their head back to look at the ceiling. It was a routine of sorts; no words are needed right away. No expectation of entertainment in the slightest. Just the quiet calm between two people who knew each other better than anyone else.

"Oh, right!" Qiu exclaimed, suddenly remembering, twisting around to reach into the back pocket of their jeans. You couldn't help but smirk; it was so like Qiu to forget why they'd asked you to come in the first place. Even still, you were buzzing with curiosity.

After a moment of fumbling, they produced something, hiding it behind their back, and paused for dramatic effect with a grin. You laughed and nudged their leg.

"Come on, you're killing me here, and it's getting cold!" The sun had already dipped below the tree line, blanketing the world in the blues and purples of twilight. It had also taken the warmth, and you could start to see your breath puff small, visible clouds. As you waited, you could faintly smell smoke on the gentle wind of someone burning leaves. Qiu chuckled in response.

"Okay, okay, I've made you suffer long enough." With a self-assured smirk, they revealed what they'd been hiding. Dangling from their hand was a keychain—a small, smiling dolphin. It spun lazily on its metal ring like a leaf caught in a gentle current.

You blinked, then reached out to take it, turning it over and brushing your thumb over the warm, smooth plastic. The words were engraved in delicate cursive on the dolphin's side: "Prism Vista City."

Where Qiu was attending school.

It had been quite a story of how Qiu ended up there. Last year, seemingly out of the blue, back from the dead, an old childhood friend, Baxter Ward, had reached out to all of you wanting to make amends and reconnect. Somehow, that led Qiu and their parents to California to visit Baxter and see the university there.

Unsurprisingly, Qiu fell in love with the city. With its warm weather, bright lights, and something always going on—ever-changing, it was right up Qiu's alley. Moreover, the university held a highly reputable program that Qiu wanted to study, and they already knew someone in the area.

Of course, they had been accepted. Of course, they had decided to go. You had been happy for them. Thrilled, even. It had seemed like such a grand adventure—a reunion, a new beginning. How could you ever be upset about that?

Your fingers tightened around the dolphin, bending its top fin slightly.

"For your keys!" Qiu said with some pride, crossing their arms. That's right, you had car keys now. At the beginning of summer, your mom relinquished ownership of the old vehicle to you and bought herself a newer one. It had made you feel invincible, like a superhero, driving Qiu and Tamarack around on those late, warm nights with the windows down and music blasting. Another memory you held dear.

"Thanks! It'll be my first one, actually. This was really thoughtful, Qiu. You didn't have to get me anything, though," You gave them a genuine smile, clutching the little gift to your chest.

Qiu beamed at you like they'd just won the lottery. For a moment, that familiar flutter filled your stomach. You could tell them now. You could get it over with and let the words out into the open air, but then what? The thought flickered, and you brushed it aside.

What mattered was that Qiu was here now, and time was slipping through your fingers like water. You could tell them how you felt, risk losing them forever, or stay silent and lose them just the same. You opened your mouth to speak, but Qiu beat you to it.

"I absolutely needed to! I was at the pier with Micah and some of our other friends—you remember me telling you about Micah, right? Well, anyway, it's actually a pretty funny story. We'd all just got out of class, and Kacy said…" The rest of Qiu's story had faded into radio static.

Your eyes trailed down to the dolphin with its mocking smile. Right. Qiu was building a life there. They already had new friends, like you knew they would. Even outside of Golden Grove, they still shined.

They were already building new memories. Memories that didn't include you.

Like watching a movie that you already knew the ending to, you felt yourself drift away from the moment, just like everything else in this damn town.

Just like everything else in your life.

If only you were more like them, brave enough to leave, to chase the unknown. But you weren't. You weren't smart like that, determined—ambitious. You had chosen to stay, to settle, and that's where your life remained buried, while Qiu's only grew like vines reaching for the sun.

"Hey, you okay?" Came Qiu's voice. You finally snapped your head up to look at them, a dull ache forming behind your eyes. They wore an amused smile until it melted off their face at whatever expression they saw on yours.

You tried to school it into something more pleasant and failed miserably. Qiu's face morphed into concern, and they sat up straighter. "What's wrong? You know you can tell me."

You shook your head, shoving the dolphin deep into your coat pocket, where it felt like a lead weight. "It's nothing. I'm just super stressed about this last exam I have to do tonight," you lied.

The words tasted bitter in your mouth. At one point in your adolescence, lying came as naturally to you as breathing. Lying to teachers, parents, and, in one case, the authorities, but never Tamarack and Qiu. Nowadays, lying comes out in 'I'm doing great's and 'Yeah, I love school!'

A rock settled in your stomach, watching Qiu nod in understanding, believing you. "Man, I feel you there. I still have an essay due at midnight," they commiserated.

"How much do you have left to do?" You inquired earnestly, happy to have the shift in conversation. Qiu's eyebrows pinched together, and they winced.

"I, uh, sort of haven't started it yet," they confessed with a sheepish grin. "I wanted to see you first. Plus, there's no way it'll take all night anyway."

"Qiu!" You groaned exasperatedly. Their eyes darted away guiltily, and you reached down to lightly smack their leg, earning another wince. "Well, that settles it." You shuffled towards the exit and began to climb down the rock wall. From behind, you heard Qiu mutter something and then sigh.

"Aw, come on! I just got back. Just a little longer?" they pleaded. Your feet landed with a soft thud on the grass below, and you turned to look up at them, leaning over the rail, just like the first time you met—except you were not as merciful as your ten-year-old self.

"Only one of us gets to be the burnout, Qiu Lin, and that role is already taken so—" you claimed with mock pride while putting your hands on your hips. In the same instance, you jutted a thumb behind you to their house. "Get to it."

Qiu's smile faltered. They never liked it when you joked about that. But it was true—you were the former gifted kid turned crash-out stoner while Qiu was…well, Qiu.

"That's not…" Qiu began, but you cut them off.

"If you don't start now, I'll make sure mom doesn't bring her pumpkin pie tomorrow," you threatened with a devilish smirk. Qiu laughed and narrowed their eyes.

"You wouldn't," they challenged.

"Find out," you shot back. Qiu's eyes widened with panic.

"Alright! Okay!" They gave a resigned sigh. "You know too many of my weaknesses; you've become too powerful." With a final sigh, they swung over the rail and jumped to the ground. You laughed at their antics. The fall wasn't nearly as high as when you were kids, but Qiu still managed to make it look daring.

In the deepening twilight, you stood there, face to face, the stars now bright and clear above you. They seemed closer here, sharper, like little diamonds twinkling in an onyx net. One of the things you loved most about Golden Grove was the minimal light pollution.

You, Qiu, and Tamarack had spent so many nights stargazing. Even more so with just the two of you. It felt like it had been yours and Qiu's thing—a private ritual. Qiu followed your gaze, and their smile grew as they looked up to the heavens.

"Jeez, I forgot how bright the stars are. You don't get that in Prism Vista," they said, almost wistfully.

"Yeah, that's cities for you," you murmured, wondering if they had looked up at the same night sky in those last few months and thought of you.

"True," Qiu replied. "Then again, with so much to do there, who needs stars? We used to stare at them for hours just to keep from going out of our minds with boredom." They chuckled softly, still gazing upward, sounding so casual.

Your heart ached. This thing that had meant so much to you was a distraction to them. For you, it had never been about the stars. It had always been about the person beside you, the one who had put them in the sky.

"…Qiu?" Your voice came out small, almost fragile. They lowered their head from the sky to look down at you, a kind smile gracing their face. Silence stretched thickly between the two of you.

Qiu's brow softened, and their smile shifted into something gentler, sending a flush to your cheeks and making your heart race. You stepped back, wussing out from whatever you were originally going to say. "Uh, we'll be over around three tomorrow," you said instead, stumbling over your words. "Mom wants us to help." Qiu blinked, momentarily thrown off.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I'll let mom know," they nodded, still looking slightly confused. You turned, eager to escape, but Qiu continued. "You don't have to go, though! If you're not busy—I mean, you could help me with this essay?" they asked, hopefully.

You turned back with a tight smile. "No, I need to get back to do that exam, and besides, you know we'd never get anything done, and then my threat would be pointless because I'm the one who distracted you," you laughed, then added, "Thanks again for the gift," You held up the dolphin and quickly shoved it back in your pocket. Qiu nodded, half-smiling.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then." With your own nod, you turned and headed in the direction you came.

"Love you!" Qiu called after you when you were halfway across the yard.

The words flowed through you, brushing delicately against your heart like a breeze, but you didn't answer, letting the crunch of leaves underfoot drown out the silence.

You pretended not to hear as you went, knowing it wasn't that kind of love and you couldn't say it back this time. That was boundary of your lying.

"I love you too," you whispered into your scarf as you went, clutching the keychain harder.

This was going to be the hardest Thanksgiving break of your life.

Part 3

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Next Part

Chapter 1. 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓲, 𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓲, 𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓲.

Dorian de Beauvoir was an old soul. Something people would often never notice. After all, with his youthful features, no one would think he was past his thirties. He was attractive and he knew it. Blonde with blue eyes, the duke was often approached by ladies and gentlemen. Most encounters didn't end well for these people. If only they knew. If only they knew what he really was. Because behind all this pleasant — and perfect, dare he say — exterior, hid a monster. Dorian was a vampire, a creature of the night lurking in the shadows, ever watchful for unsuspecting victims to sate his unholy hunger.

This, in fact, was exactly what he was doing this afternoon. While he had a chevalier ring, shielding him from the effects of the sun, his preference was to hunt under the veil of night or during overcast days, when more humans ventured into these forests under a less harsh daylight.

Among these sunlit wanderers was a young maiden. Dorian could hear her footsteps and the faint hum of a tune as she ventured into a woodland clearing. Her attire, a simple woolen dress with an apron, bore the marks of labor and grime. It didn't take long for him to discern her as a peasant girl, no older than fifteen. With a determined expression, she foraged for mushrooms, collecting them diligently in her wicker basket.

She didn't notice him, too focused on her task to pay mind to anyone else. She was young. He typically avoided feeding on children, and yet, he found himself unable to look away. Still, Dorian observed from a distance. He himself wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had been because of the gaping hole he felt in his chest. Loneliness. A curse many vampires were accustomed to.

Once she was done with her task, she sat on the grass. Closing her eyes and sighing, she seemed to be exhausted by the work. The sun had set not long ago and Dorian questioned whether she intended to return home at all.

His decision was made, he left his vantage point and approached her quietly. "The sun has set," he spoke, causing the young lady to jump with a start. "Do you not have a place to be?"

She appeared surprised. Vampires had this ability to creep up on mortals without them noticing. The girl stood up abruptly.

"I— Yes," the peasant confirmed before beginning to walk away quickly.

"Let me accompany you." He followed her and soon caught up to her. "A young girl such as yourself shouldn't walk alone at this hour of the day," he commented, justifying himself as he added a pleasant smile. 

"That won't be necessary," assured the girl, "my Lord," she added, noticing his expensive attire.

"I insist."

And that was that. He had spoken with conviction, showcasing how he wouldn't change his mind. She looked tense, but didn't dare to refuse.

"Do you live nearby ?" He asked after a long moment of silence. She nodded mutely.

His attempts at small tasks proved to be fruitless, but he didn't mind too much. Nevertheless, the journey proved brief, as they reached a small cottage at the forest's edge within a quarter of an hour. Dorian's reaction was immediate—a derisive sneer contorted his features as he regarded the humble dwelling with disdain.

This... thing wasn't even the size of his wardrobe. It was a humble structure, its thatched roof weathered by time and rough-hewn wooden walls bearing the scars of years. The simplicity of the cottage's design and construction was an eyesore to the noble, who was accustomed to the grandeur of opulent manors and palaces. The dichotomy was painfully apparent.

A light chuckle escaped Dorian's lips as he surveyed the unimpressive abode. "This place?" He inquired almost rhetorically, his tone unimpressed by the humble dwelling.

The girl's demeanor stiffened visibly, and her response came with a touch of defensiveness. "Yes, it's my home," she almost snapped, a trace of pride in her voice.

His smile wavered, an odd sensation settling in his chest. It seemed as though she didn't quite belong here, amidst such simplicity. He looked down at the little mortal. He felt as if she shouldn't be here.

The door cracked open, a woman that looked quite similar to the little girl came out. Her mother. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

"(Y/N)," called the woman with a relieved smile. She put a hand on her hips and pointed at the young girl. "You were supposed to come back before the sunset, young lady," she scolded her with maternal authority.

(Y/n) appeared sheepish. "Sorry, mom," she said, a bit embarrassed. "I ventured a bit farther than I usually do. On the bright side, I found more mushrooms."

The mother sighed good naturedly before turning to Dorian. She now looked uncomfortable. "I apologize for my daughter, my Lord," she hastily said, her hand moving protectively to grasp her daughter's arm. "I hope she didn't cause any trouble."

The man's indifferent face shifted into a charming smile. "I can assure you she didn't," he answered. "I simply found this young lady alone in the woods and suggested bringing her back home."

The peasant woman expressed her gratitude with a touch of hesitation before they exchanged pleasantries and bade each other farewell. Dorian continued on his path, returning to his hunt, but his thoughts lingered on the girl. He couldn't help but wonder if this chance encounter had left as indelible a mark on her as it had on him. 

[ynjeonghoney]

in this lifetime and the other — yoon jeonghan (A)

Sypnosis: Growing old with your significant other is a life goal. Your secret? Spending time with each other, cherishing every moment as if it were your last. But as the years passed, you begin to realize that remembering these moments was becoming increasingly difficult.

✦ pairing: husband!yoon jeonghan x wife!reader ✦ genre: heavy angst with a sprinkle of fluff ✦ word count: 8k ✦ warnings: reader has dementia, major character death

A gentle hush enveloped the morning in the heart of a serene nursing home. Within its comforting walls, the residents engage in activities — seasoned hands delicately weave intricate patterns in a tapestry of memories. Nearby, the aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air as a small gathering eagerly absorbed the secrets of the kitchen. In a sunlit corner, brushes danced upon canvases, bringing to life vibrant hues and silent narratives.

Each of these elders bore witness to history, and their stories carried the weight of generations. It was a humbling experience, conversing with individuals who had traversed the many twists and turns of life, each one holding a treasure trove of meaningful anecdotes and invaluable wisdom. It was something that would make someone stop in their tracks, compelled to listen to their stories.

The nurses moved about the nursing home with efficiency, their kind smiles and warming presence a constant reassurance to the residents. As the day unfolded, families visited, filling the halls with laughter and warmth. Children darted around, their youthful energy a stark contrast to the slower pace of the elders. Amidst the hustle and bustle of visitors coming and going, there were quiet moments of tenderness – a grandchild holding their grandparent's hand, a daughter brushing her mother's hair, a son sharing stories from his own life.

"Good morning, my love," the old man's voice, gently broke the stillness of the morning. His eyes, soft with affection, met yours as you stirred awake, the unfamiliar term of endearment sending a ripple of confusion through your mind. You searched your memory in vain, trying to place him in the of tapestry your life, but he remained a stranger in your memory.

As you lay in bed, a faint sensation tickled the inside of your nose, a subtle reminder of the apparatus supporting your breathing. With a gentle touch, the old man reached out, his weathered fingers brushing aside strands of your hair that had fallen across your face.

"Who are you? If I may ask?"

Blankly, you stared back at him, searching the depths of your mind for any semblance of recognition. But try as you might, his face remained a puzzle, an enigma shrouded.

Your voice grew faint, barely audible in the quietude of the room, yet the old man's keen ears caught the whisper of sound. A gentle smile graced his features as he gazed back at you. For him, you were not just a stranger lost in the labyrinth of forgetfulness, but a cherished figure, a memory preserved in the amber of his heart.

And as he looked upon you, it was not with the eyes of a stranger, but with the eyes of a lover, whose heart still beat with the fervor of a long-cherished romance.

