#this one just cracked me up. 'this 24 hours has a lot of range' is such a running bells hells theme lmao

[revvethasmythh]

"This 24 hours has a lot of range": The Bells Hells Story - Campaign 3, Episode 4: On the Trail of a Killer

[afreakingdork]

Legit had already voted for Hassan/Mikey before I saw you were offering requests but here is the proof! Miss Dork, big fan, and really enjoyed the previous Raph x Reader you wrote for ozoneapple! I also really enjoy how you wrote him in YAMSMOM! Would it be possible to request a meet-cute with Future Raph? I wish I had more of a prompt than that but I'm a sucker for fluff and leader in red deserves some love. Thank you!

Writing Request: Reader x Raph Meet-Cute ☎️

Let me start by saying I was STUMPED on your request for like at least 15 minutes. I had no idea what the heck Yam's Mom was and it was driving me crazy! I have never in my life acronymed You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine, like that! It cracked me up! I always just slanged it to Sunshine, Moonshine.

The following work takes place in the universe of and after the events of You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine.

Now that that's out of the way! Here we are folks! This is my final request of the contest duration! I thank you all for joining me. I thank you all for supporting justice. I thank you all for voting. I thank you all for bringing some attention to the hate in our fandom. I hope, regardless of the outcome, that we can continue to shed light on these issues, learn, and be better for it.

Again, the poll has under 24 hours on it so I urge you, please vote Hassan/Mikey. Tell everyone you know! Why not? It's a single click. Get literally everyone you know in on it! Let's be the change we want to be!

ᴰᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ: ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵃⁿʸʷᵃʸ ᵃˢˢᵒᶜᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵈᵒʳˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵉᵗᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒʳ ᶦᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ.

Cutie cute all ages content below:

Donnie had you.

Mikey also had you.

Platonic soulmates were still something Raph was wrapping his head around.

April had Sunita.

April had Casey.

Casey had Sunita.

That circle had been going round for years.

Leo had Dale.

Raph had heard April say a few choice words about that, but the guy seemed nice so time would tell.

Dad had...

Raph did not want to think about that.

Who did Raph have?

He had his family.

He had reassurance that he wasn't going to be benched in brother duties any time soon.

It was hard to deny he wasn't lonely.

Especially when the holidays came around.

All the couples cozied up and Raph was left alone.

They offered him blankets.

They offered him center spots.

They knew.

They all knew.

Raph wasn't ashamed.

He had never felt that way.

Love was a fickle thing.

He was busy.

Hero work took a lot of time.

Being a Hamato took more.

It wasn't like he avoided love.

it had taken him awhile, but he had asked out that waitress who flirted with him.

They had a few nice dates.

They just didn't have the same interests.

That happened.

That happened often.

Raph was alone, it struck him a few months later.

His life was full, but he was also alone in love.

He didn't feel lesser.

He thought he hadn't felt wanting.

The feeling had snuck in.

It now sat, something small in his chest.

Something that would grow.

What was there to do about that?

Did people still picked up others at bars?

Was that for one night stands?

Did he try apps?

There was something about swiping, he was sure of it.

There were those single's events.

You did an activity and mingled.

Raph wasn't sure he was ready to skydive.

He had taken just about enough dives of his own volition.

What did that leave?

A bell rang.

Speed dating.

By all accounts this should have been anyone else's idea, but in fact it had been Raph's. After being out of the supposed dating game so long, there was a certain allure to a speed run.

Did Raph think he was good at time constrained small talk?

No, he knew he was terrible.

Did Raph particularly think he was going to find someone amongst the mixed pool here tonight?

Not at all, in fact, he was mostly doing this to get his head right.

That might have been selfish, but he did want to open himself up the possibilities.

He was trying his best, he swore.

He just also needed to be caught up to speed.

What better way than to break the ice with a dozen people?

He would pick up as much as he could, eat from the generous buffet table, and have started this whole dating game in only an hours time.

It was the perfect remedy for his dating confusion.

He had met three people already.

There had been a peppy mutant with a ponytail that seemed sweet.

A buff jock who had an accent that seemed just as ready to smash objects as him.

A gorgeous fox mutant with the softest looking fur that was sharply contrasted by her cold wit.

They all fit Raph in different ways.

They were like different facets of his personality.

People he could get along with.

People he could see himself with.

People that he didn't seem to be with long.

Even in his imagination, he found some excuse to get out of the relationships.

That seemed important.

Raph was missing what a coyote mutant was telling him about her job as a bartender.

Again, he saw a short lived relationship with her.

Why didn't they work out?

He couldn't even think of that 'something' that made the relationships not worked.

They seemed to just naturally drift apart.

Maybe that was the point.

He was sullen as the bell went off for the next seat change.

He supposed it helped to know.

There was no harm in being alone.

No shame.

If that was his life, then he would absolutely make the most of it.

It also was a little bit of an old phrase he used to say.

A cowabummer.

"H-hi!" A timid voice came up from across from him.

"Hi, I'm Raph. I work as a vigilante hero. Nice to meet you." He started with the pre-recorded line before he got a real look at you.

You were a vision.

Not something that necessarily made his heart explode on contact, you were by all accounts, cute.

He liked your smile.

He liked the shuffle of your eye.

He liked the slope of your nose.

His head dipped as you made your introduction.

You then hesitated.

Once and obvious while ringing your hands under the table.

"You okay?" Raph asked.

"I like your muscles!" You suddenly burst you.

"O-oh...!" Raph stumbled into a smile. "Thank you."

"N-no! It's more than that." You were clearly embarrassed and pressed by the clock.

He leaned forward to hopefully make sharing your piece a little easier.

You seemed thankful with one watery eye shot before you leaned in as well. "Y-You see... I like wrestling."

He blinked.

"Like... I'm a really big fan. That's weirdly been a big deal breaker for everyone else here."

"Me too." Raph blinked.

"You don't have to say that. It's okay, it would be better if-"

"No! I do! I really do! Like, my favorite wrestler is Ghost Bear! His streak hasn't been the best since he got his ban lifted from the league, but I went to his wedding!" Raph felt himself talking a little too much. "But, I'm bragging! You go! You were saying?"

Your eyes were twin gemstones that sparkled.

Raph gaped.

"Ghostpepper is my favorite! I can't believe they stayed married! I swear they fight in the ring as much as out!"

"Right!?" Raph almost bumped the table. "He actually has a restraining order on me!"

"No way! Is his signature on it!?"

"Yes! I got an original copy framed!" Raph gushed.

"That's so cool! What else do you-!"

The bell rang.

For a split second you both stared at each other.

Raph didn't want you to go.

It might have been wishful thinking, but it seemed like you didn't either.

There were other dates.

Raph was supposed to be intelligence grabbing.

He was supposed to move on.

To his lonely future.

Instead of with those temporary flings.

It was odd.

Looking at you right now, he didn't see either.

All he saw was right now and how he wanted to keep talking to you about wrestling.

"Is this thing really binding?" Raph's beak scrunched up around the question.

"Absolutely not. We just lose what we paid for."

"Like we would get a refund." You giggled. "Wanna raid the snacks and maybe get ice cream."

"Who are you!?" He cheered and finally moved to stand.

The next two people watched on with pouting confusion as you and Raph grabbed up as many foods as you can carry and shot out the door. Predictably no one said a thing and you were both off in conversation. You discussed wrestling at first, but the conversation quickly changed.

You collected one thing and he had his precious stuffed animals. You didn't laugh when he brought them up and instead gushed when he showed you pictures. He raved about Teddy Bear Town, but you didn't press for him to take you. A vision of you stuffing twin animals didn't conjured and there was something settling about that.

After deciding on ice cream, you both continued to chat as if you were long time friends catching up. Conversation flowed like water and you both separately mentioned how unusual that was. The oddity was about as strange as your love for peanut butter ice cream which Raph swore off as poison.

You didn't tease him about how that meant there would be not parting kiss and instead told him about your interest in video games. He compared it to his in working out and, though the two seemed disconnected, there was a certain shared discipline that worked. The similarities and contrasts continued on and Raph enjoyed every minute even if you did smell like his worst nightmare whenever you laughed a little too brightly.

You walked after that, sharing stories of your families. It was a large topic of conversation of Raph and usually the most warding factor in Hamato relationships. You seemed to have quite the home life yourself and though you couldn't quite go toe-to-toe with him, you had your own horror stores that made his scales crawl.

Before he knew it you were getting late night tortas that were a collapsing mess. It was date night taboo to eat something so disastrous in front of a prospect, but Raph hadn't felt a single pressure of a date. Instead, he devoured his giant sandwich, spilled half of it in his lap, ate that up with his hands, and then licked his fingers clean. Meanwhile, you were just as indelicate as you took one big bite and everything sprayed out the back half of your buns. You used a scoop and bite method, turning your torta into a an edible plate that you scooped bites on to shove into your mouth.

In the end, you basically needed to be hosed off and so began the search for a bathroom.

Raph got to show off his ninja skills even though he hadn't felt the pressure to impress.

Instead, he felt like getting you a glimpse of the real him and you clapped for each amazing maneuver he made.

He felt proud

Even with the title of strongest, there was something to being seen as well rounded in your eyes.

You'd be disappointed in him when you met the others and that fact stopped Raph right in the street.

You chased him with worries and he only watched on as you fussed.

That had been the first time.

In all these hours, he hadn't imagined that future and with that came freedom.

Then in a single thought, that joy was gone and his inadequacy rose.

He wasn't left behind, but he was behind the others.

There was always competition between them.

Whether they gamified training to make it bearable or bargains of real money, there was always a contest.

It was second nature to check his odds.

By poker's rules, he folded when he didn't have a chance.

That's what it was.

None of those dates were quite right, so he folded before it could become a problem.

He saved his bets.

He was cautious.

He was careful.

He saw you seeing him as less.

For what he was amongst his super powered bale.

Was there more?

You touched his plastron and tried your best to mind your sticky fingers.

He hadn't seen ahead because he hadn't wanted to look.

You talked just enough that he didn't need to.

He put it off as long as he could because he liked you.

He took one deep breathe before he decided.

He would look.

For your sake.

For putting up with him tonight.

From the inky black void of his mind you appeared.

You took his face with both hands and dragged him down to your eye level before you scolded him.

"Why do you keep comparing yourself to them!?"

That was new.

You went on.

"So what if Donnie's smarter! Brains are overrated and pretension. Who cares if Leo's faster! I can't keep up with that. Mikey may be more creative, but he's got nothing on you! I've seen you cobble together sandwiches that would make Scooby Doo jealous. I've seen you lift a bus with your bare hands. I've seen you out think the entire lot of them because you have the real sense that matters, the common one and don't you dare think that's average! I love you, Raphael! As hard as that is for you to hear sometimes! I do! Through thick and thin, through your anxieties and my worries, through everything else, every night, for the rest of my life, all I want to do is sit down at the end of the day and cuddle with you."

When he came to you were wiping his tears away with the backs of your hands and whispering to yourself a plea that he not get pimples.

He croaked at the sight of you.

You perked up at his attention and held your own weepy gaze, thankful he was back. "Raph. Are you okay?"

"I am."

You sighed, grateful. "Good. I didn't know what I was going to do. How could I move you!? Maybe I could drag you or get a dolly, but-"

"Do you want to go out sometime?"

You blinked a few times.

it fluttered your lashes straight down the cute slope of your nose.

He wanted to touch it, but he was encased in a fine layer of grease.

"Out. More than thing. More than running from speed dating. I don't know... We could get tickets to a wrestling match. We could... get more giant sandwiches. We could... do anything. Finally find that bathroom! I think... No... I want to... do something else... A million somethings... with you."

Your lips wobbled so fast he could barely track them.

You then leaped at him for a hug.

"I was so scared you didn't feel the same! It's weird! It was weird right!? Like we're clearly compatible, but also not? Like we're friends and have been for years, but I also might want to kiss you when there isn't a chance I'll kill you."