"I'm your husband." He reached out for your hand, cradling it in his own palm, his touch a soothing caress against the back of your hand.

Staring at him in disbelief, you struggled to reconcile this revelation with the fragmented memories that flickered dimly in the recesses of your mind, "I'm married?"

You added, voice lacing with confusion, "How long have I been married to you?"

A sudden impulse drew your gaze to your hand, and there, resting on your finger, gleamed a simple yet elegant wedding ring. With trembling fingers, you traced the contours of the ring, feeling its weight against your skin.

"73 years. October 1951."

"What year is it now?"

"2024." As your husband spoke, a wave of disbelief washed over you, rendering you momentarily speechless. You glanced at him, unable to comprehend the gravity of his words. His expression was etched with sorrow, lines of concern creasing his face.

You felt a pang of desperation clawing at the edges of your mind. You struggled to recall the name of the man before you, the one who claimed to be your husband. It felt like grasping at fleeting shadows, trying to hold onto something that slipped further away.

But then, like a bolt of lightning cutting through the darkness, his name surged forth from the depths of your memory.

"Jeonghan."

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, forming a gentle curve. In that moment, any shadow of sadness seemed to vanish from his face, replaced instead by a glimmer of hope that danced in his eyes.

He gently cupped your cheeks. With a softness in his gaze, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you, until his lips met yours in a slow, tender peck. It was a moment Jeonghan wished could last forever. "Yes, sweetheart. It's me."

You smiled back at him, a flicker of warmth lighting up your face, but behind the facade of calmness, a whirlwind of questions still raged within your mind. Despite the tender moment you shared, there were still countless uncertainties gnawing at your consciousness.

Suddenly, there was a gentle knock on the door, and your nurse entered, a tray of breakfast in her hands. The aroma of freshly brewed tea and warm pastries filled the room.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Yoon." She set the tray down on the bedside table, arranging the food with care before turning her attention to you and your husband by your side.

"Thank you, Nurse Kim. I hope you have a great day ahead." Jeonghan said to the nurse, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. Nurse Kim's face lit up with a smile at his words.

"I wish the same for you both. And by the way, your children will be visiting at lunchtime. They're bringing your grandchildren as well."

In an instant, a flood of emotions surged within you – disbelief, confusion, and a profound sense of wonder. How could it be possible that you had children with your husband sitting beside you, whose name you struggled to remember mere moments ago?

"How many children did we have?" You finally managed to croak out, your voice barely above a whisper. The question felt surreal. How many children had you brought into the world together? How could you have forgotten such a fundamental aspect of your lives?

Jeonghan, the old man whose hand she had held through the trials and triumphs of their marriage, looked at her with a mixture of sadness and understanding. Closing your eyes, you tried to conjure up memories of laughter and tears, of tiny hands, but all you found was an empty void.

"Three children and eight grandchildren."

As you struggled to make sense of it all, there came a strange sense of euphoria wash over you. It was exhilarating, overwhelming even, to be confronted with the gist of your adventure with him. Each revelation felt like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place, painting a clearer picture of who you both were and how you both came to be.

"I want to know more, Jeonghan."

"About what?"

"Us."

June 28, 1947 — Santa Monica, California

Summer had arrived in all its glory, painting the world in hues of warmth and vibrancy. For you and your friends, the promise of adventure beckoned from afar, carried on the breeze that whispered through the trees. It was a day like any other, yet tinged with the anticipation of something extraordinary—a trip to the carnival.

As you walked along the path leading to the fairgrounds, you couldn't contain the excitement bubbling within you. The sun cast a golden glow upon the landscape, illuminating.

"It's been too long since we've had a day like this." Jihyo remarked, her voice filled with excitement.

Nayeon nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling, "I've been counting down the days until we could finally come here together."

"And just imagine all the rides and games waiting for us." Sana chimed in, her enthusiasm contagious.

With each step, the sounds of laughter and music grew louder, mingling with the sweet scent of cotton candy and popcorn that hung in the air. The carnival beckoned to them like a beacon of joy.

As you stepped through the entrance gate, all of you were immediately engulfed in copious sights and sounds. Colorful booths lined the pathways, each one offering its own array of delights and attractions. The air was alive with the melodies of carnival music and the laughter of children.

You begin to reminisce, "Remember when we were in preschool, we used to come to the carnival with our parents every summer and see who could eat the most cotton candy?"

Jihyo nodded in agreement, a soft smile playing on her lips. "It's amazing how something as simple as cotton candy can transport us back to our childhoods."

But amidst the laughter and sugary treats, a more serious topic lingered in the back of their minds—college plans. With graduation looming on the horizon, the future weighed heavily on their minds, each of them grappling with their own hopes and dreams for the years to come.

"So, have you guys thought about what you want to major in?" Sana asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.

Jihyo nodded thoughtfully, her expression contemplative. "I've been thinking about being a teacher. There's something incredibly rewarding about teaching kids."

"How about you, Amelia?"

"That, I still don't know," You admitted, tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "To be honest, I'm still figuring out what I want to pur-"

As you were engrossed in conversation with your friends, you felt a something hard and heavy beneath you. Startled, you came to an abrupt halt as you see a football nestled at your feet. The impact was gentle, and you felt no pain, but the unexpected interruption had caught you completely off guard.

"My apologies if I've caused any inconvenience." A young man approached you, exclaiming breathlessly with a sheepish grin spreading across his face. You glanced down at the football in your hands, realizing that it belonged to him.

You handed the football back to him, "It's quite alright, not a major concern."

Both of your eyes met in a collision of worlds. His eyes, like rich orbs of deep, soulful pools of brown, bore into her, delving into the very depths of her being. They were more than just windows to a universe unknown; they were gateways to unexplored realms. How could someone have eyes so irresistible, like this young man standing before you?

Your mind raced with memories of high school football games and cheers that echoed through the bleachers. It was then that you remembered him—a key player on the team. Despite the familiarity, you couldn't let the conversation falter into awkwardness. With a gentle smile, you decided to break the ice with an obvious question.

You began, "Hey, aren't you…?"

He nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, that's me."

"I thought I recognized you from somewhere." You admitted, a playful twinkle in your eye.

--- end of flashback ----

"The summer of 1947?" Frustration welled up as you struggled to grasp, eager to piece together the sentiments of your high school years. Yet, despite the efforts, not a single memory replayed in your mind. Instead, you found herself hanging onto every word as your husband regaled you with stories from your past.

Jeonghan nodded. His tales painted vivid images in your mind, with each word that flowed from his lips, his voice filled with warmth and nostalgia.

You felt a sense of wonder and fascination, as if you were discovering a part of yourself that had long been forgotten. It was as though through his eyes, you were able to glimpse a version of yourself that you had once been.

"The day after that, and the day after that, we went on dates."

August 3, 1947 — Malibu, California

Jeonghan led you to a secluded spot just near his family's beach house. Despite the bustling crowds that filled the shoreline, he guided you to a hidden spot known only to him.

As you followed him, his fingers intertwined with yours, the cacophony of laughter faded into the background and was replaced by the soothing rhythm of the ocean lapping against the shore. In this secret sanctuary, you found yourselves surrounded by the beauty of nature—a pristine stretch of sand framed by towering cliffs and swaying palm trees. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and sea breeze.

"Do you bring your friends here?" You asked, your voice carrying over the gentle lull of the ocean.

"It's the first time I brought someone here." Jeonghan's words stir a flurry of emotions with butterflies fluttering in your stomach, their delicate wings dancing to the rhythm of your racing heart.

"I always go here whenever I feel the happiest." He confessed, his voice soft and filled with emotion. "And I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather share it with than you."

You couldn't help but smile at him, "It's beautiful."

"Just like you, Amelia."

The sand felt soft beneath your feet, and you relished the sensation of the grains slipping between your toes. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape as it began its descent towards the ocean. You stole a glance at Jeonghan, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

He returned your gaze, his eyes shimmering in the golden rays of the sun, casting an ethereal glow over his glorious face. It was as though he was painted by the very hues of twilight, his presence captivating and mesmerizing. You found yourself getting lost once more in the depths of his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from the magnetic pull of his stare.

Without a word, you and Jeonghan dashed across the sandy shore, your laughter blending in with the salty sea breeze. As you danced along the shoreline with him, the cares of the world melted away, leaving only the two of you, and the endless expanse of the ocean stretching out before you.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you scooped up a handful of seawater and flicked it at Jeonghan, your laughter ringing out like chimes in the breeze. Not to be outdone, Jeonghan retaliated with a playful splash of his own, the cool droplets landing on your shoulders.

Jeonghan's strong arms cradle you, his touch igniting a sense of security. As you wade deeper into the embrace of the ocean, the cool water envelops you, a welcome respite from the heat of the day. The waves rise and fall, each one cool and refreshing against your sunkissed skin.

Together, you and Jeonghan venture further into the deep waters, your bodies swaying effortlessly with the gentle currents. It is as though the sea itself has come alive, enfolding you in its embrace.

A tranquil stillness enveloped the ocean, and the tumultuous crashing of waves gradually subsided as Jeonghan delicately moved your hair aside. His gaze conveyed nothing but love and tenderness. With trembling anticipation, you watched as Jeonghan's gaze lowered to your lips, his movements deliberate and unhurried as he bridged the gap between you.

As your lips met in a kiss, time seemed to freeze, momentarily suspending all else—the roar of the waves, the whisper of the breeze, and the worries of the world. In that fleeting moment, there existed only the two of you, locked in an eternal embrace, your hearts beating as one.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Amelia."

The water feels like silk against your skin, a lover's caress that soothes your soul. You lose yourself in the sensation, in the sheer bliss of being alive in this moment with Jeonghan by your side.

And as the sunset dances upon your faces, you know deep in your heart that this is where you belong—by his side.

December 24, 1948 — New York City

Christmas in New York had always been a cherished dream for you ever since you first set foot in the city during your college years. The twinkling lights adorning the streets, the festive decorations decking every corner, and the palpable sense of joy in the air—it was a magical experience you looked forward to each year.

And of course, having Jeonghan alongside you in the bustling city, only added to the excitement. Together, you navigated the crowded streets, hand in hand, soaking in the holiday spirit that permeated every inch of the city.

Perched on a bench nestled on the enchanting landscape of Central Park, you and Jeonghan found yourselves entranced by the captivating scene unfolding before you. The tranquil atmosphere of the park was alive with the mirthful laughter of children, their gleeful voices echoing across the ice skating rink.

A comfortable silence surrounded you, broken only by the occasional soft murmurs of conversation from passersby.

His hand found yours, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Jeonghan seemed unusually subdued, his typically vibrant demeanor overshadowed by a veil of quiet contemplation.

You stole a glance at him, noting the furrowed brow and the distant look in his eyes. Concern gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, urging you to reach out, to break the silence that stretched between you like an unspoken barrier.

"Is everything alright?" You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken worry.

"Sweetheart, I'm leaving for London in a week." He said, his voice tinged with sadness.

On one hand, you couldn't help but feel overwhelming joy and pride as you watched him bask in the glow of his achievement—a scholarship to one of London's most esteemed universities. It was a dream come true, and you couldn't be happier for him.

Yet, beneath the surface, a wave of melancholy threatened to engulf you. The reality of his impending departure loomed. "Well, isn't that great news, my love?"

You tried to push aside your fears, to focus on the positive—the opportunities and adventures that awaited him in the bustling metropolis of London. But deep down, the prospect of a long-distance relationship lingered on your mind.

And as the day of his departure drew nearer, you found yourself grappling with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—joy and sadness, hope and despair. But through it all, one thing remained constant—the bond that connected you, heart to heart.

He sighed, a heavy weight settling in his chest. There was no turning back now, "I don't know if I can bear to be apart from you for who knows how long."

That was his greatest concern—the uncertainty of what would become of the moments when you two were miles apart. With only letters as your primary form of communication, the distance between you would feel insurmountable. You knew that it was his dream, his aspiration to pursue his studies in London. Who were you to stand in the way of that?

The snow began to fall gently, swirling and twirling in the crisp winter air. The children, with their laughter echoing through the park, paused in their play to gaze up at the sky in wonder. Their faces lit up as they reached out to catch the falling snowflakes, their breath forming small puffs of white in the chill of the evening air. It was a moment of pure magic.

"Don't let this slip through your fingers." You reached out, your hand trembling as you tried to comfort him, but deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of him leaving. Every aspect of your existence rebelled against the idea of him being so far away.

You knew deep down that you had to accept this chapter of your lives, as painful as it may be. As much as it hurt you to see him go, it was a part of life, and it won't be like this forever.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, pulling him close as if trying to merge your souls in a hug. He nestled his head against your shoulder, his tears trickled with the falling snowflakes.

You held him for what felt like an eternity, cherishing every heartbeat, every breath, every fleeting moment you had left together. With a reassuring smile, you whispered, "I'll be waiting for you, my love." Your voice echoing with the weight of a thousand lifetimes.

"I'll come back for you, sweetheart." The sincerity in his voice tugged at your heartstrings.

May 8, 1949 — New York City

Ever since Jeonghan left for London, you had been receiving letters from him every month without fail. Every month, like clockwork, each envelope carried a piece of his life in London, his experiences, his struggles, and his triumphs. But amidst the vivid descriptions and anecdotes, there was always one recurring theme—his unwavering love for you.

In his letters, he conversed his soul, seeking solace in the thought that you were there, waiting for him on the other side of the world. It was a promise that echoed in every sentence and sentiment.

-

January 2, 1949 London, England To the love of my life, How are you, my darling? I hope this letter finds you well and wrapped in the warmth of our love, even from miles apart. It's only been a week since I left, but it feels like an eternity without you here with me. The days stretch on endlessly, each moment aching with your absence. Yet, amidst the longing, the thought of you—your smile, your laughter, and your love fill the empty spaces in my heart. London is a breathtaking place. And as I wander through its winding alleys, I can't help but imagine you by my side, your hand in mine as we explore this beautiful city together. I long for the day when I can take you here in London, to show you all the wonders that await us in this place. But until then, my love, know that you are always in my heart. Distance may keep us apart for now, but our love knows no bounds. My heart is yours. I love you, my darling Amelia. Love, Jeonghan

-

February 28, 1949 London, England To the love of my life, As I sit here in my room, surrounded by the bustle of university life, thoughts of you fill my mind and heart, bringing me peace and comfort in the midst of my studies. I must say, studying biology here is an enriching experience, my love. The professors are truly dedicated, and the training is rigorous. I want you to know that I am not taking any of these experiences for granted. I want nothing more than for this dream to be successful, not just for myself, but for us. I want to build a future that we've always dreamed of. I want to give you the life you deserve with me, sweetheart. Sometimes, I find myself having slow mornings, and I must admit, I love it. There's something magical about the stillness of the early hours. It's in these moments that I feel most alive, most at peace with myself and the world around me. How wonderful it would be to share these quiet mornings with you, to bask in the sunlight together and savor the simple pleasures of life. Just hang in there, my darling Amelia. Until the day we can be together again, know that I carry you with me always, in every sunrise, in every cup of coffee, in every beat of my heart. I love you. Love, Jeonghan

-

March 24, 1949 London, England To the love of my life, My heart is overflowing with emotions, and I find myself compelled to share with you that I am top of the class. Your unwavering belief in me fuels my determination. Your love and support have been my guiding light, a constant source of strength and inspiration. I can't help but long for you, my love. I want nothing more than to wrap you in my arms, to hold you close and celebrate this momentous occasion together. Your presence is the missing piece that would make this victory complete. Just a bit more patience, my darling Amelia. Always keep in mind that I love you dearly. Love, Jeonghan

-

April 11, 1949 Cambridge, England To the love of my life, I applied for a spot in a football team, and I am overjoyed to tell you that I have been accepted. My training is scheduled every Saturday, and I am eager to dive headfirst into the challenges and victories that await me on the field. However, I must admit that not everything has been smooth sailing. One of my teammates and I recently had a misunderstanding, but I want to assure you that it is nothing to worry about. I want to let you know that my schedule is about to become quite hectic in the upcoming months. Between school, football, and other obligations, my days are quickly filling up with tasks and responsibilities that demand my attention. But amidst the flurry of activity that threatens to overwhelm me, there's something I want to promise you. I will do my best to make time for you, to carve out moments in my busy life to sit down and write you a letter. You see, my love, you mean the world to me, and no matter how busy life gets, you will always hold a special place in my heart. Writing to you, sharing my thoughts and feelings with you, is a priority for me, one that I will never neglect or take for granted. So please, bear with me during these hectic months, Know that even when I'm not physically present, my love for you remains unwavering, steadfast and true. Sending you hugs and kisses! Love, Jeonghan

-

As the days stretched into weeks and then months, it became increasingly rare for you to find a letter from Jeonghan waiting in your mailbox. At first, you eagerly anticipated each delivery. But as time wore on, the letters grew scarce.