Raph smiled once before he swallowed up your chatter in a squeeze.

You didn't struggle against it and only settled.

It came to a natural conclusion and you both came away with hopeful smiles.

Then a thought caught up with Raph a little too late.

"I've got it!"

"Got what?"

"Let Raph tell you something I learned about recently. It's called queer platonic relationships!"

You sang a note that was more than interested and you both continued your walk straight until the sun rose.

[kashimos-hajime]

the colour yellow | jjk

summary: “You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right.”

WARNINGS: ANGST!! hanahaki disease but not an au, HOSPITALS, DEATH, DESCRIPTIONS OF DISEASE, UNHEALTHY WEIGHT LOSS, pining, unrequited love, complicated feelings, its just sad. there are some light-hearted moments, and happier/softer aspects in the ending but it is generally sad in the ‘what could have been’ department pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, past geto suguru x fem!reader, mentions of satosugu word count: 29.9k lmao

a/n: i just needed to get the hanahaki out of my system. it did not work. i took liberties w the timeline because idc about actual jjk canon in this fic thanks. 

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

Your Innate Technique always gave you a green thumb. Meaning, similarly enough to Yaga, you could plant cursed energy into objects.

Where it deviated, Satoru knows, is the type of object. Plants—trees, leaves, flowers. 

Ironic, he thinks numbly as he walks through the hospital. Shoko had told him that at this point it was palliative care until you died—nothing else would work. Cursed energy only fed your sickness, and even her technique could not heal the damage fast enough. Stupid. Idiotic. Cruel.

Cruel. That was the word.

He hadn’t seen it himself but from how his old friend had described it, it could only be cruel. 

His footsteps tap along the linoleum floors, urgent, but not too fast. A part of him dreads what he will see—his mind swirls with the possibilities, and of guilt.

Why didn’t he just come sooner? Why did he think it was okay to wait, to dismiss Itadori when he said you’d been checked in for your coughing fits?

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” he had said. Itadori’s small frown. “A little feather in her throat isn’t going to knock her down.”

Why? Why? Why? Why did he say that?

Because it had to be serious to put you in the hospital. For fuck’s sake, you were still that teenage girl who stood outside his dorm window in the middle of a thunderstorm to bring Fushiguro a birthday present before you left for a curse expedition a thousand years ago, and the woman who welcomed him into your home unprompted on December 24th, your cheeks dry, lips pressed in a brave smile.

You had held him tight enough he could not see the blood, scrubbed him in a bathtub, ran your fingers through his hair until the sweat and grime was gone. You took care of him because he knows the belief that no one should be left behind to suffer alone has been engrained in you since the day he’s met you.

He should’ve known. A girl abandoned for being cursed had turned into woman with a saviour complex who’d barely even think about telling him you were dying. 

Dying, of all things, from a disease no one knows how to cure. And you’re a sorcerer.

He could’ve laughed. The irony is enough to make him smile.

Your room’s in a tiny corner of the hospital, down the hall from a nurse’s station, and as he walks through, he can see the grey sunlight streaming through the window, glaring against his glasses. He lifts them to rub the heel of his hand into his eye.

He doesn’t want you to worry when you see him, and mostly, he needs to stall. His heart is in knots in his chest, and he spots a chair beside the door with your name in the plastic slate, so he sits down. His knees feel gummy and he leans forward, the visitor’s pass clipped to the front of his shirt hanging. 

Satoru tugs the glasses off his face, fits his palm over his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s chilling in this dead end, and he swallows tightly. Everything tastes so dry as he looks up and shoves his hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing it all over his hands just so he has something to do.

After a few minutes, he gets up and sets a hand on the knob. 

It can’t be as bad as he’s imagining. At most, you’re a bit sick, but you’ll still be spritely, warm in the lips and with arms outstretched and, “Satoru, finally!”

He opens the door. 

You’re sitting hunched over in bed. Silhouette outlined by the white-grey sunlight from outside your hospital room, you’re trembling as you hold onto a receptacle. An IV is hooked to your arm, a hospital gown is barely hiding anything, and it feels immoral to even look so Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he pauses by the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment as your gaze flashes to him. 

He feels it, to be honest. The heat of your stare until it is wrenched away by a violent cough you instinctually muffle by your palm, blood splattering over your hand, soft, velveteen purple petals falling from your lips and into the receptacle in your lap. 

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

Vines bend to your will if you command it, you can summon forth thorns to impale your opponents, send thick creeping ivy to barricade a doorway. It doesn’t matter if there is no greenery in your immediate area. At the sweep of your hand, the ground could rumble with the sound of trees twisting their gnarled roots into feet to march at your command.

Just as long as they’re within range and you’ve touched them in the past few hours, they’re yours.

So, why can’t you stop this?

Plants are supposed to listen to you, right? As he stares at your shaking body on the bed, curved over the plastic tub, thick globs of bloodied spit drip from your lips and soaked purple blossom petals entwine with your life essence. His heart plummets to his chest. You retch, spit, choke, and every sound stabs him in the chest as he takes a weak step forward, hand stretched out limply.

Your name flutters, barely leaves his lips before you’re looking at him again, a bit of a mortifying image but nonetheless.

Even so, you smile, despite the blood painting your face, the exhaustion morphing your body. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and your hands shake around the receptacle. You look battered, bruised along the arms where the needles keeping you filled with antibiotics, medicine you need, had punctured you.

And still, you’re beaming at him. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, Satoru.”

His hand falls. Eyes wide, he cannot take another step. You wipe at your lips, tossing the tissue into the trash before pushing the plastic receptacle onto the table and swinging your legs off the bed.

“Don’t—“ he croaks but you don’t listen, sliding your feet into slippers and grabbing your IV stand to take a step towards him. Your knees nearly give in but you stick out a hand before he can rush to catch you. Then, you’re pushing yourself up and walking over to him. It’s more of a shuffle, but Gojo finds he can’t care as you land on his chest, hands pressing into his back.

You’re a bit cold in his arms, and he wraps himself around you, trying to rub the heat back into your skin as you shudder, but your heart is still racing as it always does around him, and you…

You’re the type of person who can shift how the air feels and looks to his Six Eyes with your smile or your tears or your frown, and in that moment, the air bleeds yellow with your joy. It’s so bright in his soul that it makes his heart skip as you shift on your feet against him, hands sliding down so your arms can circle his waist and haul him closer. 

“Gojo Satoru turning off his infinity for little ole me,” you murmur, voice raspy, as he closes his eyes, cradling your head. Without another word, he sinks into you. “Talk about the world ending.”

Why didn’t you just call him? Why did you let him stay away for so long? He doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening, or how. He already knows you’ll just lie. But he wants to know if you think so lowly of him that you thought you didn’t matter to him.

After Suguru…

How could you think that? He’s screaming inside his mind as he touches your back, feels the faint protruding ridges along your skin when he pushes down. It makes your spine a bit more pronounced along the knobs, your shoulder blades a bit bumpy, but otherwise, it’s almost normal. One wouldn’t even be able to tell without touching you and actively searching for it. How could you think I don’t care?

This isn’t the work of a cursed spirit, that much he knows. It seems much more seductive, sneaking yet unhurried in its nature. This is agony in effigy. There’s something rotten inside you, but he can’t tell what it is. The energy is everywhere.

You pull back to look up at him with a soft smile, then tap his nose and tell him to join you before turning around and climbing back into bed with energy that betrays your earlier fits. You grab your robe that you’ve left on your bed before getting up again and walking around, shrugging the fabric back onto your shoulders.

He sits down in a visitor’s chair that is still cold.

“It comes and goes,” you explain first with your new, croaky voice, stretching your arms above your head and rubbing your neck. It doesn’t look painful, but you clear your throat a lot to see if it helps. So far, nothing. “So, it’s just like a really bad coughing fit, to be honest.”

“How long has it been going on?” Your hip cracks and you let out a relieved sigh. Satoru arches an eyebrow as you animatedly stretch your face. “What are you doing, silly?”

“It got worse a few weeks ago, enough that Nanami insisted I check myself in around two weeks ago?” you say, after counting on your fingers. Satoru’s heart plummets. “But it’s levelled out since I’ve been moved here and off-campus. And I’m stretching. When I get back out there, I have to remember how to emote.” You flash him a bedazzling grin and a bit of the weight lifts off his shoulders as you swallow down another cough. This time, it’s successful and you only let out a short, raspy breath before shaking it out.

You aren’t even doing that bad. 

The blood, the flowers, that must’ve been just a bad bout, but otherwise, you seem quite normal.

That’s what he tells himself, and he believes it.

With relief, he stretches out his legs, leaning his head back on his hands. Your room’s pretty nice—much nicer than an average hospital room. Plants on the windowsills, some get-well-soon cards and a desk in the corner filled books that you look like you haven’t even begun to read, some paintings hanging off the walls. 

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

“Don’t look,” you chastise, tying the robe around your waist. “Some of these are works in progress.”

“So Itadori and Shoko were just exaggerating,” he assumes. You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re attempting to paint, I know all that’s happened is that you’ve lost your mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, they made it out as if you were dying. If it’s just a lung issue, they could probably just fix it and we can get back to exorcising curses and making fun of Fushiguro’s teen angst,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankles. You step over them to go to the window and examine your plants, and he eyes you in his peripheral, watching you inspect one of the leaves before looking next at some blooming flowers. You don’t answer, and the grey light makes you look melancholy until you shrug.

“The doctors say I need to rest, save my strength and all that,” you finally say vaguely. “And don’t make fun of Fushiguro.”

“I’d never do that.”

You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow skeptically before flicking his forehead with a sharp donk. “I’m not above slapping the shit out of you.” He opens his mouth to argue and you hold up a finger, shutting him up. “And you can’t hit back as revenge. Ill hospital patient rights.”

“You can’t take the moral stand. Vengeance has no gender bias,” he exclaims, sitting up but you merely smirk, leaning over and shoving your face into his space before turning your head to present your cheek. His eyes widen as you poke your own face tauntingly.

“Do it, then.”

Gawking for a moment, Satoru stares but you only wink and he pushes you away lightly. You stumble a bit and he jumps to his feet to catch you but you manage to right yourself up, shooting him a foul glare. He glares back in response.

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to actually slap you,” he says, indignant.

“So you pushed me instead? Gojo, in your words, you are the strongest. You never know how to control the strength you push out.”

“Yes, I do!”

“One time, you patted Megumi on the back and you sent him into the pavement.”

“He was nine.”

“It still happened!” you cry, although an impish smile is already curling at your lips and it isn’t long before it spreads to Satoru, warm bright yellow and enough that it absolves any of the remaining pain in his body as you straighten up, holding onto your IV stand for support. The metal rattles a bit as the wheels roll. Your feet brush the ground. You lift your head up wretchedly.

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death. 

His face feels like it numbs, staring at the darkness that seeps the light away. You stare at the metal pole your fingers are wrapped so tightly around, and then you look at the bag hanging there, clear and round and soft to your touch as you straighten up.

“Satoru,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” His voice is so quiet he’s not sure he even speaks. He can’t remember the last time you had looked so dispassionate at anything in his life. Even death had left its mark—black frowns, long streaks underneath your eyes.

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour. 

“When I die, make sure Shoko’s the one who cuts me open to find out what’s wrong with me.”

Something prickles at his fingertips. He touches your shoulder and half-thinks his fingers will go right through you.

“You’re not going to die,” he insists firmly. “It’s just a bad cough.” You look up at him and blink. Then you touch your lips and shudder down another cough.

“We all die.”

“It’s not your time, yet.” His fingers dig into your shoulder. You don’t even wince even though you’re clenching his jaw but he can’t find it in himself to loosen his hold. It feels like the Jaws of Death. A crocodile’s bite.

So much for not being able to control his own power.

“It’s just a bad cough.” He ignores everything Shoko had said. Sometimes she’s wrong—sometimes, it’s not even that bad. He’d just seen it, hadn’t he? You were stretching, jumping onto your bed, acting like nothing was wrong.