Your lives were like ships passing in the night, each of you navigating different paths, pursuing separate dreams. Jeonghan was immersed in the demanding world of medicine. Meanwhile, you were fully engrossed in your own studies, chasing after your aspirations in education, much like your close friend Jihyo.

"The mailman rarely comes by our place anymore. Has something happened between you and Jeonghan?" Your mother's concerned gaze pierced through the air as she spoke, her voice tinged with worry. She was used to seeing the mailman's familiar figure, always arriving with a handful of letters from your lover. But now, he seemed to be everywhere but your home.

The absence of his letters weighed heavily on your heart. It had become routine, almost expected, to not receive any letters from Jeonghan. At first, you had held onto hope, clinging to the belief that perhaps this time would be different, that a letter would arrive bearing news of his adventures and endeavors. Hope began to wane, replaced by resignation and acceptance.

You had grown accustomed to the silence. Deep down, you still held onto the belief that someday, somehow, Jeonghan would reach out to you, that your paths would cross once again, and the silence would be broken by the sound of his voice.

--- end of flashback ----

You listened to Jeonghan, "You thought I was cheating on you."

"But believe it or not," he continued, his voice softening with sincerity, "I always talked about you to my friends. You were always on my mind, your name constantly on the tip of my tongue. I made sure everyone knew you were my girlfriend."

In the depths of his soul, you were the epitome of beauty, a vision of grace and elegance that captivated his heart from the moment he laid eyes on you. Despite the distance that separated the two of you, he made it his mission to ensure that the world knew you were his, that you were loved beyond measure.

For Yoon Jeonghan, you were not just a fleeting fancy or a passing infatuation, but the anchor that kept him grounded in a sea of uncertainty.

You struggled to recall so many details of your shared past. But despite the fog that clouded your mind, he made sure you knew one thing with absolute certainty – you had spent seventy three years of love with this person.

To you, it felt like a lifetime.

"When did you come back?" You asked, drowsy.

November 15, 1950 — Boston, Masachussets

The bell rang, a familiar sound echoing through the halls of the prestigious private middle school, signaling the end of another day of classes. With a sigh of relief, you gathered your belongings as you made your way towards the exit.

The halls were bustling with activity as students hurried to their lockers, chatting excitedly about plans for the upcoming weekend.

However, the dreary sight of raindrops pelting against the glass windows dismayed you. The once sunny skies had transformed into a gloomy expanse, the sound of thunder echoing in the distance.

To make matters worse, you realized with a sinking feeling that you hadn't brought your car along. Just when you needed it the most, the weather took a turn.

"Miss Park, someone named Yoon Jeonghan is looking for you."

A chill ran down your spine as your colleague uttered his name. It was a name that once held so much significance, evoking memories of love, shared dreams, and whispered promises. But now, it sent a wave of uncertainty crashing over you.

Your body tensed as you processed the information, the mere mention of his name causing your heart to ache. You proceeded to the to clock out, each step weighed down by a mixture of trepidation.

There he was, sitting on one of the benches just outside the main exit.

The pain in your heart is excruciating. It's unbearable.

You had finally found peace in letting go, in moving forward without him by your side. But now, his unexpected return threatens to upend the fragile balance you've worked so hard to achieve, just when you've come to accept everything.

Jeonghan came back, but at what cost?

"I am so sorry, sweetheart." He approached you, and those were the first words he stated. You felt a knot form in your stomach as you looked into his eyes, searching for answers, for a glimpse of the man you used to know.

Was it really that easy to go back to how things were after he left you hanging for a year without a word? It wasn't just about forgiving him, but confronting the unresolved feelings and unanswered questions that had haunted you for so long.

You knew deep down that you couldn't jump to conclusions without first hearing his side of the story. After all, you hadn't walked in his shoes or experienced firsthand whatever trials he had faced during his time in England. It wouldn't be fair to assume the worst without giving him the chance to explain himself.

But even as you grappled with your own doubts and insecurities, a part of you longed for answers, for closure, for the opportunity to lay bare the raw emotions that had festered in your heart during his absence.

The weight on your chest felt suffocating, and a dull ache began to throb in your throat as tears threatened to spill from your blurry eyes. It felt as though the weight of the world was bearing down on you.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, to suppress the rising tide of tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, but it was futile. The emotions pent up inside you demanded release.

And so, you walked on, the rain pouring down with increasing intensity, drenching you to the bone. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the burden of your emotions and the relentless downpour that seemed to mirror the turmoil within your soul.

There was nowhere to go, no destination to seek refuge from the storm raging both inside and out. You could have hailed a taxi, sought shelter in the warmth and comfort of your home, but something held you back.

You allowed your tears to fall freely, merging with the rain cascading down upon you. Each droplet was a testament to the pain and sorrow that weighed heavily on your heart.

"There is nothing to apologize for." You came in defense. Each recollection of those desperate moments, waiting for a letter that never came, stabbed at your heart like a dagger, reopening wounds you had thought had long since healed.

Once again, his touch enveloped both of your arms, but this time, it lacked the warmth and reassurance you once knew so well. His eyes, once bright with joy, now mirrored deep sadness and melancholy.

"The years that I was gone, shouldn't that be something that I need to apologize to you for?"

His thumb brushed away the tears that stained your cheeks, "Hear me out, please, darling?"

Your heart fluttered at his endearment, the familiar term of affection stirring emotions long buried beneath the surface. It had been so long since you had heard those words from him.

You missed it.

"School has been demanding lately," he confessed, his voice laced with regret. "I hardly could find time to write to you."

You whispered, "I know, you told me that in one of your letters."

He nodded in response, a weary sigh escaping his lips, and you could feel the weight of exhaustion radiating from him. You could see the fatigue etched into the lines of his face, the weariness in his eyes that spoke volumes of the pressure he was under. It was evident that school had been taking its toll on him, demanding every ounce of his energy and focus.

"And this, my love, I never told you…"

"My scholarship almost got revoked because I was involved in a fight."

He added, "That one guy in my football team…"

"You also wrote that in your letter, sweetheart." You replied.

He breathed heavily, the weight of his fatigue evident in the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath. As he pulled you close, you could feel the tension in his muscles. His arms wrapped around you with a desperate strength, seeking solace and support in your embrace. And then, he buried his face against your shoulder.

"Life is so difficult without you." Jeonghan uttered a wistful response.

You stood together in the midst of the downpour, raindrops cascading around you like a curtain of silver threads. Your clothes clung to your skin, drenched from the relentless deluge, but neither of you paid it any mind. All Jeonghan wanted was for you to hold him tight, to drive his fears away, and to be with him.

He gazed into your eyes, and then, without a word, his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. It was a gesture you had both yearned for.

As his lips captured yours, you melted into the kiss, the world around you fading into insignificance. With a soft sigh, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, longing to feel every part of him pressed against you.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you.

"Oh darling, I missed you so much," Jeonghan whispered, his voice filled with longing and sincerity. His arms tightened around you, as if afraid to let you go, as if trying to make up for all the time you had been apart.

"Please, don't ever leave me again." You implored, voice carrying the weight of your vulnerabilities.

He paused, interrupting the moment, "I won't."

"Because I'm taking you with me."

His hand delved into his pocket to retrieve a small, intricately decorated box. Your breath caught in your throat as he opened it, revealing a ring nestled within the cushions of the box. In that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. Everything suddenly became clear, as if the universe had been guiding you towards this moment all along.

"My darling, Amelia. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Let's do life together."

"You know that it would always be a million times yes, Jeonghan."

---- end of flashback ----

"Oh my god." You whispered, a frail smile forming on your lips. It was as though you were reading a novel. With bated breath, you hung on to every detail, feeling the warmth of his voice wrap around you like a comforting blanket. "She must have had the best life with you."

"She did, darling. You had the best life with me."

The scene he described was so vivid, yet, you felt like a bystander in your own story, unable to grasp the memories that Jeonghan so fondly reminisced. It was as if his words belonged to another lifetime, another version of yourself that you could no longer access. You strained to remember the moments he shared, but they remained elusive.

"And then...what happened?" Keeping your eyes open proved to be challenging, and each breath felt like a burden, despite the equipment tethered to you.

"I married you, Amelia."

"Come again?"

"We're married for 73 years."

You found it difficult to keep pace with the man's words, each syllable feeling like a foreign language to your confused mind, as if your mind had been reset and you couldn't comprehend why. You searched his face, desperately seeking familiarity. Unfortunately, he was a person that your mind couldn't recognize.

"I'm sorry, what's your name?"

Jeonghan's patience was unwavering, a steadfast presence amidst the chaos of your fading consciousness. Each day seemed to chip away at the fragments of your memories, leaving behind a hollow shell of the person you once were. It was a heartbreaking ordeal for him to witness, like watching a beautiful painting slowly fade into obscurity.

You found yourself lost in a disorienting haze, where time seemed to ebb and flow like the tide. People and places blurred together in a jumble of indistinct shapes and sounds. It was a harrowing experience, to feel every part of you slowly succumbing to the relentless march of time. Memories faded into oblivion, leaving behind an empty void one could no longer fill.

"Yoon Jeonghan. You're my wife, and I'm your husband." He whispered softly, his voice laced with a mix of tenderness and longing.

"Did we have children?" You asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"We have three. Two girls and one boy," he replied, his words carrying a weight of reminiscence. "You have eight grandchildren, as well."

Jeonghan added with a smile, "We promised that we'd finish college first before starting a family."

March 7, 1953 — Portofino, Italy

"Good morning, sweetheart." A faint whisper tickled your ear, and then, almost instinctively, you felt the embrace of Jeonghan's strong arms wrapping around you from behind.

Immediately, you shifted, turning to face him and melting into his embrace. His bare chest pressed against your own, the warmth of his skin radiating against you. You buried your face against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, letting it wash over you like a wave of tranquility.

You felt the tender press of Jeonghan's lips against your forehead, a gentle caress that sent ripples of warmth cascading through your weary body. Despite the early morning light filtering through the curtains, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. Time itself had slowed to a standstill, allowing you to bask in the serenity of this intimate moment with him.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan savored the precious seconds ticking by, cherishing every fleeting instant he had with you, his heart swelling with love as he traced the contours of your face with his gaze. In the quiet of the room, he allowed himself to be fully present in this moment, indulging the joy of holding you close.

Unable to resist any longer, he found himself captivated by your beauty, his gaze lingering on your naked form. Every curve, every line of your body seemed to radiate with an otherworldly glow, sending him into constant euphoria.

He reached out to caress your cheek, his touch feather-light against your skin as he leaned in, his lips seeking yours in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a slow, deliberate gesture, a silent plea for you to awaken from your slumber.

You moaned softly, your voice a whisper in the dimly lit room, but you knew you had to stop him. "Mmm, I'm afraid I don't have it in me for another go, darling. I'm sore from last night, and it's because of you."

Jeonghan chuckled, "I can see how you rather reveled in last night's affair."

"Anything for you, sweetheart." He added, a proud look painted on his face.

In the comfort of your new home, nestled snugly beside your husband and the whispering ocean, you find yourself waking to the sight beyond the right window. There, you awaken to the serene expanse of the sea, tranquil and unyielding in its beauty.

Amidst the tender beginnings of your marriage, a dream materialized into reality as you and your husband diligently saved for this cherished abode, knowing all too well of your deep affection for the ocean.

"Thank you for this, Jeonghan. I just love the ocean so much."

"And I love you most, Amelia."

December 29, 1953 — Portofino, Italy

In the moments of your firstborn's arrival just a week prior, every ounce of fatigue and every sleepless night seemed a small price to pay for the tender care your child demanded. The longing to return to your profession, to teach and impart knowledge, nags on you incessantly.

Yet, despite your decision, Jeonghan, your husband, insisted that you take the time to rest and recuperate.

As you stirred in the early hours of the morning, your fingertips brushed against the cold, empty space where your husband had lain just hours before. Heavy with sleep, your eyelids resisted the call to wakefulness, clinging stubbornly to the remnants of slumber. The night enveloped the room in a profound silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the rhythmic cadence of your own breathing.

Your gaze wandered towards the bassinet where your newborn daughter usually slept until your eyes fell upon the familiar sight of Jeonghan.

Drawing closer, the soft glow of moonlight revealed the silhouette of your husband, his figure bathed in a gentle luminescence as he sat in his usual spot. His arms enveloped your daughter, cocooning her in a protective embrace, while the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest mirrored the steady beat of his heart.

Jeonghan's gaze met yours, his eyes alight with warmth and affection. A soft smile graced his lips, tender and reassuring, and he continued to cradle your daughter in his arms. With gentle motions, he coaxed her into the peaceful embrace of slumber, the rhythmic swaying of his movements lulling her.

"Sweetheart," you called your husband.

"Hm?"

Your desire to return to work intensifies with each passing day, a persistent tug at the core of your being. You feel confident in your ability to manage yourself effectively during your maternity leave. Driven by a desire to reclaim your productivity, you are resolute in your decision to return to teaching.

"What if I told you that I want to return to work after the holidays?" As the words left your lips, Jeonghan's brow furrowed in contemplation. His mind raced, mapping out potential schedules and arrangements to ensure the well-being of your little one while the both of you were at work. "I want to provide more for our child."

He muttered, "Let's discuss that first thing in the morning. But for now, get some rest, darling. I'll tend to our daughter." He held your child as if she were the most precious and fragile thing in the world.

---- end of flashback ----

Jeonghan's heart breaks at the sight of your weakened state. Despite the weight of the world bearing down upon your chest, you fought to catch your breath, clinging to his words as if they were the very air you needed to survive.

With each passing moment, the urgency to spend this precious time with Jeonghan swelled within you, a desperate longing to imprint his presence upon your heart. Every word that fell from his lips wove a tapestry of cherished memories, a mosaic of everything you held dear in life.

"Did you know that we used to dance together as soon as the sun sets?"

You shook your head, unable to recall. But you found yourself more than eager to hear what he had up his sleeve, to replay the episode when the two of you were dancing amidst the golden rays of the sun, somewhere near home.

"Can I dance with you?" You asked Jeonghan, your heart yearning for the familiar rhythm of movement, but he hesitated, reluctance evident in his eyes as he glanced at your fragile state.

Just as the moment hung in delicate balance, Nurse Kim entered, her presence a timely interruption to the silent exchange between you and your husband. With a compassionate gaze, she inquired about how she could be of assistance to both of you.

"I'll do the best that I can, Mr. Yoon."

Nurse Kim swiftly removed the blankets covering your abdomen, and with care, she supported your head and back, ensuring that your position posed no risk. She then lifted you from the bed, each movement was slow and steady. She held onto you until your husband was able to reach out, allowing you to be securely wrapped around his arms.

How he yearned for your touch, his heart soaring to the heavens at the mere thought of holding you close once more in his arms.

Jeonghan whispered, "Rest your head on my chest, my love."