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

You blink, then, and look at him. Stare at him as if you’d never said those words, and he had never reached out. 

You jerk your shoulder out of his grip. It stings more than it should.

“Right. But I’m just saying. You know how you always say I’ve got a few screws loose. It just makes sense someone will wanna crack me open to see what was going on up there and I want it to be her.” 

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple. 

Colour theory. 

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

“What about the flowers?” he asks after a while. You’ve climbed back onto bed and he’s sat back down. You’re blowing into a spirometer, and every time, without fail, the ball shoots up to the top, clattering against the plastic. He watches, hoping that the next time, it’ll do the same thing again.

You stop and look at him. “What about them?”

“Is it some optical illusion? Why are they in your throat?”

“That’s a harder nut to crack,” you muse. “I don’t really know. It’s like when you’ve got food in your esophagus and you’re trying to cough it up so it doesn’t feel stuck anymore except it keeps building up. That only started a few days ago, though, so maybe, someone drugged me or something.” He doesn’t laugh and you frown. “Not funny?”

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

.

He sits on the bench on campus. 

He’s cancelled classes because he didn’t come up with a standard lesson plan and his students are glad to have a Monday afternoon off, even if they’d never say it to his face. In truth, he’d spent the whole weekend at the hospital until he reeked of antiseptic and pollen. 

You coughed up five petals, and without fail, a nurse would come in hourly intervals to collect them. Shoko came once, to check up on you and to collect the samples. If she was surprised Satoru was sitting in the corner on his phone, she didn’t voice it.

“She’s not even doing that bad,” he says to the air, more accusatory than anything. The woman standing by him doesn’t answer and sits down beside him uninvited. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “You said she needed palliative care until she died. The doctor said she could leave tonight.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” she informs, not looking at him. Shoko looks a bit out of place in the warm colours of the garden. Half a corpse herself. Waif-like. “The doctor’s letting her relax in the comfort of her own home before she dies. That’s all.”

“She’s not going to die.”

She snorts. “Denial isn’t a good colour on you.” The words could’ve been delivered colder. Satoru is grateful that they weren’t. 

Shoko rests her hands on her knees, tilts her head up, and sighs. Her long hair is like warm chocolate in the sunlight, spilling down her arched back from the knot she tied. “If you have any idea on how to fix this, I’m listening with both ears.”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he says. “Coughing and flowers? I’ve never heard of a sickness like that before.”

“Nanami pointed out that it could be a curse someone placed on her. I don’t know why, but it’d be an explanation.” Satoru spreads his legs, plants an elbow on his knee and leans forward to look at the ants travelling along the cobblestone before his shoe. “It manifested on some negative emotion lingering inside her and it’s growing every day, but she won’t budge.” Shoko sighs. Her purple eye bags look worse in the sunlight, but he would never tell her that. “Maybe you’d have a better chance digging into her. With Geto gone, there’s no one else to ask, is there?”

“What about you? What happened to girls and their little secrets?” he jokes, trying to ignore the ache that begins to bloom in his chest. Shoko eyes him wryly.

“I have suspicions, but there are some things girls don’t ask other girls,” she retorts. “It’s never been my business anyway. My job is to treat her, and I’ve given her options. It’s up to her to take them. Grief is a birthing ground for curses, and if she’s letting them feed on her freely, you know what fate is waiting for her.”

With that, she gets up and leaves as quickly as she arrived. Satoru swallows the smell of flowers and feels sick.

.

Monday night, Satoru pulls up his laptop and looks through, searching up words he can string together in a coherent sense to get the answers he wants. As rare as it probably is, some research wouldn’t hurt, would it? Some curses had a trademark affliction—maybe this one does, too.

So he searches up flower coughing to see if there has ever been a record of strange deaths that have made the news. If not, he’ll go to the jujutsu databases, but for now, maybe some publicity could put some answers to this question.

He is surprised when one of the first results is flower coughing disease. 

When he hits enter, the white screen blasts into blue irises with numerous results all repeating the same two words.

HANAHAKI DISEASE

And Satoru reads, and reads, and reads. He reads two weeks to three months, he reads unrequited love, and removal, and disappearance of romantic feelings and capacity for romantic love.

He reads fictional disease and wonders how much of it really is fictional. 

His phone pings with a text, and he grabs at it, tilts it just enough to get a glimpse of the screen. It’s from you, and he hasn’t read a text from you in so long he almost doesn’t recognize who it’s from except he does because… who else could it be?

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

hey!!! guess whos finally fucking free oh my god

ugh out of the hospital and forgot how actual air smelled like lol bitch im so hungry i could eat a zoo

Letting his phone clatter, he sighs and rubs his face roughy, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before snapping his laptop shut and getting up. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly, the screen lighting up as he goes to bed.

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

we should get smth to eat!! i wanna go to that new ramen place in ikebukoro

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

fine but you good???? who picked you up from the hospital? still insulted you didnt let me tbh

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive 

he said itd get worse before itd get better so still gotta go for checkups but yeah dont worry and nanami came bc he didnt trust me not to try and walk home lol but he did buy me dinner

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

and yeah ill come pick you up on saturday for lunch?

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

  [Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

look!!! my babies are still alive!!! idk how but miracles do exist im tellin ya

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

inumaki, maki, and fushiguro broke into ur home to water them but dont tell them i told u

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

yeah idk when but i think u teaching inumaki how to pick locks has opened up too many possibilities but also its really funny thanks

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol 

remember how i can teleport 

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine 

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

.

“You’ve looked better,” Shoko says. Satoru raises his head wearily as he pushes off the wall. Shoko’s holding a cup of coffee, her lab coat fresh on her shoulders and eye bags looking more printed on rather than natural swelling. Satoru can’t help but feel the same exhaustion. “Definitely looked worse. What do you want? It’s early.”

“Have you ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” he asks. She shakes her head, and he pulls up the page on his phone and hands it to her. She takes it from him and her eyes scan the screen as he continues, “It’s this fictional disease, something that stems from unrequited love, and I think it could be related to whatever she’s experiencing.”

“I thought you were set on willing her to survive,” she replies dryly, shooting him a quick look and adjusting the coffee in her hand. “But this is definitely one of your stranger theories.”

Satoru ignores that last part. “It’d make sense. With her Cursed Technique, maybe it manifested in a way that links to it.”

She pushes into the office, setting the coffee on her desk and sitting down. Satoru sits down on the exam table closest and leans forward eagerly as she continues to read the page, scrolling down occasionally before scrolling back up and sighing. “This is a stretch. The timeline doesn’t match up to what this is saying.”

“This is a curse. It doesn’t have to follow fiction.” His body feels sore, janky even, everywhere. He barely got a wink of sleep last night and he knows he’s paying for it, now. “Hell knows life rarely does, anyway. But the symptoms matches too well, doesn’t it? The flowers—you’ve done scans, haven’t you?”

She deliberates his words carefully as she looks to the file cabinet and pulls out a binder. Satoru catches a flash of your name on the spine before she moves her coffee and his phone out of the way to flip it open.

“The scans we’ve taken have only just begun to show small growths in her trachea,” she allows, “and we don’t fully understand how cursed energy affects our bodies, so I suppose it could be something like Hanahaki, if the negative energy stemming from December 24th was what brought this on or if these symptoms started when we were still students, but she’s been experiencing shortness of breath a few months before Christmas.” Satoru’s lungs squeeze the last of the air out of them at that, and a cold sweat drops down his spine as she hands his phone back to him. “It only started getting worse Suguru’s death, which meant there had to have been a trigger before that.”

In the back of his head, he hears your voice, light and yellow, saying a few weeks. It got worse a few weeks ago. 

“Worse?”

“The first petal fell some time after Christmas. It’s been a slow, but steady progression since then. Sometimes, it’s two or three. When it’s not a good day, there can be as many as seven to ten.” Shoko switches on the lamp on the corner of her desk and adjusting the direction of the white light before flipping the page. “But if we can find the original trigger and alleviate that pressure it’s putting on her, we could buy her more time.”

“So it’s been nearly six months since the first petal,” he says. Shoko nods. Satoru is grateful for the blindfold—she can’t see how blank everything looks on his face. “It said sometimes, the disease can last for eighteen months.”

“As you said, this isn’t a fairytale.” She half-spins on her chair to face him and leans back into it, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling her knee. “I saw that one of the solutions is excise the growths at the cost of the attachment. That was one of the options I gave her when the growths first appeared. She said she wanted more time before she could decide.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s smart, and likes to push her damned limits. And if this is truly the basis of the curse”—she gestures to Satoru’s phone. Her expression flickers—“those flowers are feeding off cursed energy. Cutting them out would remove those negative emotions, but at a cost of something else. Maybe whatever feelings she has regarding the trigger.”

Satoru looks down at his phone. It feels heavier than a thousand cinderblocks in his clammy hands. His fingers are numb as his screen dims and finally locks itself. Pressing the button, it illuminates again to reveal a picture of a cactus you gave him for his birthday years ago, blooming with delicate purple petals. 

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.” 

“That’s why I asked you to ask her,” Shoko mutters. 

Turning to her binder again, she picks up a pen and clicks it, lowering it to the paper before pausing, and Satoru looks up as she stares at whatever words are printed into the page distantly. A strange affliction is on her face, almost tormented, and Satoru is not-so-kindly reminded that before Suguru and Satoru, Shoko was your best friend first. 

“Tell her how idiotic she’s being,” she enforces quietly. “The longer it lives, the more permanent damage is inflicted. With the unpredictable nature of curses, that won’t take long and by then, it’ll be too late to consider removing it.”

.

Saturday comes too fast, yet not fast enough. By the end of the week, Satoru is all but finished with teaching, and is waiting outside your apartment, leaning against the car as he scrolls through his phone. He’s done a bit more research on this Hanahaki disease, but even the word makes him shiver with the implications. 

“Satoru!” Turning, he catches you loping easily towards him. You’re dressed in billowy, wide-legged dark mint green pants and a pretty white top that makes you look more nymph than human, with a canvas tote bag hanging off your shoulder. You flash him a smile as you fiddle with the fabric tie at the waistband of your pants nervously. “Hi.”

“Hey. Hope you don’t mind I brought Ijichi along for the ride since someone claims I can’t drive.”

“You don’t have your license, sir,” Ijichi says wearily as you bend over to wave through the window. "It would be illegal for you to be on the road in any capacity—oh, hello, ma’am. It’s nice to see you doing so well.”

“Thanks, Ijichi. I think I’m doing better after getting out of there,” you say as Satoru opens the car door for you and he smirks, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. You straighten up, looking at him before poking his chest and it’s almost just like the good ole days as you break out into a grin that crinkles your entire face. “What’s with you being a gentleman? It better not be because I was in the hospital.”

“Of course not,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t dare dream of being polite to you of all people.” Still, he sidesteps and sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to climb in first which you do, exhaling a bit shakily as you settle in and slide over. By the time he’s settled in beside you, you have a fist over your lips and you’re clearing your throat testily.

A worm of unease wriggles into his stomach as he clips in his seatbelt, pulling the lapels of his unbuttoned green shirt free from the strap. Legs spreading, he lets his hands fold in his lap as Ijichi begins to drive them to their destination. You’ve lowered your hand by now, looking out the window, and it’s not bright enough that Satoru can read your expression on the glass.

It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it, but still, that nagging feeling bites at him as he rolls the divider up between the backseat and the front—a mock of privacy.

“The place we’re going to gives me the same vibe as that family-owned restaurant we went to when we were students. The one in Kagurazaka,” you say after a while, turning back to look at him. You’re wearing a bracelet that jangles when you move your hand to adjust the seatbelt across your chest. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Have you been?”

“One time, before I checked in,” you tell him, smiling still. “It was really good. The perfect last meal.” Satoru does well enough to hide his frown at your choice of words as you meet his eyes. “You know, you can ask. I’m not fragile.”