February 14, 1954 — Los Angeles, California

Valentine's Day held a mundane charm in your world, for your husband had a remarkable way of weaving romance into the fabric of everyday life, rendering every moment akin to that celebrated day.

As the afternoon waned, the gentle melody of the day was interrupted by the sound of the front door creaking open. There stood your husband, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he concealed a bouquet of flowers behind his back.

He approached you slowly, each step deliberate, and gave you this large bouquet of red roses, "Beautiful flowers for the most beautiful woman."

Being married to Jeonghan felt like stepping into the shoes of a protagonist in a romantic movie. Every moment with him was like a scene straight out of a love story, where he effortlessly embodied everything you had ever dreamed of in a partner.

He proceeded to take a gentle look at your firstborn daughter, who was in slumber, nestled peacefully in her bassinet, her tiny chest rising and falling with each serene breath.

Once again, it was the golden hour, with the sun's rays breaking through the kitchen windows, casting warm, honeyed hues across the room.

Jeonghan beckoned you into his arms, enveloping you in a tight embrace as the music from the radio filled the air. Together, you both swayed gently, lost in the moment, as if time itself had paused to savor the sweetness of your love. His hand rested firmly on the small of your back, the other one holding your right hand.

You softly rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to be enveloped by the warmth of his love. In that tranquil moment, every worry, every fear melted away, leaving only the profound sense of security that came from being held in the arms of someone who cherished you unconditionally. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed in your ears, a comforting lullaby that eased your troubled mind and filled you with peace.

It was only you and Jeonghan, lost in each other's arms as you slow danced the golden hour into twilight.

But in your dreams whatever they be Dream a little dream of me

---- end of flashback ----

In the present moment, you found yourself caught in a slow dance with someone whose features blurred in the haze of memory. Though Jeonghan's face was no longer clear in your mind, you knew he had been a significant part of your life. And as you moved together, guided by the melody of the music, you couldn't help but wonder about the chapters of your life that had slipped from your grasp, lost in the passage of time.

His touch and embrace felt achingly familiar, like pieces of a puzzle that once fit perfectly together but had since been scattered by the winds of time. Though you couldn't recall the specifics of your marriage, there was an undeniable resonance in the way he held you. In that fleeting moment, you were certain that this dance held echoes of a love story you had lived and breathed before, a love that had ignited your soul and left an indelible mark on your heart.

You knew, deep within your heart, that this man had loved you beyond measure. It was evident in the way his eyes softened as he recounted shared memories, in the tremor of his voice as he spoke your name.

A wave of exhaustion washed over you, your breaths growing shallow. In the stillness of the moment, you couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of fading, of slipping away from someone who stayed with you for a lifetime. It was a heart-wrenching realization, knowing that even the deepest love couldn't protect you from the flux of time.

You mustered the strength to caress his chest, your touch so weak. In that fleeting moment, his name danced on the edge of your consciousness, a whisper from the past that stirred the depths of your soul.

"Jeonghan..."

He looked at you with eyes filled with love and sadness, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face as he gazed down at you. Your head rested against his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, while your arms clung to him.

Despite the palpable frailty, he remained by your side, a steadfast presence in the midst of your struggle.

Tears gathered in Jeonghan's eyes. Each shimmering droplet mirrored the ache in his heart, a silent testament to the depth of his love and the agony of impending separation. With every breath, he struggled to contain the tempest of emotions raging within him, knowing all too well that the time had come for you to leave.

With all the remaining strength coursing through your weary body, you summoned every last bit of resolve to convey the depths of your love to him before drifting into the peaceful embrace of eternal slumber. Each word felt like a laborious effort, but the urgency of your heart spurred you on.

Jeonghan was more than just your husband; he was your confidant, your best friend, and, above all else, the love of your life.

"I love you." You whispered, the weight of those words heavy with the finality of goodbye. It echoed the solemn promise you both made at the altar, in the hallowed presence of God, to love him until death parted you. For the last time, you declared your love to your husband.

As you felt yourself fading away from the world, you realized that you were leaving life behind. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the anguished sobbing of another person, but you couldn't quite locate where they were.

Slowly, the grip of the person holding you began to loosen, their touch growing fainter with each passing second.

Through blurred vision, clouded by tears cascading down his cheeks, Jeonghan saw you resting peacefully in his embrace. Your lifeless body remained cradled in his arms, the pallor of your skin stark against the backdrop of his trembling form. You appeared as if in tranquil repose after a lifetime of adventures.

He was aware of the exhaustion, the countless machines tethered to your frail form in a desperate attempt to sustain your dwindling vitality. In the midst of the medical apparatus, he couldn't help but wonder if their purpose was to prolong your life or merely to delay the inevitable death.

And as Jeonghan held you close, he found solace in the knowledge that you were finally at peace, free from the pain and suffering that had plagued you.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly since the moment you fell in love with each other, yet it passed by in the blink of an eye. The world moved slowly, but time raced by at an unfathomable pace.

Not once did he ever regret loving you. Despite the imperfections that marred your relationship and the hurdles you both had to overcome, Jeonghan never wavered in his love for you. He knew that you had felt his love and presence throughout the years.

He loved you not only in the right way, but in every way you needed and desired.

With a heavy heart, Jeonghan whispered words of farewell, pressing a final kiss on your forehead, "I love you most, my darling Amelia."

"Rest easy, my love."

---- end ----

author's note: hello, everyone! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it. this is the first time i've written some heavy angst here, and as much as i enjoy writing smut, i'm really a big sucker for angst.

this tugged my heartstrings so bad. (brb, sobbing)

send an ask and let me know what you think!

[sozila]

chiaroscuro. (nanami x reader)

synopsis: as a princess, you had a duty to the country. to knight kento nanami, you simply were his everything.

pairing: personal knight!kento nanami x princess!fem reader.

warnings: 18+, mdni. eventual sexual descriptions.

masterlist | previous | next

you are on: realization. part one of three

a/n:

hello lovelies 🩷 i was watching my lady jane and immediately had an urge to write this, so here’s a knight nanami moment for you guys :) it’ll just be three parts, like a longer drabble if you will. enjoy!!

realization. (part one)

“princess, we really must make haste.”

the hydrangeas you were admiring were no longer sunlit with the long figured shadow cast behind you. you hum absently and continue down the ivy-stone pathway, your cream heels clicking softly. 

“another five minutes will not kill my father, kento.”

knight kento nanami had to hold back a sigh. he knew better than to believe you would simply do what you were royally asked of. granted he would never dare to oppose your highness, sometimes he wished he could advise you away from the uphill battle approach you so loved to choose. it was a bit of mental torture for the young man to silently bear witness as you pleased with no fear of consequence. despite it all, he admired your courage and resilience. you were a very tough woman with a strong heart. compassion that grew for miles and miles, you simply amazed him. that kind of care was rare in this world.

you couldn’t hear the man following behind you, but you developed a sense of knowing he was always there. my loyal shadow, you’d tease him. your nimble hands brush by the soft petals and leaves of the flowers as you take in the same gardens you’ve been seeing— no, binded to, since your birth. 

“a divine princess does not go on outings whenever she pleases!” your governess snapped, slapping her cold cane on your tiny wrists. hot tears welled in the corners of your eyes. “princesses do not show weakness, either,” she huffed and shakes her head at the sight of you as if you were some reckless, hair-brained animal. the memories of your early schooling were rarely pleasant ones. any and all curiosity you had was intended to be stomped out, replaced with knowledge about ballroom dance, fashion history, etiquette. these were the makings of a good, silent wife in the future, best for political marriage union. however, you were not an easy soul to shatter. if anything, the treatment encouraged you tenfold.

you come to a halt at a fully bloomed gardenia bush, dropping your head to inhale the spicy aroma. ironic. its alabaster skin symbolized purity, innocence, refinery— but smelled like pure freedom and rebellion to you. a smile graces your pristine face, head tilted to give your knight a cheeky side eye. 

“alright then kento, let us see to what father dearest requires of me.”

when you reach the king’s gentleman’s room, your father stands with two men you hadn’t seen before. one looked older than your father and the other rather youthful. platinum white hair caught your attention first, but were soon replace with his unusual eyes. they were the sharpest arctic blue you’ve ever seen in your life. they felt.. cold. unwelcome. you notice kento settle at the corner of the room to stand guard out of the corner of your eye, a silent spectator. 

“ah! come come, daughter. meet his royal highness king masako gojo and his son, prince satoru gojo.” 

your face blanches. sharp ringing infiltrating your ears and you couldn’t grasp anything anymore. you knew what was occurring in this very moment. 

like clockwork, you curtsy and bow to both nobles. the older king simpers, nodding in approval. “a quiet and obedient one. this alliance will go swimmingly,” he chortles and slaps the prince’s back, giving a whisper you didn’t miss. “easier when they don’t speak, eh?” his joke falls flat as the young man seemed heavily disinterested in taking part in his father’s misogynistic capers. 

kento’s jaw ticks, the grip on his sword handle tightening as he fought back the urge to beat the old man to a pulp.

the words didn’t miss your hearing. nose held high, you flash an icy smile and clasp your hands together to keep from slapping the ever-loving sense out of the greasy monarch yourself.

“quite the contrary, your highness. i just don’t interest myself in speaking to puny-minded individuals.”

a low chuckle was quickly masked with a couple coughs from the prince, while king masako’s face sported a blotchy red out of anger and embarrassment.

you father’s eyes flashed with harsh warning at you. your antics were borderline detonating and were no longer found trivial and silly by him. this was the future of the nation at stake, alongside securing your prosperity. he plasters a nervous smile on his face and continues despite your outward rudeness.

“i deeply apologize for my daughter’s behavior- she simply has a sharp tongue. dearest, you are to acquaintance yourself with the prince the next three months for it has been decided you shall marry to bring our kingdoms together in harmony. you should treat them with the utmost respect.” you scoff. how grand of your own kin taking the outsider’s side rather than defend your honor. the anger within you boils. “and when was this decided?” you say with a raised brow. your father looks a little exasperated. 

king masako grins his greasy smile once more and steps forward to meet your eye, looking down on you. “didn’t you know? this has been arranged since your birth.. and my son’s.” 

your blood runs cold. you knew that you were to be wed and that it was your purpose as this country’s princess, but to know you were just a prize pig? your whole life? and not a soul told you that you were promised from the beginning. you feel your mother’s absence in your childhood, your father’s transactional love. all pieces to the puzzle that finally clicked for you— you’re just a pawn.

you slam your palms on the oak table. “i am not getting married unless it is my will to do so,” you seethe at the men. prince’s lips quirk up at your boldness. how curious.

kento brows scrunch in concern as to how this will play out for you. you father doesn’t mask his rage this time around. “who said anyone will abide your will? you forget your place,” he shouts at you like you’re an insolent child. “no, YOU forget that i am crown princess of this nation and i can very well be the reason it burns to the ground!” you scream back with equal fervor. “you undeserving wench! get out of my sight. get out!!” your father’s voice shakes with intensity and angry tears threaten to spill but you refuse to let them see you weak. 

kento’s resolve wavers when he hears the nasty insult come from the king’s mouth. you, a wench? he hasn’t known his daughter a day in his life. kento, however, spent nearly every waking moment observing you, protecting you. he knew your mannerism and habits, what you wore and what you liked or disliked. he knew you liked reading history books and devouring sweet peach tarts. he knew your allergies kicked up when your room was freshly cleaned. he knew you dreamed and raved about wanting more than the closed life you lived, to travel and see the world, and then maybe, just maybe, settle into a small cottage farm with a garden you curated for yourself. more than anything, he knew you were the farthest thing from a wench. what a wretched word. he wanted to demand your father apologize, but that would be a most highest treason to oppose the king in such a manner. especially as a ranked personal knight. he holds back for your sake. 

your head snaps to the prince. “i would rather die before the chance you and i shall wed,” you spit at him before you march out of the room, kento in tow. as kento exits, you slam the crested door with finality. your heels carry you before you realize it and you’re running down the halls, dress flowing and eyes blurry. maids walking by look at you and whisper, a butler trying to stop you and ask if you are alright but you brush by, his efforts in vain. once you reach your room, kento begins to follow and you stop him, looking up with shiny eyes. “please leave me be, kento,” you whisper, tears trickling down silently. 

kento feels his heart squeeze painfully at the sight. he hated seeing you upset. it would take the most evil person in world to reduce you to such anguish and your father was just that. he wanted to comfort you, to selfishly hold you close and whisper sweet nothings to you as you cried your heart out. but he knew that that was his guilty want, and you wished to feel through this pain by yourself. hesitantly, he nods and steps back. you close the door and immediately crumple to the floor, your body wracked with sobs. you felt so alone and insignificant. 

in this moment, kento could do nothing but helplessly listen to you. 

you eventually cried yourself to tiredness. you fell asleep with dried tears stained on your cheeks, draped over your footboard bench in an odd angle. kento had turned away all servants at your door, but took a plate of tarts and water on a tray. he waited for the halls to empty, the night soon befalling. 

he quietly opened your door with tray in hand, walking in as stealthy as he usually carries himself. the moonlight shone from the large windows of your balcony onto your slumped figure. you looked positively ethereal. the remnants of your grief didn’t hinder your natural beauty. kento felt dirty to admit you almost looked beautiful with tears painted on your glass skin. he brushed the thoughts from his mind and set the tray down on your table. 

he wasn’t allowed to be in your quarters at this distance but he couldn’t bear not making sure you were alright. a breeze from the open windows blows in gently and he catches you shiver. he thinks for a moment and eventually decides to just do it — he carefully picks you up from the floor to put you snugly in to your bed. this action causes you to awake slightly. you stir, rubbing your eyes. kento looks down at you in his arms in surprise. you looked like a soft pretty lamb, he thought. 

“kento..? where.. where am i?” he walks around the bed to lay you down carefully, standing beside you. “your room, princess. you came in yourself, remember?” the memories of the day flooded back to touch and your expression turns grim. “ah.. yes. i’m so sorry you had to come in and take care of me.” kento shakes his hand dismissing your worry. “nonsense. this is my duty as your protector.” you offer a small smile despite your low feelings. “it is greatly appreciated.” 

silence falls between the two of you. kento is looking at you with deep thought- he’s trying to formulate his message in a way that wouldn’t be overstepping of him, but— 

“i want to run away.” 

“what?!”

i'm so sorry if this feels abrupt :( since this is going to be three parts i had to split it at equal lengths in events </3 but!! do not fret!!! the next two will be up shortly to make up for it ;) peace luv bathtub!

© sozila 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posts on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[tanadrin]

i too am angry with every political party with a realistic chance of winning any seats in my country, ranging from mostly single-issue fury at some to the rich bouquet of multi-issue rage directed at others. i too wish i lived in a place where politicians competently addressed the problem of a surging far-right, and didn't instead try to woo their voters by borrowing a few only moderately ghoulish policies for themselves. i too live in a place where the head of government has a dismal approval rating and the next election is going to be a bloodbath. i too long one day to live in a world where the sunlit uplands i have dreamed of since my youth feel like they just might be within our grasp.

[scienter]

My Reaction to Wind and Truth Chapters 21 & 22:

Chapter 21:

Sigzil did his best to pretend he was Kaladin.

Oh, no. I read every Sigzil scene with a sense of foreboding after The Sunlit Man.

Bridge Four was the only place I ever felt like a person rather than an accident, he thought. But without Kaladin, Rock, Teft, Moash… was it really Bridge Four anymore?

I wonder if the comradery of Bridge Four prevented Sigzil from realizing sooner that he was a better fit for the Skybreakers than the Windrunners?

“The Nightwatcher came from the Night, as the Stormfather came from the Wind. Though, when I was young, the Wind was different. So very different.” “Some six thousand years ago, when the Stones wanted a legacy in the form of a child of Honor and Cultivation. Back when Bondsmiths bonded not to spren, but to the ancient forces, left by gods.”