“I don’t have anything to ask,” he lies. “I’m just glad you’re out of the hospital.”

“Me, too. I’ve missed so much and it drove me insane. Yaga-sensei insists that I don’t work until I’m sure I’m feeling better,” you add. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much that can be done to make me feel better.”

“I see. So you’re still coughing up flowers?”

“Petals,” you correct, “and a bit. Don’t worry. It’ll get better soon.” You wave a hand and turn to look out the window and Satoru’s appetite all but vanishes. He doesn’t know why you’re so intent on lying to him about the severity of your condition, but as your knee jiggles relentlessly the whole car ride with unbridled excitement, he wonders if you’re even aware of how sick you could be. 

His Six Eyes scan your body for signs of a curse. Normally, those plagued have their little burdens hanging off their shoulders, prying their head open, biting into an arm or leg, but he finds yours lives inside your chest, just barely hidden by the yellow light brimming from your body as you reach forward to lower the divider and talk to Ijichi.

They reach Ikebukuro before they’re dropped off after Satoru insists on walking the rest of the way.

“Give us some privacy, Ijichi! We both know you’ll just eavesdrop for the juicy details,” he exclaims loudly, leading to the man to blush furiously, stuttering that he’d do no such thing, and earning Satoru a smack on the back of his head, knocking his sunglasses askew.

“Thanks for the ride, Ijichi,” you say warmly as if you hadn’t slapped a concussion into Satoru. The Assistant Director dips his head. “See you later!” With that, he drives off and the two sorcerers are left in the busy street. Satoru looks around curiously, but you tug him along up the main road of the district and immediately turn right into one of the smaller streets. A few cyclists race past, as well as cars, but the traffic seems relatively slow despite it being the weekend. There are people walking along the white lines separating the lanes, chatting merrily as you lead him to the restaurant.

“I forgot how actual sunlight felt,” you sigh, stretching your arms high above your head as if to touch the wind breezing through. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes. Satoru waits for you to begin to cough, and you hold it in, throat tensing a bit. 

He looks away, and pretends he doesn’t hear your sharp exhale, the soft cough you try to muffle with your hand. Instead, he looks at their surroundings, traces the green roads, watches a man park his bicycle and take the plastic bags out of the basket before rushing into a store. The air smells faintly of smoke, and Satoru waves in front of his face to see if it’ll help dispel the scent, but it’s so engrained with the hint of meat, honey, sweets, and flowers, that he can’t.

“I saw Suguru here once,” you tell him suddenly. He blinks, head snapping to you, and you’re already regarding him with a faint smile, eyes a bit dimmer. The warm yellow energy has faded to a burnt orange as you look ahead. “A year or two after he left. It’s why I moved closer a few years ago. I guess I had this weird hope that I’d see him again, but I never really did.” A faint grin graces your lips again, as if you’re not even aware you’re smiling. Fondness overtakes you. “I think about him a lot these days.”

“Me, too.”

“Of course,” you chuckle a bit, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I’m being insensitive.” 

“No, you’re not. He meant a lot to you, too. I don’t own him, or his memory.”

“I know, but he was still your best friend.” Unbidden, a voice in Satoru’s voice finishes it for you. My one and only. 

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

“Not really anything important,” you say, shrugging, but by the way your eyes shift in the light, glimmer differently, he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s none of his business, but a part of him hungers for new parts of Suguru and it’s powerful enough to take control of his tongue.

“Nothing’s not important. He was a wanted criminal.”

“I think we both know somehow that part never mattered to us.” You look at him, and run a thumb under the strap of your bag. “To any of us. But…” You tilt your head to him and your smile grows tender. “…since you asked, we talked about us. He told me about what he wanted, the kind of world he was determined to create. He paid for my dinner, kissed me goodnight like it was normal, and then he was gone. Never saw him again until last December.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. 

He remembers that day ten years ago in Shinjuku. The coldness in which Suguru had looked at him. He can’t imagine that same poison directed at you. He couldn’t even imagine Suguru looking at him like that in the first place until he did.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

“I used to have nightmares about it,” you continue distantly. “Because I could’ve left with him, but I didn’t. And I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t do that either.”

“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”

Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart feels rotten to the core. “I didn’t, either, until I did.” You smile a bit more, at the irony. “Would you? Have gone with him, that is.”

“I didn’t, so what’s the point in debating it?” you ask before shrugging thoughtlessly and answering anyway. “I think tackling curses at the source is important. I just didn’t like the way he was doing it. If I thought I could somehow change his mind, just a bit, on his methods, maybe, but by then, he was too far gone.” 

Your eyes, chips of glinting sunstone, mellow as a cyclist trills at them with a bell to get out of the way. You step out of the way, away from Satoru for a moment, before returning to him, and when the back of his hand brushes yours, he’s startled at how cold your skin is. 

Satoru is quiet as he absorbs all of this. He doesn’t really know what to say, and you don’t prod him for a reaction as they turn the corner again. 

“It’s just over there,” you say, pointing to a small restaurant, people milling by the door. There’s a sign hanging over the door, off-white with black kanji painted on and your arm falls. “There’s a line. Huh.”

“We can wait,” Satoru says when they stop at the edge of the crowd. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay. I’ll go put our names in then come back.” You disappear into the crowd for a moment before resurfacing and joining his side again, something in your hand. “It should be, like, fifteen minutes. I said the bar was okay.”

“That’s fine.” Shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, he cracks his knuckles and migrates to the wall. You follow, and he slouches against the concrete pillar. You adjust the tote bag against your body and lean against the other side just around the corner. Their elbows brush, and you tilt your head to look at him, smiling. Your face has caught the sun perfectly, and Satoru can’t help but smile back.

He wonders how to bring up this Hanahaki disease theory. You look so perfect, so happy in this moment where their eyes meet, that he can’t bring it up. Maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like it’s been so long since the two of them even managed to see each other for more than an hour. With how overworked jujutsu sorcerers are, it’s hard to recall the last time they both had downtime at the same time that wasn’t spent catching up on sleep.