So the Bondsmith's bonds went like this:

Wind -> Stormfather

Stone -> Sibling

Night -> Nightwatcher

And then the Night left and the Wind specifically asked for Kaladin's help. 🤔

Something about those timelines itched at Jasnah. Something that made her want to gather the other Veristitalians and set them to work, searching for primary sources. 

You and me both, Jasnah.

This is me right now:

“If you were to Connect to it in the right way, you would ascend to Honor’s position. Then all the ambient power of the world would be part of you. You’d need to find a way to persuade the power to accept you.”

Hmm, this makes me think that Ascending will not be as easy or simple as Dalinar thinks. Remember how Kelsier found it difficult to connect with Preservation because he spent so much of his life killing/destroying? I wonder if Dalinar’s previous connection to Odium will make it difficult for him to connect with Honor too. And if Dalinar’s attempt is successful, will his Ascension be temporary like Kelsier’s or permanent like Sazed’s?

Perhaps he will stop the war entirely if we give him accommodations.” She didn’t look at Wit. “What if we let him leave?” “What is right,” she said, “is not so easy as swearing an oath, Uncle. It’s about what brings the greatest good to the most people—and sometimes that requires making difficult decisions.”

I know people have speculated that Adolin will be Odium’s champion*, but could Jasnah switch sides believing that getting Odium off-world is the best way to help the people of Roshar? God, I hope not.

*The Adolin will be Odium's champion is a solid theory given his anger at Dalinar. But is Adolin's anger enough motivation to switch sides?

Chapter 22:

“I’d have thought,” Szeth said as Syl zipped past in the other direction, “that she would find this place dull. Wouldn’t it be less fun to inspect plants that do not respond?” “Syl loves novelty,” Kaladin said.

You love the novelty of it too, Kaladin. You’re just as amazed by these brave plants as she is.

Can Kaladin retire to Shinovar when this is all over?

“I trust Dalinar because I must,” Szeth continued. “So I am not allowed to resent you. Nevertheless, do not assume I will endure you trying to ‘save’ me, Kaladin Stormblessed. Not all beneath your judging gaze are in need of your protection. Keep your attention on finding the Herald.”

Okay. So basically we're getting the Cosmere version of this:

“One of the Unmade is here,” Szeth said. “Awakened years before you became a Radiant, before the first oaths were sworn. My people have embraced it for some reason, and welcomed in its darkness and its manipulations.” “How can you be sure it’s an Unmade?” Kaladin said. “It took Dalinar ages to recognize the Thrill as an Unmade.” “Because,” Szeth said, “before my exile, I met it.” He paused for an instant. “It began during my youth. With… a rock.”

Ohhhh. So Szeth’s status as “truthless” was related to one of the Unmade? And is the Unmade the reason the Wind asked for Kaladin’s help?  

I heard you discussing Honor’s power, the Stormfather thundered. Why, Dalinar? Must you think so highly of yourself? You’re ruining everything!

Why would Dalinar Ascending ruin everything?

“Is it possible for me to take up Honor?” Dalinar demanded. No. “Wit says otherwise.” Wit is a liar.

Okay, so why does the Stormfather think Dalinar can’t take up Honor? Does he think he’s not connected enough with the Shard’s Intent?

This is not for you to seek or decide. The power cannot go to one who wants it, Dalinar. “You said it was impossible earlier,” Dalinar said. Impossible the way you want it to happen. “And Cultivation, who brought this plan to me in the first place?” Traitor. She should know the implausibility of what she suggests. “So which is it, Stormfather?” Dalinar demanded. “Is it impossible, or merely implausible? Is it wrong, or is it the only way to unite people, as I’ve been trying all along?” It… This is not my plan.

So is the Stormfather discouraging Dalinar from trying to take up the Shard of Honor because it’s impossible/implausible to take up a shard you want or because it’s not part of his plan?

“Your plan?” Dalinar pushed. “I thought this was Honor’s plan. You said he charged you to find people for the visions—so they could prepare for the coming dangers. You’re filling a role, just like me.” You have no idea what you’re talking about.

We know that Tanavast's cognitive shadow merged with the Stormfather after his death. Is Tanavast or his cognitive shadow the one who doesn’t want Dalinar to take up the Shard of Honor?

Because right now, the Stormfather's push back feels like this:

Maybe. But… they are not reliable anymore, are they? Time has broken them… I’ve broken them. He looked back at Dalinar. I cannot say if the power would accept someone like you as a host, after what happened with Tanavast. “And what happened with Tanavast?” Dalinar said. It’s… worse than I told you, Dalinar.

What the fuck happened!? Did Tanavast break his Oaths? Why wouldn’t the Shard accept Dalinar as a vessel after what happened with Tanavast? 🤔

“So you lied.” Yes. Does that surprise you? Anger you?

Of course, the Stormfather lied. He's been evasive throughout the series.

These two chapters are a lot to think about. 😵‍💫

[searchingforserendipity25]

The Sculpture of Coast

Maglor drifts ashore one mist-dark morning. 

Nerdanel finds him only by accident. Limestone had been her heart’s desire, not a son; she nearly trips on him, nearly goes around the narrow passage of tall rocks. 

The cove is full of little lives, mollusks and sand-ants and meaty sea-urchins; a peaceful place, and good. 

A seastar clings to the tangled tresses of his hair, pulsing gently Her son looks unnervingly well-made to it - a piece of castaway waste amidst the shallow tide-road of a deep pool, limbs rising and swaying with the movement of the water.

She reaches her hand to the glimmering green water and the trailing white foam to reach him, and touches only sun-warm sand.  

He blinks at her with pearlescent eyes, and she sees his hair too is seaweed, and the sea-star part of him - his eyes black and gleaming as worn black conch-shells.

His skin is the water, the sunlit water and the shifting shadows underneath the surface. Storm-tossed, he has made his way back to Western shores, but not to touch them - Nerdanel can see, too, glimpses of charred driftwood bark that were his hands. In this way the songs are true, as she has long suspected.

She thinks, for a moment, that this can be no good way to be, for the sea always bitter, and storms in Aman are fierce. His breathing swells and eases with the current.

His mouth opens, and a sound of the sea speaks - 

Water pushes against her knees, salt sprays the hem of her apron in distress. Small whirlwinds gather around the highest rocks - sargasso and char and shadow shift, fearful, displeased.

No violence at the last - what little satisfaction that is! - but a great strangeness in the mind that spills out, unbound, over the waters and the wind.

She cannot tell if he recognizes her. It does not, all in all, make a great difference. 

‘Never mind,’ Nerdanel says curtly.  ‘Stay as you are, you lost thing. I am on my way only, and you are not what I seek.’ 

Her voice in the wash of the waves is softener than she likes it to be, but she has always known how to quiet her fretting children, in their youth at least. This one, the last, is ancient; it makes little difference.

She touches a tangled curl of damp, purpling sargasso. Only once; briefly.

The narrow path grows narrower still in the gloam. Nerdanel’s feet remain steady, too wise to hurry and dare a fall. By true evening she is back in her tent, making notation of the ancient age of the rocks: their ingrained fossils and coral husks, their dead matter.

Tilion, her old friend, rises to his own work, alights upon her maps generously, sweeps the tide and all its wrecks away.

Perhaps he is there, still, the lost thing - a spirit in the water, or a pile of bones unearthed by the low tide.

Nerdanel does not turn back, and does not return. She has measured all the stone in miles, and found no good place for a quarry.

[sanders1665]

The scenery shifts along this endless road—sometimes with amazement and awe, sometimes a gentle reassurance, and other times with boring predictability.

We pick up fellow travelers, some staying long enough to share the silence, others mere blurs in passing, fleeting interludes and unfinished stories, their crafted personas and rehearsed smiles a mirror to our own quiet lamentations.

Still, we carry on, seeking that elusive haven by the roadside, a place to finally call home. We keep our doors locked from the outside, whispering lullabies of conquest and mourning the weight of our failures.

Our eyes once burned with a youthful glow, but now they only glimmer faintly, caught in the sunlit sparkle of tears. Yet we endeavor to stand tall, like the mountains we climb—only to tumble at the summit, rising once more to face the next peak.

The luster fades slowly, as days stretch longer, their minutes heavy with unspoken thoughts. We flirt with the notion of an ending, a final stop on this winding path. But then, a fellow traveler takes the wheel, and we move forward again, guided by shared momentum, our quiet resolve unbroken.

[mononijikayu]

4 o' clock.

Gojo Genmei thinks Satoru is always right when he says that loving people can be a curse. In these past ten years, in their hearts and minds, they were the biggest prisoners. The biggest prisoners to loving the past. To mourning the past. To wanting the past. Yet Gojo Genmei does not mind. She would not be able to live without it, being haunted by the ghosts. She wanted Kaiko to haunt her, for father to find his way into her arms again. For Suguru to smile at her tenderly again.

GENRE: pre - hidden inventory arc to shibuya arc (1990s to 2010s);

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: 4 o' clock by r&v of bts

NOTE: when i first wrote this, i just thought about describing what genmei and suguru's relationship was like but i feel like there was a need to show how it was. also, i needed to write jealous satoru. i like the idea that he's jealous of anyone who comes into contact with genmei. anyway, i hope you enjoy this one <333

masterlist

u s and t h e m

IT WAS QUITE RARE FOR HIM TO VISIT HER IN HER SLUMBER. But she must suppose that he has his moments. In the realm of slumber, Genmei dances with dreams more vivid than most mortals dare to embrace, yet she finds no solace in this nocturnal ballet.

The musings in her mind unfurl like ephemeral tapestries, each thread pulsating with life, beckoning her to reach out and caress the intangible. But dreams, enchanting though they may be, remain elusive phantoms, slipping through the fingers of even the most ardent dreamer.

She contemplates the tears she could shed, should she vocalize the kaleidoscope within her, a million frames of moments she believed time had buried. They resonate with vibrancy, innocence, and the lingering echoes of a youth long eclipsed by the relentless march of time. One cannot simply avoid it, being so sentimental about a past already dried, long written by hands no longer here to hold her own. Gojo Genmei couldn’t help it, she could never help it when it comes to him. She’s no better than Satoru in that regard. 

In the tapestry of her memories, she revisits a scene painted with the hues of a summer's day—the deep, sharp gaze of a companion, the sturdy frame against which she nestled, and the warmth of shared breath beneath their tree. A fleeting moment etched in the canvas of her past, where innocence and hope intertwined like vines in a garden long untouched by reality.

She used to think about the warmth of summer like him. If Satoru was the bright echo of winter, then he was most ardently, the bright sun of summer. Genmei missed him. She missed everything about him. She dare not voice it out loud. But selfishly, Genmei latched onto the memories, to the dreams that were left behind. It was all she had.

It has been a year. 365 days. Summer, Spring, Fall and Winter came and went. 

But the echoes of Geto Suguru still remained; As young as that blue summer.

A tender smile from Geto Suguru, sitting in front of her as her hands slid through the dark tresses of hair. He allowed her to touch his hair happily, a feat very few could ever do. Suguru from her memory was someone who couldn’t handle the touch of anyone lightly. He liked the distance of it, he used to tell her.

But not with people he held dear. Genmei supposed it made her heart warm when he told her this. It meant that he held her dearly. He considered her an occupant of the portion of his heart. Genmei knew that his whole heart, perhaps it would always belong to Satoru. Yet, she knew she could feel happiness build a home in her. 

There was a tender melody born from their shared hums, and the golden radiance of a sunlit meadow—all etched in the mosaic of a summer story, a dream painted in hues of joy. Suguru spoke about home, about missing the mountains and the countryside. He wished summer would come soon, so that he could take some time off.

He invited Genmei to go with him, to see his parents and play with his family’s dogs. He promised that he’d bring Satoru and Shoko too. His parents missed them too. Genmei knew they were long gone, ink dried in her memory replaying as a beautiful nightmare. Yet, beneath the surface, even if this was a repeat of that summer's nightmare, the memory that refuses to fade. Genmei refuses to let it fade. 

He was so beautiful, so tender with his touch and his smile. There was no forgetting him. He was the whole moon, the whole summer night. Genmei wouldn’t forget him. Not even if she tried. She and Satoru had tried, but they couldn’t. It was as though they would surrender life itself from existing in their flesh and bones.

There was that place, where the windchime echoes against the wind. Genmei found Suguru gazing up at the sky, his dark purple eyes fixed on the vast expanse of blue that stretched endlessly above them. She approached quietly, her steps soft on the grassy plain. It was rare to see him out here nowadays. But she thinks, its good for him. To be out here, feeling the sun. Not locked away in his room, where he'd find only darkness.

"What are you thinking about?" Genmei asked, settling down beside him with a gentle grace, her own gaze lifting to the heavens.

Suguru turned his head slightly, acknowledging her presence with a soft smile. "Genmei-senpai, what do you think exists beyond the blue sky?"

Genmei pondered the question for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the limitless possibilities. "I like to think that beyond our sky is another realm, perhaps many realms, where different rules apply. The gods were kind to us to give a wonder to think about, don't you think? The gods look to us and think, what creatures they made, who wonder different things."

Suguru nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Different rules, you say? Do you think they have curses and sorcerers there too?"

"Maybe," Genmei mused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But maybe their sorcerers fight different battles. Or maybe they live in harmony, without the need for battles at all."

"That sounds peaceful," Suguru said, a hint of longing in his voice. "A place where the sky isn’t just a barrier between us and the cosmos but a gateway to something greater."

Genmei looked at him, noticing the wistful tone of his voice. "Do you ever wish you could go there? To escape from all this?" she asked gently, gesturing subtly to encompass their world and its endless conflicts.

Suguru was silent for a moment, then he sighed. "Would it be so bad to say that I often think it'd be easier over there then over here?"

Genmei smiled softly, shaking here head. "No, I don't. Sometimes, its easier to think of what gives us comfort. Remember, it's okay to dream of peace. And maybe one day, we'll find a way to make those dreams a reality here, rather than needing to find it under the vast blue sky. It's a beautiful wonder, I agree. But sometimes, its even too vast for us to hold. Not all of us need to be Atlas, you know."

Suguru turned to look at her, giving her a small smile. Genmei thinks it was enough, even if it didn't reach his eyes. "With you here, I believe we might just do that. After all, isn't that what sorcerers do? Bend reality to make the impossible possible?"

"Yes," Genmei agreed, her eyes reflecting the blue of the sky above. "We make the impossible possible. And maybe, just maybe, we'll find what's beyond the blue sky together."

They fell silent, both lost in their thoughts, yet comforted by the shared understanding that whatever lay beyond the sky, their strength lay in facing it together, bound by their hopes, their fears, and their unyielding determination to shape the world according to their dreams.

Gojo Genmei thinks Satoru is always right when he says that loving people can be a curse. In these past ten years, in their hearts and minds, they were the biggest prisoners. The biggest prisoners to loving the past. To mourning the past. To wanting the past. Yet Gojo Genmei does not mind. She would not be able to live without it, being haunted by the ghosts. She wanted Kaiko to haunt her, for father to find his way into her arms again. For Suguru to smile at her tenderly again.

As she traces the vacant side of her bed, she yearns for the comforting presence of Satoru. To feel the warmth of his arms overtake the cold echoes of a painful emptiness. Tears flowed from her eyes involuntarily, her lungs halted its usual flow. She couldn’t move herself too well, her muscles tightening in spasms.

A soundless huff left her lips as she tried to get herself together. For a moment she stayed still and just cried. When the time passed, her muscles loosened slightly, Genmei took to taking Satoru’s in her arms and wrapping her arms around it. She can smell the tender scent of his perfume still there. 

He stayed there, already ready to leave for his mission just to feel her for a while. They wouldn’t see each other for a while, so he wanted to make sure he lingered long enough to fill his heart with the tender memories of her. Genmei felt herself settle slowly against the pillow, her breathing returning to its usual pace.

She missed him, she was sure. If he was here, it would have been easier to deal with this. It would have been easier to feel at ease with the memories of the person they both loved. Yet he wasn’t and she had to live with that.

In the cocoon of his touch, he could discern the ethereal boundary between dreams and nightmares, offering solace with a mere brush of his fingertips. A yearning for his tenderness echoes through her being, yet she knows he is absent, entangled in missions that withhold him from her embrace. Her husband was a light sleeper, much more so than her.

The Six Eyes keep him from the slumber of mortals. Satoru is attentive, noticing the small differences of her breath from nightmare to a peaceful slumber. Genmei knew that he would know what to say to her at this moment. He would offer her what he needs. Peace of mind, even for a little while.

But Gojo Satoru’s not here to offer that peace.

Genmei lingers in the memories long gone.

It had taken her a while to compose herself, but she managed to do it. The memories of that summer drifted away into her mind, in lock and key. Once more, a new day begins. There would be no time for the new dawn for the dead already gone. That she knew too well.

The clock's resolute ticking marks the passage of the night, and at 4 o’clock, the room is cloaked in a profound darkness. Genmei, now awake, rises from the bed's vast expanse, exhaling frustration into the still air. The ticking clock, a relentless metronome, compels her to face the waking world. With a resigned sigh, she banishes the covers aside and, in the solemn hush, bathes the room in the artificial glow of light.

Too early for the world to stir, yet too late for her to return to the arms of Morpheus, she contemplates the solitude of her nocturnal sanctuary. The impending challenges of the day loom ahead—the elders' den awaits her, and she will navigate its depths once more. The promise of tomorrow, with Satoru's return, is the beacon that guides her through the predawn hours. She yawns, heading towards their shared bathroom, letting the water run from the faucet. 

Facing herself in the mirror, the sorcerer could only sigh. The weariness of her face was obvious to anyone who would deem to see it. The redness of her eyes from the tears was just as familiar to her than anything else. She was glad that no one was around to see it. It would have been a different conversation, not one she’d like to have. Genmei let her hands touch the water, feeling the warmth and then the cold of the water’s pour.

The morning ought to start.

There was no sense to stay in bed.

She wouldn't fall back asleep anyway.

IT WASN’T UNTIL SHE WAS GOT TO THE KITCHEN WITH THE CAT THAT SHE HEARD MAIN DOOR OPEN. The sound of purring from the feline led her to crotch down and seek out the beloved white fur from the small bed in the living room. Touching his fur, he purred once more. That indicated to Genmei that he was once more in need of his precious water.

But as she held the bright white feline, she came into a stare down with her weary husband as he took off his outdoor shoes. The door barely shut behind him, Genmei heard the cat hiss at her husband. Blinking for a moment, Genmei was trying to be certain that she was seeing things for what they are. But as he lifted the lower portion of his eye coverings, Gojo Satoru grinned at her.

“Well, I didn’t expect this welcome party.”

Genmei patted the cat’s head, silencing the feline into satisfied mewls. “I thought you wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.”

“I thought you had more faith in your husband than that!” Satoru sighed, feigning sorrow at her words. He put away his house shoes easily as he put away his outdoor ones. “You know I could deal with a ton of first–grade curses in a few minutes.”

His wife raised a brow. “So all this time, you just went sightseeing?”

Satoru stopped at his tracks, having been caught. “O–of course not! You know I had to do some wellness checks around the area, you know, to make sure there aren’t any curses I’ve missed.”

Genmei dissected that he already ate his sweets.

Gojo Satoru gulped.

For a moment, his wife’s eyes sharpened at his words which made him nervous. But Genmei merely relented in a sigh, letting the cat down as she headed towards the kitchen and towards the fridge, which she opened to find the water. A short yelp let out of her husband’s mouth but before she could turn around, Satoru smiled at her.

Genmei did not see their cat slowly walk away, with pomp and ceremony as Gojo Satoru’s exposed eye turned to glare at the cat for a mere moment. Satoru would never let his wife know how much he despised the cat. He knew how much she loved the damned spawn. He would bear with it for her sake.

“You okay?”

“I’m more than okay.” Satoru tells her as he leans towards her from the counter, placing a small kiss upon her cheek. “I’m home to you. What more could I ask for?”

“You and your words,” Genmei shook her head as she turned around and headed towards the feline, who rested on the small bed. Genmei concentrated as she poured just enough water. Their cat has had enough salmon before they both went to bed.

Too much water would just indulge him. He’s after all, on a diet plan. Closing the cap, she places the water bottle into the counter and wraps her arms around her husband. He removes his eye covering, his bright blue eyes greeting her. For a moment, they do not speak. There’s usually no need for words when they’re alone like this. 

“You’re gonna get a headache.”

“I can bear with a little suffering.” Satoru whispers to her, leaning forward to peck the small of her jaw. “It’s nothing compared to when I’m looking at you.”

Genmei felt her cheeks fluster in a pretty scarlet. She shook her head. “I can always feel the way you look at me without the eye cover. I know what they look like, even when they’re covered.”

“That’s different.” He argues to her, his fingers tracing the edge of her porcelain face. As he traced her features like stars, his eyes followed. Almost as though memorizing each and every essence of her. “I like being able to see you. Just you. As much as I can with these eyes. Covering is a pain in the ass. It's too much trouble."

“You’re insufferable.” Genmei let out a small giggle, leaning forward against his shoulder. He leans against her too, just to smell the lavender he loved so much on her. Closing his eyes, he feels as though he is safe. He knows he is safe. As long as he is in her arms. “I take it you don’t want to sleep just yet?”

“Hm, how did you know?”

“Because I know you too well, oh insufferable one.”

He leans away, his face in a pout as his wife laughs. “One moment you’re sweet and one moment you’re sour. It makes too much of a whiplash for one man to take, you know?”

Genmei laughs. “But you like it, don’t you?”

He snickers, unable to deny it. “And what of it, darling?”

She shook her head, leaning towards him and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Welcome home, my love. I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” He closed his eyes at the feeling of her lips against his flesh. “I missed all of you.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Genmei retorted, looking at him. “We’re not doing it. We haven’t eaten anything.”

“But you taste better than the—”

“Finish that sentence and I’m withholding the privilege.” She crosses her arms as he groans.

“Darling, please. It’s been a couple of days. I need you so bad!”

She touts, taking leave of him and back into the kitchen. “I’m making breakfast for you and me. We have to eat first. After that, we’ll see if I’m in the mood for it.”

Gojo Satoru sighed, defeated as he relented as he moved towards the kitchen, following his wife.

Though, he was certain he could hear the cat take a break from drinking water to laugh at him.

He really hated that cat.

SATORU REMINDED GENMEI OF A CHILD AT TIMES. Sitting on their sofa, Gojo Genmei wondered how long this tantrum would last. Satoru wouldn't remove his arms from her waist for about an hour now as he watched an episode of Digimon Adventures. He didn’t speak, but rather focused on his moping. He didn’t even move as the cat moved on his wife’s lap.

As the cat yawned, Genmei let her hand pet the feline’s head as Satoru suddenly started to list reasons why she shouldn’t waste her time around the ‘nasty old farts’ in Kyoto. The top one being that he needed his ‘recharge’ of her after being apart for a few days. The last thing he wanted was to be alone in the house again without her giving him the warmth of her existence.

His bright blue eyes seemed to glow brighter as she detailed her plan to meet with Gakuganji. It was like a god silently judging her as she spoke of the path towards danger she planned to thread. Satoru has always been someone who had something to say.

It was quite a matter when he didn’t have much to say. Genmei had always been aware of Satoru's great distaste for the inner workings of clan politics. He has always been surrounded by it as a young man, with his father dying early and his status as clan head perpetually bestowed at the crown of his young toddler head. 

The thought of a young Gojo Satoru sitting through the dull and whining of the higher ups as a boy, with that unimpressed look on his face crossed her mind. Just hearing the gossip about it by the clan ladies at tea time as a young girl in Zenin manor was enough for her then. Coupled with the years of suffering they had put him through, she can understand his preposition against them.

But even more so, the nature of the conversations around clan politics were never one for the idealists. The air of corruption was easy to spot, even more easy to consume those that touched it. People sided with those they knew peaked their chances to self – interest. It was something anyone would be wise to avoid.

Yet Genmei thought there truly was no certain choice. Mingling with that world, playing a game of flirtation, of hide and seek, was what it took to survive in this world. Everything was as fragile as glass. One step and it all shatters and breaks. Satoru may have convinced them to halt the execution for now. It’s not something that would last.

Just a word seducing them against her husband, the unexpected tide would rush in. It was the ugly truth. If Naoya bribes enough folks, if her grandfather whispers enough words. If the Kamo clan turns and smiles at the right people. Genmei knew that all can twist into disaster. Satoru was but one man, the very essence that could make the world bend to its knees.

Perhaps it was the paranoia, perhaps it was the worry.

But Gojo Genmei feared the day they would turn on him.

She would not let this happen, not on her watch.

His dream was her dream.

They cannot falter.

The sandy haired woman wishes her husband took this in stride. Okkutsu Yuuta had already proven himself, his actions alone last year had spoken for themselves. But Itadori Yuuji was not Yuuta. If Yuuta was the typhoon, Itadori was the tsunami. He had a whole magnitude of concerns that the elders cannot bypass. He was a vessel of Sukuna, the sorcerer that a thousand years ago had wrought their world into misery and suffering. 

If he was reborn, if Yuuji could not control him — they fear the worst, they fear what they cannot control. Most of all, Genmei was truly certain that they feel more distaste at the thought that they do not have exclusivity over him. Itadori Yuuji would not feel anything for them, as much as the king of curses wouldn’t. No, he’d be loyal to her husband. And that was even more frightening to them.

Yet, the boy that Itadori Yuuji was not just the vessel of Sukuna. He was a young soul, someone who should not be dealing with the baggage of this world. The elders, the higher ups — they all forget themselves. Genmei could only wonder how many times they could repeat their mistakes.

How many times would they waste potential, to burden it with horrors rather than nurture? Memories flood back as easily as they happened, as though they were lived yesterday. So many voices ignored, so many voices silenced. She pursed her lips. 

Genmei wondered what her father would have done if he was in her position. 

She had asked that so many times before and still hadn’t found an answer. 

How could he have survived the tides of this modern world? 

Genmei could only release a soundless sigh.

She turned to Satoru, her lilac eyes reflecting resolve.  "You know it as much as I do that they’d listen to me.”

“Listening is different than agreeing, darling.”

“There must be a balancing act. Even if it is a lie, we have to play nice.”

“The phrase ‘playing nice’ has nothing positive to correlate with the higher – ups.”

She cocked a brow. “Don’t you think I know that? But it’s worth a try. Just a precaution. He’s not like Yuuta. This is different.”

“I know it’s different,” Satoru retorted back to her, his lips looped in a frown. “That’s why I spoke in threats, not kindness.”

“Do you trust me?” She takes his face on her hands, forcing the cerulean beam to echo against her lilac gaze. “Do you?”

“What sort of question is that? Of course I trust you.”

“Then let me deal with them, alright?” She whispers to him tenderly. “You had your games with them. Shouldn’t I have my own too? I thought you trusted me more than this.”

Satoru knew that this was for the best. Her words weighed heavily against the higher – ups. Even when he was injured then after what when he was young, it was her that fought against them to ensure he could rest. Genmei was from that world just like him and he can’t forget it. But she was bred to live that life, more than he was. They trusted Genmei. Or rather, considered her a part of the world they created. A life worth more than the ones beyond it.

If not her, then the blood of Zenin Naoki in her veins. 

If not his blood, then the name that birthed her into the world. 

A Zenin was more their world’s favorite than a Gojo.

Satoru's reluctance wasn't rooted in a lack of trust; rather, it stemmed from an overwhelming concern. The Gojo clan leader releases his wife from his touch. Her lilac eyes blinked in surprise for a moment. Satoru turned off the television. She watched as he stood up, his hands threading through his pockets.

His body moves into a small shrug. As he stood there, his mind raced with scenarios where danger lurked around every corner. It wasn't a matter of distrust but a manifestation of his deep-seated worry that threatened to drown him in a sea of panic.

The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders as Genmei prepared to face the elders in Kyoto. Every part of him, from the furrowed lines on his forehead to the subtle clenching of his fists, betrayed the inner turmoil. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, now reflected the storm of emotions brewing within.

It was the same feeling as back then. Back then when he stood in front of Suguru, back then when he knelt in front of him ten years later. There was that pit he could never escape. But he wished he could. 

Satoru started to pace and soon enough, it became more pronounced. He released a restless energy that mirrored the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. He was not one to shy away from challenges, but when it came to Genmei, the mere thought of her navigating the intricate dance of clan politics ignited a fire of concern.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you," Satoru muttered to himself, his voice a low rasp. His eyes flitted around the room as if searching for an answer that eluded him. "It's because I worry."

She smiles softly at him. “I know.”

"It's a normal husband thing, you know?"

She giggles. "I know."

The cat left her lap, yawning against the pillow.

Genmei stood up, rising to wrap her arms around him.

His body relaxes in being enveloped in her warmth.

“I’ll be back by tomorrow or the next day, I’m certain.”

“I’ll be going to Sendai with Yuuji.”

“I see.”

She tries to look at his face, but he refuses and leans the weight of his body more and more against her. She couldn’t help but smile further, her hand brushing against the undercut of his snow – like locks. He was once more a child, a child who cannot take part in the parting. Satoru’s never been good at that.

For all the time she had known him, he had always needed to feel the warmth of touch. To have somebody. Genmei could never deny him. How could she, when she loved him too much? Gojo Genmei knew this was a curse she can never exorcise. Her love for him was too much, too overwhelming. And she knows that he knows. He feels the degree of it all just as much.

“Will you have a day off when I come back?”

He sighs, “Who cares? I’ll not leave you alone when you come back.”

Genmei laughs. “You’ll be ignoring life then?”

“What are you talking about? You are my life, darling.”

Genmei felt warmer as she kissed his ear. “You’re too much.”

“So are you.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Hm, I do.”

By noon, she kissed him goodbye as Ichiji waited outside.

Gojo Satoru wanted to go after her and be with her.

But he knew too well that this was something she needed to do.

As the door closed behind her, Satoru's worry manifested in an absent-minded twist of his fingers through his hair. He was a man accustomed to action, yet at this moment, all he could do was wait. It was a form of torture for someone like him, who thrived on seizing control of situations.

He knew Genmei was capable, strong, and fiercely independent. But the worry, the irrational fear that clung to him, was a relentless adversary. He had always made her feel this way – a constant guardian, a vigilant protector. Even when he knew she could take care of herself, he couldn't help but imagine the worst-case scenarios, each more vivid and terrifying than the last.

In the quiet aftermath of her departure, Satoru's gaze lingered on the closed door. His jaw clenched, the palpable tension in the air a testament to the storm raging within him. With a sigh, he moved to a nearby window, his eyes fixated on the horizon as if searching for a sign that would alleviate the weight on his chest.

For now, Satoru found solace in the memories of their shared moments, in the love that bound them together. Yet, beneath it all, the worry persisted, an uninvited companion that refused to be silenced.

He turned to look at the cat.

For a moment, the feline stared back.

“I still hate you.”

It mewled back with the same gusto.

The feline, Gojonyan, hates him back.

SATORU REMINDED GENMEI OF A CHILD AT TIMES. Sitting on their sofa, Gojo Genmei wondered how long this tantrum would last. Satoru wouldn't remove his arms from her waist for about an hour now as he watched an episode of Digimon Adventures. He didn’t speak, but rather focused on his moping. He didn’t even move as the cat moved on his wife’s lap.

As the cat yawned, Genmei let her hand pet the feline’s head as Satoru suddenly started to list reasons why she shouldn’t waste her time around the ‘nasty old farts’ in Kyoto. The top one being that he needed his ‘recharge’ of her after being apart for a few days. The last thing he wanted was to be alone in the house again without her giving him the warmth of her existence.

His bright blue eyes seemed to glow brighter as she detailed her plan to meet with Gakuganji. It was like a god silently judging her as she spoke of the path towards danger she planned to thread. Satoru has always been someone who had something to say.

It was quite a matter when he didn’t have much to say. Genmei had always been aware of Satoru's great distaste for the inner workings of clan politics. He has always been surrounded by it as a young man, with his father dying early and his status as clan head perpetually bestowed at the crown of his young toddler head. 

The thought of a young Gojo Satoru sitting through the dull and whining of the higher ups as a boy, with that unimpressed look on his face crossed her mind. Just hearing the gossip about it by the clan ladies at tea time as a young girl in Zenin manor was enough for her then. Coupled with the years of suffering they had put him through, she can understand his preposition against them.

But even more so, the nature of the conversations around clan politics were never one for the idealists. The air of corruption was easy to spot, even more easy to consume those that touched it. People sided with those they knew peaked their chances to self – interest. It was something anyone would be wise to avoid.

Yet Genmei thought there truly was no certain choice. Mingling with that world, playing a game of flirtation, of hide and seek, was what it took to survive in this world. Everything was as fragile as glass. One step and it all shatters and breaks. Satoru may have convinced them to halt the execution for now. It’s not something that would last.

Just a word seducing them against her husband, the unexpected tide would rush in. It was the ugly truth. If Naoya bribes enough folks, if her grandfather whispers enough words. If the Kamo clan turns and smiles at the right people. Genmei knew that all can twist into disaster. Satoru was but one man, the very essence that could make the world bend to its knees.

Perhaps it was the paranoia, perhaps it was the worry.

But Gojo Genmei feared the day they would turn on him.

She would not let this happen, not on her watch.

His dream was her dream.

They cannot falter.

The sandy haired woman wishes her husband took this in stride. Okkutsu Yuuta had already proven himself, his actions alone last year had spoken for themselves. But Itadori Yuuji was not Yuuta. If Yuuta was the typhoon, Itadori was the tsunami. He had a whole magnitude of concerns that the elders cannot bypass. He was a vessel of Sukuna, the sorcerer that a thousand years ago had wrought their world into misery and suffering. 

If he was reborn, if Yuuji could not control him — they fear the worst, they fear what they cannot control. Most of all, Genmei was truly certain that they feel more distaste at the thought that they do not have exclusivity over him. Itadori Yuuji would not feel anything for them, as much as the king of curses wouldn’t. No, he’d be loyal to her husband. And that was even more frightening to them.

Yet, the boy that Itadori Yuuji was not just the vessel of Sukuna. He was a young soul, someone who should not be dealing with the baggage of this world. The elders, the higher ups — they all forget themselves. Genmei could only wonder how many times they could repeat their mistakes.

How many times would they waste potential, to burden it with horrors rather than nurture? Memories flood back as easily as they happened, as though they were lived yesterday. So many voices ignored, so many voices silenced. She pursed her lips. 

Genmei wondered what her father would have done if he was in her position. 

She had asked that so many times before and still hadn’t found an answer. 

How could he have survived the tides of this modern world? 

Genmei could only release a soundless sigh.

She turned to Satoru, her lilac eyes reflecting resolve.  "You know it as much as I do that they’d listen to me.”

“Listening is different than agreeing, darling.”

“There must be a balancing act. Even if it is a lie, we have to play nice.”

“The phrase ‘playing nice’ has nothing positive to correlate with the higher – ups.”

She cocked a brow. “Don’t you think I know that? But it’s worth a try. Just a precaution. He’s not like Yuuta. This is different.”

“I know it’s different,” Satoru retorted back to her, his lips looped in a frown. “That’s why I spoke in threats, not kindness.”

“Do you trust me?” She takes his face on her hands, forcing the cerulean beam to echo against her lilac gaze. “Do you?”

“What sort of question is that? Of course I trust you.”

“Then let me deal with them, alright?” She whispers to him tenderly. “You had your games with them. Shouldn’t I have my own too? I thought you trusted me more than this.”

Satoru knew that this was for the best. Her words weighed heavily against the higher – ups. Even when he was injured then after what when he was young, it was her that fought against them to ensure he could rest. Genmei was from that world just like him and he can’t forget it. But she was bred to live that life, more than he was. They trusted Genmei. Or rather, considered her a part of the world they created. A life worth more than the ones beyond it.

If not her, then the blood of Zenin Naoki in her veins. 

If not his blood, then the name that birthed her into the world. 

A Zenin was more their world’s favorite than a Gojo.

Satoru's reluctance wasn't rooted in a lack of trust; rather, it stemmed from an overwhelming concern. The Gojo clan leader releases his wife from his touch. Her lilac eyes blinked in surprise for a moment. Satoru turned off the television. She watched as he stood up, his hands threading through his pockets.

His body moves into a small shrug. As he stood there, his mind raced with scenarios where danger lurked around every corner. It wasn't a matter of distrust but a manifestation of his deep-seated worry that threatened to drown him in a sea of panic.

The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders as Genmei prepared to face the elders in Kyoto. Every part of him, from the furrowed lines on his forehead to the subtle clenching of his fists, betrayed the inner turmoil. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, now reflected the storm of emotions brewing within.

It was the same feeling as back then. Back then when he stood in front of Suguru, back then when he knelt in front of him ten years later. There was that pit he could never escape. But he wished he could. 

Satoru started to pace and soon enough, it became more pronounced. He released a restless energy that mirrored the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. He was not one to shy away from challenges, but when it came to Genmei, the mere thought of her navigating the intricate dance of clan politics ignited a fire of concern.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you," Satoru muttered to himself, his voice a low rasp. His eyes flitted around the room as if searching for an answer that eluded him. "It's because I worry."

She smiles softly at him. “I know.”

"It's a normal husband thing, you know?"

She giggles. "I know."

The cat left her lap, yawning against the pillow.

Genmei stood up, rising to wrap her arms around him.

His body relaxes in being enveloped in her warmth.

“I’ll be back by tomorrow or the next day, I’m certain.”

“I’ll be going to Sendai with Yuuji.”

“I see.”

She tries to look at his face, but he refuses and leans the weight of his body more and more against her. She couldn’t help but smile further, her hand brushing against the undercut of his snow – like locks. He was once more a child, a child who cannot take part in the parting. Satoru’s never been good at that.

For all the time she had known him, he had always needed to feel the warmth of touch. To have somebody. Genmei could never deny him. How could she, when she loved him too much? Gojo Genmei knew this was a curse she can never exorcise. Her love for him was too much, too overwhelming. And she knows that he knows. He feels the degree of it all just as much.

“Will you have a day off when I come back?”

He sighs, “Who cares? I’ll not leave you alone when you come back.”

Genmei laughs. “You’ll be ignoring life then?��

“What are you talking about? You are my life, darling.”

Genmei felt warmer as she kissed his ear. “You’re too much.”

“So are you.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Hm, I do.”

By noon, she kissed him goodbye as Ichiji waited outside.

Gojo Satoru wanted to go after her and be with her.

But he knew too well that this was something she needed to do.

As the door closed behind her, Satoru's worry manifested in an absent-minded twist of his fingers through his hair. He was a man accustomed to action, yet at this moment, all he could do was wait. It was a form of torture for someone like him, who thrived on seizing control of situations.

He knew Genmei was capable, strong, and fiercely independent. But the worry, the irrational fear that clung to him, was a relentless adversary. He had always made her feel this way – a constant guardian, a vigilant protector. Even when he knew she could take care of herself, he couldn't help but imagine the worst-case scenarios, each more vivid and terrifying than the last.

In the quiet aftermath of her departure, Satoru's gaze lingered on the closed door. His jaw clenched, the palpable tension in the air a testament to the storm raging within him. With a sigh, he moved to a nearby window, his eyes fixated on the horizon as if searching for a sign that would alleviate the weight on his chest.

For now, Satoru found solace in the memories of their shared moments, in the love that bound them together. Yet, beneath it all, the worry persisted, an uninvited companion that refused to be silenced.

He turned to look at the cat.

For a moment, the feline stared back.

“I still hate you.”

It mewled back with the same gusto.

The feline, Gojonyan, hates him back.

IT WAS MUCH MORE WELCOMING TO SEE FAMILIAR FACES.  As she held the hem of her kimono to avoid tripping, she found herself smiling as she got off the train. The weariness of the hectic day started to fade away as she made her way towards them.

Standing in front of them, the two men allowed themselves into a humble bow in front of her. She fondly sighed, shaking her head. They hadn’t changed, even after all this time. There was no doubt in her mind that they had been here for a while, waiting for her train to arrive. 

“Bowing to me like this after all this time,” Genmei says as she crosses her arms together. A tsk sound lets out of her. She waves her hand. “It’s as if we aren’t family.”

“It’s inappropriate to not give you respect.” The smooth tone of the elder of the two, Mikoto Akihiko, echoes. He smiles at her as he positions his body at ease. The glistening of the Mikoto badge, the two herons in flight, was bright on his chest. “You are our liege after all.”

Mikoto Nobuhiko lifts his head, his red haori following gracefully in his movement. His own badge shined in bright beautiful silver, with ruby gems. “Aki–niisama is right. It’s inappropriate to act as though you aren’t our beloved elder.”

Genmei’s lips turned into a tight smile. “Are you calling me old, Nobu?”

Nobuhiko’s bright eyes turned mischievous, but his smile remained serene. “Of course not, Genmei–sama. But seeing as I am younger, shouldn’t I respect you properly? After all, Genmei–sama is four years older—”

Before Nobuhiko knew it, Gojo Genmei started to wrap her fingers against both his cheeks as much as she could. Her smile still remained tight as she squeezed his cheeks, pulling through it as though she was seeing a child for the first time. Nobuhiko started to groan against her, squealing.

“Ah, look at my young baby Nobu! His cheeks are so chubby and cute, what a cute baby boy!”

“Aki–niisama, help me!”

“But Genmei–sama seemed to have missed you, Nobuhiko.”

“I did miss him, Aki–kun! He’s still such a baby. He’s such a cutie, isn’t he, Aki–kun? He’s my cute little kouhai!”

Akihiko chuckled, watching the playful exchange between Genmei and Nobuhiko. “Indeed, Genmei–sama. But Nobu will lose his energy if you play with him too much.”

“I’m already losing it right now!”

Genmei released her grip on Nobuhiko’s cheeks, letting him catch his breath. “I’ll play with you later, Nobu.”

“Please don’t.” Nobuhiko sighed, already weary. “Genmei–sama, I don’t think I’ll last if you do that.”

“But I missed my kouhai!”

“I don’t miss being pinched on my cheeks, Genmei–sama!”

Akihiko, always the calm and collected elder, interjected with a knowing smile. "Well, Genmei–sama, now that you're back, we must discuss the matters at hand. There's much to catch up on."

Genmei nodded, the playful glint in her eyes transitioning into a more serious demeanor. "Of course, Aki–kun. I'm eager to hear about the current state of affairs. Much more on the conversations about Itadori Yuuji.”

“Most of the Mikoto elders seem to be in agreement with the rest of them,” Nobuhiko informs her as they start to depart from the station. “Knowing the clan’s history with Sukuna, they would do anything to ensure his reawakening would not happen.”

The lilac eyed woman nodded. “That’s to be expected. For a thousand years, one of the clan’s will to survive is to ensure Sukuna remains gone.”

“The others do not agree.” Akihiko continues for the younger man, his green eyes gleaming narrowly. “They see the boy first rather than the king of curses.”

“Who’s included in that?”

“Your aunt and your mother.” Akihiko retorts in reply, a small smile on his lips. Genmei returned his smile. “It’s keeping everyone on their toes for now. None of our elders have voted.”

“Hm, Satoru spoke about the Zenin and Kamo votes.”

Nobuhiko snorts, his hands diving through his silver locks. “It’s always those two.”

Genmei reciprocates in kind. “Of course, they have the same mind.”

“The Gojo vote is the most important.”

Akihiko nodded. “The Inumaki vote followed the Gojo vote.”

“Considering its regarding the king of curses, the vote of the Mikoto would sway everyone else.” 

The Zenin born lady smiles. “I need to get Gakuganji to back out. He has the most sway out of the head elders.”

“I doubt he’d say no to you.” Nobuhiko grinned. “Master Naoki was his favorite student, wasn’t he?”

Akihiko nodded, smiling in kind. “Some things are thicker than one’s greed, after all.”

Gojo Genmei looks up in the sky.

She wonders if her father is up there.

She lets out a small huff of air.

“Let’s get going.”

GOJO GENMEI REMEMBERS TOO FONDLY WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE A STUDENT IN KYOTO HIGH. As she walked through the torii gates with Akihiko and Nobuhiko, the past came alive in her mind. Laughter echoed like a familiar lullaby, boots thumped through the steps like an endless heartbeat.

The warm layers of flesh against flesh as they rested on each other’s bodies and embraced. The cherry blossoms danced in the breeze, their delicate petals creating a picturesque scene around Kyoto Jujutsu High. It has been a long time.

Genmei walked through the familiar grounds, her lilac eyes taking in the sights that stirred old ghosts to haunt her once more. The echoes of her own footsteps resonated with the ticklish whispers of Kaiko’s teasing tone. The wind’s blows resounded through the place, the chimes going through one after another.

For a moment, Genmei wondered if those names carved on those wooden pools still stood. Like she always was, Gojo Genmei is a prisoner of the past, and yearned to breathe the air seemed to carry the weight of stories only she could tell. She was the only one alive out of the three of them after all.

As she approached the towering gates adorned with the Kyoto Jujutsu High’s mighty symbols, Genmei couldn't help but recall her own years as a student within these hallowed walls. Nothing has changed. It was as if the building was still an homage to the past, still stuck in time and unchanging.

The scent of incense and the distant hum of students practicing their cursed weapons and their techniques brought her back to a time when life was simpler, and the future held limitless possibilities. Youth often gave those promises. It’s the same promise she carries in hope, for these kids. That youth this time around fulfilled its promises.

The training grounds, where she had honed her skills and formed bonds that transcended the battlefield, were now filled with a new generation of students. The wooden dummies, scarred with countless strikes, stood as silent witnesses to the countless hours she and her friends had spent perfecting their techniques.

The thought of those summer days came to mind effortlessly — laughter echoing through the corridors, late-night study sessions, and the thrill of facing curses side by side. Genmei's fingers traced over the ancient trees before her, their branches reaching towards the sky like guardians of the past. For a moment she wondered if such touch from her to this ancient observer could reach them. If for a moment, Genmei could speak to them again.

The weight of loss pressed on her heart, a somber melody playing in the background of her reminiscence. Genmei knew Akihiko and Nobuhiko were looking at her with concern from behind her. Each visit was a torture, that they knew. One of the willful reasons that

Genmei had resolved to send Nobuhiko to Tokyo High instead was to ensure she wouldn’t walk these halls as often as she had to alone. Just to avoid the memories that were so fresh, so easily opened wounds that refused to heal. That was out of her own selfishness, she knew. Not that Nobuhiko would mind. He told her as much. He’s satisfied with his own story.

She halted for a moment, her lips pursed in a flat line as she spotted the solitary bench in the corner. The bench was perfect during sunny days. It firmly stood beneath the shade of the tree, its gnarled branches reaching out like the hands of old friends. Namie often played with her creatures here. Genmei couldn't resist the pull of old days, and she found herself touching the frames of its wooden body.

Kaiko, with her infectious laughter and unruly hair, always grinning as she readied herself to balance off the bench. Namie, innocent and brightly smiling, pouting as she couldn’t get beyond the number ten when she balanced off the bench.

And her, Genmei, telling them off with her failure to keep her straight face as she laughed when Kaiko and Namie would get into a row. Genmei closed her eyes, allowing the cool breeze to carry her back to the days when three loud echoes of laughter graced  through these halls. Beaming so brightly like three stars in the sky.

“I’m sorry if we’re taking too long.” Genmei smiled, turning to her companions. “It’s just….Nostalgia.”

“Don’t apologize, Genmei–sama.” Akihiko shook his head, a small smile on his face. “We were young at one point.”

Nobuhiko crossed his arms, his face full of unreadable emotions. 

Genmei was certain he was remembering his own youth too.

Thinking a lot about that doe eyed boy who never got to grow up.

BY THE TIME THEY GOT THERE, GENMEI WAS CERTAIN THEY HAD MADE GAKUGANJI WAIT ANYWAY. Genmei's strides and steps echoed through the hallowed halls, her lilac eyes focused ahead. It was already late when they got around to the main building, where the offices of the school were located. Akihiko suggested the flow of things, Nobuhiko walking behind him and saying things here and there. 

But for a while, she was sure she drowned them out, almost being dragged by her own spirits and not her wits. Perhaps it was the overwhelming emotions, she was confronted by the past she wanted to run away from and bury. By this point, she would have expected the voice in her head to laugh at her. As gods mostly do. But she supposed that gods too have lives to live.

Before she realized it, Genmei stood firmly in front of the massive doors that barred the gap between her and that world she wishes to forget. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the ancient corridors of Kyoto Jujutsu High.

The meeting with Gakuganji, the Kyoto principal, was long overdue, and the tension in the air was palpable. Much more so since their last conversation last year had ended in a stalemate. Yet by this point, Genmei was certain the waters had cooled and been forgotten. In his eyes, forgiven. After all, the past was the past. It ought to be over.

Entering the grand chamber where the principal often held discussions of great import, Gojo Genmei found Gakuganji seated behind a large, ornate desk. The room itself exuded an air of ancient authority, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting the lineage of Kyoto Jujutsu High.

The scent of aged wood and lingering incense hung in the air, creating an atmosphere steeped in tradition and gravity. Akihiko and Nobuhiko bowed their heads at the direction of the principal, quietly backing away to the doors and shutting them.

Gakuganji's presence was commanding, it always was something that frightened Namie when they were young. The old man’s figure was framed by the high-backed chair that seemed to possess its own history.

The desk before him, intricately carved with symbols of the Jujutsu world's intricate hierarchy, held an array of scrolls and artifacts, each a testament to the weight of decisions made within these sacred walls. Genmei could see it clearly, the words of a long forgotten script bearing the name of Ryomen Sukuna. At one point, she saw her ancestor's name in one of the scrolls. But that failed to read everything before Gakuganji took her attention off the scroll.

As Genmei approached, the soft glow of paper lanterns illuminated the chamber, casting shadows that danced across the tatami mat floor. Gakuganji's gaze, sharp and discerning, met hers with an intensity that hinted at the countless negotiations and confrontations this room had witnessed.

The air was heavy with the weight of tradition and the echoes of past decisions. One would find it easy to be intimidated if they do not endure this often. The walls after all watch as much as they speak. Each semblance of this place reverberates with the unspoken power of the elders and their chosen favorites.

One would find it easy to be intimidated if they do not endure this often. The walls after all watch as much as they speak. Each semblance of this place reverberates with the unspoken power of the elders and their chosen favorites.

Gakuganji Yoshinobu acknowledged her entrance with a slight nod, his eyes locking onto hers. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, met Genmei's with an equal intensity. He shifted his hand toward Genmei’s companions, who raised their heads from their bow. The room felt charged with the clash of two formidable forces.

"Gojo Genmei," Gakuganji greeted, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. "It's been a while since someone of the Gojo name set foot in these halls.” 

“You never used to address me like that before, Gakuganji–sensei.”

“I’m merely addressing you as your title implores.”

Genmei slyly grinned. “That sounds snobbish even for you, Gakuganji–sensei. I thought I was your favorite.”

The old man snickers. “It is at this point debatable.”

“How heartbreaking!”

“What brings you to Kyoto?" 

Genmei beams at him. “You already know what I’m here for.”

“And that is?”

"I'm here to discuss the matter of Itadori Yuuji's execution.” The sandy haired lady exclaims back to the elder. “I trust you are aware of the situation. Given that you've been urging others to vote in favor of it."

Gakuganji's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Ah, the vessel of Sukuna. A delicate matter, indeed.”

“Indeed it is.” Genmei nodded nonchalantly. “But I’ve an even more pressing matter.”

“And that is?” His brow is cocked.

“Tightening the rescindment until further notice.”

He lets an amused breath of air. “Your husband had gotten the execution rescinded for now, hasn’t he?”

“You and I both know the elders shift like the weather does.” Genmei gave a small laugh at his words. “Why else would I be here, Gakuganji–sensei?”

“I do not have the power to—”

“That’s a bold lie and we both know it.”

“The matter is decided."

“But yours isn’t casted yet, isn’t it?” Genmei reminds him, her eyes narrowing at him sharply. “The matter isn't truly decided until you or the Mikoto clan say something."

“You’re observant.”

Her smile tightens as much as her jaw does. “Of course. My blood is Mikoto. I would notice."

“And you mean to use me to get what you want?”

“You promised.” Genmei reiterated to him.

The Kyoto principal leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together. "Genmei Gojo, you may be a respected figure in the Jujutsu world, but you cannot dictate the decisions of the elders in Kyoto."

Genmei's lilac eyes narrowed, a subtle shift in her demeanor. "I am not here to dictate like my husband. But I don't hold my tongue very well."

"One must know restraint too, child."

"And one must know the value of their words. Is yours so cheap that you forget your place? Or are you just another oathbreaker? Are you not my ally?”

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the subtle creaking of the ancient wooden floors beneath them. Genmei's  words,though veiled in curtesy, carried the weight of a storm gathering on the horizon.

Gakuganji's gaze remained unwavering. "Do not mistake my fondness for abuse or unchecked power, Genmei."

She gritted her teeth. "You do a good job of that without me interfering."

"Still, the decision regarding Itadori Yuuji will be made by the elders based on what they believe is best for the Jujutsu world. You know that better than anyone else.”

“Oh, I know.”

Akihiko’s eyes started to widen.

Nobuhiko started to smile.

At that moment, Gojo Genmei stood.

Gakuganji Yoshinobu’s eyes bulged out.

"After all, you've made me do worse because the elders said so."

The alarms all over Kyoto High started to ring out simultaneously as Gojo Genmei’s body released cursed energy in loud, bright waves. The abruptness of the alarms shattered the ambient stillness, their urgency cutting through the air like a blade.

Genmei's silhouette was outlined by the pulsating glow of her unleashed cursed energy, casting an otherworldly aura around her. The vivid hues of white and cerulean blue danced in harmony, an unbridled display of power that resonated through the ancient walls of Kyoto Jujutsu High. 

Cracks started to take apart the windows, wood started to splinter against itself as the sheer force of Gojo Genmei's energy reverberated through the very foundations of the venerable institution. The large expanse of the office, once serene, now bore witness to the tumultuous manifestation of a power beyond comprehension.

The very fabric of Kyoto Jujutsu High seemed to quiver under the strain. The ancient walls, witnesses to centuries of Jujutsu sorcery, now bore the scars of Gojo Genmei's unleashed power.

Genmei leaned forward, her hands firmly placed on the desk, narrowing the distance between them. "I've come here to warn you, Gakuganji. I am trying to play nice with you. But if you keep pushing my hand, it will be a different story. You’ve proclaimed yourself to be my ally. If you wish to be my ally and fulfill your promises, follow my will. Act like it.”

The principal's gaze, unwavering, met Genmei's. His dark orbs against her lilac haze. The clash of wills continued, but now it was accompanied by the destruction of the room, a manifestation of the stakes involved in the decisions being made. In a flick of a finger, all the power disappeared instantaneously as Gojo Genmei managed to calm herself. 

“You’ve become too comfortable as that brat’s wife, child.”

“And you’ve become comfortable being forgetful, old man.”

Gakuganji snickers. “You’ll regret this decision.”

“I do not think I will.”

The old man started to laugh. “We will see about that, child.”

As Genmei turned to leave, the remnants of the grand chamber bore witness to the aftermath of her unleashed power. The air, thick with the scent of destruction and charged with residual energy, seemed to settle. The alarms, having served as heralds of the tumultuous events, now echoed in the lingering silence.

The sandy haired sorcerer walked through the corridors, the echoes of her footsteps resonating with the hushed whispers of the ancient walls. The faculty across the building who had retreated in the wake of her power, watched in awe and trepidation as she passed by. Nobuhiko started to laugh out loud about Gakuganji’s face as Akihiko tried to get him to calm down.

The sun, casting its final golden rays over Kyoto Jujutsu High, illuminated Genmei's determined expression. The branches on the ancient tree, though shaken by the tumult, swayed in a final salute to the departing sorcerer. As she stepped into the fading daylight, the courtyard held the traces of the intense encounter. The shattered windows, the splintered wood, and the remnants of the alarms all spoke of a clash of wills that had left an indelible mark on the venerable institution.

Genmei, undeterred by the lingering chaos, walked towards the gates of Kyoto Jujutsu High. The weight of her decisions hung heavy, but the lilac-eyed sorcerer carried it with the grace of one who had faced adversity before. The courtyard, now bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, became a stage for the next act in the unfolding drama. The alarms, having fulfilled their duty, faded into the background, leaving Kyoto Jujutsu High in a contemplative stillness.

As Genmei stepped beyond the gates, the leaves fell and whispered their silent farewell, and the ancient walls bore witness to the shifting tides of power within the Jujutsu world. The struggle for Itadori's life continued, and the repercussions of Genmei's actions would reverberate through the corridors of tradition and rebellion.

“Where to next?” Akihiko turned to ask.

Nobuhiko yawned. “We should go. I’m quite hungry.”

“Mikoto–mori.”

Nobuhiko looked at her. “To do what, Genmei–sama?”

Genmei smiled. “To play with the Mikoto elders, of course."

facts about this chapter

genmei was born on january 10th, 1976, year of the tiger. this makes her three years older than satoru and four years older than nobuhiko.

two herons are the clan crest of the mikoto, and members of the mikoto clan wear a badge to signify where they're from. red from the line of the original ryomen clan bloodline and purple for the line of the original mikoto bloodline.

not all members of the mikoto clan are blood related. the mikoto clan prefer adoption, akihiko and nobuhiko are both product of adoption. they are part of the family which is why genmei considers them bowing to her unnecessary.

as stated by nanami in what a wonderful world, genmei has adopted gojo's personality and perspectives over the years. its what annoys gakuganji and the higher ups as genmei was prior to this, was very obedient to them.

genmei adopted gojonyan many years ago and did so because the cat reminded her of satoru. however, gojonyan hates satoru a lot. he's however very friendly with megumi.

genmei has great hatred for the higher ups as much as satoru. being a zenin by birth, she has some pull with them. however, she can reveal her true colors when her emotions get too much. especially if they put the students at risk.

genmei was very close to suguru and satoru, both being her juniors. she formed a great attachment to suguru and has just as much nightmares as she does with namie and kaiko, who were her kyoto classmates.

[neiptune]

a ghost so pretty

c/w: 1k wc, angst, hurt basically no comfort, unrequited love(ish), I'm sorry gojo is just too perfect for painful stories and you know how sundays are...

You and Gojo Satoru have an agreement.

You’re friends before anything else and you can trust each other, always. It’s been like that since high school, when the two of you didn’t have each other to rely on at all times because there just was so much more. A larger friend group, sunlit days melting into each other the way it happens when sorrow is still something to be pushed away, the way it goes when youth gives you all the time in the world, the majority of it still sticking to your bodies for dear life but the rest slowly trickling down like honey from a spoon.

You and Gojo Satoru have an agreement: you don’t talk about those summer afternoons when the breeze would blow through green leaves the right way, golden rays bleeding through trees and drenching laughter underneath them that was just as gleaming. You don’t get to mention the way he’d look at his best friend and how Suguru looked right back at him, the familiar curve of his lips whenever a smirk would tease them, the banter, tender blush coloring the tips of Satoru’s ears whenever he’d get too close, the easy disguise given by heated quips with no real animosity rooted in them.

It’s not that you and Suguru weren’t friends. Part of the same group, bound to spend some time alone sometimes, never sent on missions together because he already had someone else completing him. They were each other’s perfect half, the strongest, most promising sorcerers of the entire society.

Still, you liked Suguru and he didn’t seem to mind spending some time with you. His smiles were kind and his conversation genuine, polite. You had childishly tried to replicate their relationship but with Shoko: insisting on spending an obsessive amount of time with her, asking to be paired up for missions and trainings, always trying. Trying hard enough for Suguru to notice. He’d never been cruel enough to openly tease you about it, but unfortunately you were just as much as a sharp observer. You’d catch sight of his amused smile, the conspirational whisper of a secret to Satoru’s ear, the way he’d then turn to look at you with mirth sparkling in his crystalline gaze. He didn’t get it then, you’re still not quite sure he gets it now.

You and Gojo Satoru have an agreement. Neither of you gets to mention Suguru’s pitfall, much less to insinuate that you may have picked up on some signals at the time. That you may have tried to talk to him about it. You haven’t uttered Geto’s name out loud in years and it feels wrong, it fees unfair, it weighs heavy on your tongue, makes your stomach churn with guilt. But if it’s the condition Satoru demands you satisfy, if keeping your mouth shut means earning one more day with him, you’ll comply. It’s not like there isn’t a cruel, voice in the back of your brain, mercilessly eating you up inside.

He was your friend too.

He knew you’d do this the first chance you got.

Don’t you feel any guilt? Aren’t you the least bit ashamed?

You feel dirty, like a polluted rain that was simply lucky enough to drip drip drip until finally able to filter through cracks left open by someone else. It’s not your place, it never was, there is no place beside him for anyone but the one who left. And yet, you and Gojo Satoru have an agreement.

He is kind enough to welcome your love instead of tolerating it, knows how hard you work for it not to be an imposition or some kind of blackmail. Love me or I’ll leave too. Love me or you’ll be alone. There is nothing you would ever hold against him.

Some sort of solace comes with not being loved by Gojo Satoru. Because how could you bear the weight of being enough to deserve his love in the first place?

Shoko doesn’t approve, not one person in your life does. Yet you’re stubborn and famished and everything is always better when he comes home to you and lets you pretend you’re the one pulling him back together.

You don’t know that Satoru loves you back, albeit in his own way. His grip sinks into your presence more and more each day in the only way he knows, selfish, demanding, possessive. He loves the tenacious nature of your affection, the righteousness you carry around and the never wavering integrity that makes you, you. Satoru basks in the disgusting sense of guilt clutching his stomach so tight, it’s the one thing he deserves to feel for feeding on your love so shamelessly, and it’s not like there’s anyone left to feel guilty for.

He loves your touch and the way you kiss him and the vulnerability that comes with burying himself in your warmth, always so welcoming and never demanding. Yet, he gives, gives, gives. It’s only fair, given how much he takes.

He loves looking at you, chest swelling whenever he remembers you have no idea that his infinity is always turned off when you’re around, close enough to touch him or folding laundry in another room. He loves that you’d open yourself up for him, let him curl up in your ribcage if you could, lull him to sleep with your heartbeat. But he never crosses the line, doesn’t make any promises, won’t envision any future. He hates that you comply, he loves that you understand.

As you gently comb your fingers through his hair, Satoru weakly huffs into your neck, sarcastic pitch all too familiar.

“I’m fine, y’know”

A beat always passes.

“I know”

But you deem necessary to remind him that your love is there, a safe harbor whether he needs it or not, just in case he may ever decide that he does.

You and Gojo Satoru have an agreement. He lets you love him but doesn’t love you.

How could he? With the ghost so pretty sitting on the edge of your bed every single night.