You look away, shoulders shaking, as if that’s enough to hide your coughing, and he thinks, Later. There’ll be time for that later.

“Here’s the menu,” you tell him once you’ve calmed down, extending your hand. He takes the paper, unfolding it as you cross your arms and tilt your head back on the concrete. Reading down the list, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his vision, and your fingers play at your lips as you swallow. Reaching into your bag, you twist the cap of a water bottle and chug half of it down.

“Do you have any medicine? For your coughing?” he asks casually. You hit your chest with a firm fist, clearing your throat and looking at him in surprise. The water bottle returns to your bag.

“Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t work. Just gotta keep hydrated and avoid any possible triggers,” you inform. You turn up the street as you speak, crossing your legs at the ankles and sinking against the concrete. 

“And what are those triggers?”

“And you say Ijichi is the one digging for gossip,” you snort with short, choked huff. Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps looking at the menu. “Don’t worry about it. I’m avoiding them.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“If I wanted your dry wit, I would’ve gone to the original.”

“I don’t copy off Shoko. I take bits of everyone’s personality and twist it to make it my own.”

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

Your name is called a few minutes later and the pair push off the concrete pillar, heading through the crowd and into the small restaurant. It’s not too dimly lit, a bunch of natural light from the street streaming in through the open windows, and the air is rich with the smells of the kitchen as they sit down at the bar.

It’s not long before they’ve ordered, and Satoru has gone through his first bowl and is well into pouring his second into what remains of his broth before he remembers to even check up on how you’re doing. You’d been right—he loves this place. The atmosphere isn’t overly loud, but the mumbling of nearby patrons is enough to make him feel like he isn’t quite alone. It’s sheltered away from the world, and although he’s used to girls staring, no one has gone up to him which is giving him time to his own thoughts and food. Everyone here seems to mind their business—everyone likes to stay in their own bubble. 

Here, he isn’t the strongest, or quite so special. It honestly feels kind of nice.

You’re sipping on your broth, tilting the spoon towards your mouth and your lips are pulled into the warmest smile he’s seen since they were kids. The light’s hitting you just perfect again, more cool than warm, but it’s got you on the cheekbone, illuminated your lips. Satoru wonders if you know how to manipulate light, or if that’s just your natural blessing as you tilt your head towards him, eyes squinting from your own joy.

For a moment, another image flashes in his head. Him along the end of their group of four—you and Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. It’s almost poetry how much of a glimpse he can see in your smile. You would always be laughing, and Suguru’s cheeks would always be red, and Shoko would charm the guy over the counter to hand over a bottle of shochu. Satoru would tease his stupid best friend, and pay for their meal because “I’m friends with a bunch of goddamn freeloaders.”

But that moment ends as quickly as it came, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking that Satoru never thought their last meal together would be their last meal together. He would’ve cherished it more—done anything to make them stay in that ramen shop in Kagurazaka.

“Do you like it here?” you ask. 

He blinks. You’re studying him behind that smile of yours. Watching. Always watching. “It reminds me of when we were kids,” he replies. When he realizes that didn’t answer the question, he adds, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You grin, delighted. “If I knew how stupid you’d look sucking up these noodles, I would’ve brought my camera like when we were students. I still have it, you know.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

Satoru pays. He insists despite your protests, and snatches the bill from you anyway, swiping his card as quickly as he can. 

After, they walk slowly around the district, looking at the other restaurants and stores for desserts or souvenirs to bring back, and it makes him so nostalgic, his heart wilts a bit in his chest. 

He is saying something about buying some soymilk for Megumi when you stop suddenly, deviating to the side of the road to cough. It grows so intense so quickly that your eyes widen as if you’re surprised, too, and you place a palm flat against your chest as he comes to your side. You wave him back, and he frowns, running a hand down your back as you finally manage to dislodge the petals in your throat and spit them into your palm.

Satoru sighs, staring at the cursed things. The energy emitted from the petals are raw, potent, and his nose wrinkles at the stench that comes from powerful curses as he softly asks, “Do you know what Hanahaki is?”

“Flower vomiting?” you whisper through your raw vocal cords. You shake your head, slamming your sternum with a tight fist and flinging the drenched petals to the ground with a wet slap. “Itadori… said something about it, once. Never really paid attention, I—”

Satoru squeezes the back of your neck gently. “Whatever this curse is, it could be something like that.“

“You don’t want to open that can of worms, Gojo, of what is causing this.” Straightening up, your eyes widen and your cheeks puff up as you choke down another bout. Wobbly, you spit out, “It’s under control. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers brush your chin to turn your face towards him so he can look at it more clearly, and the instant their eyes meet, you lurch over, slapping his hand away and succumbing to the wracking. Hands shooting out to grab your elbows, Satoru barely eases you to the ground as your legs give in.

You collapse to your knees, hard. A hand is slapped over your mouth but your whole body shakes with the seizing of your lungs. Eyes widening, your cheeks puff up as Satoru grabs your shoulders, falling to his knees beside you.

“Hey! Hey, breathe!” His fingers dig into your shoulders and your nostrils flare, trying to follow his instructions. Bloodshot eyes and blueing lips, your inhales are shaking and incomplete, gasps for air that do not take in any oxygen before you’re kneeling over, hand falling from your lips. Blood splattered over your palm, you let out a low noise of pain. Satoru’s hand glides down your spine, rubbing in soothing circles as red spit falls to the pavement in thick globs. 

People all around stop to stare, eyes masked with concern, but he can’t care less at that moment despite the burning scrutiny. He shoves a hand into his pocket, speed-dialling one of the top numbers of his list.

“Ijichi, I need you to take us to the hospital, now!” Letting his phone drop with a clatter, he scoops you close but you slam your bloody hand against his chest, pushing him away. You throw yourself away, hands twisted tight in the fabric of your white shirt and Satoru looks down at the red handprint on his tee before blinking. “What are you doing? We need to get—“

“I’m—I’m fine!” Your voice, broken, is drenched with ice as you continue to wheeze, grasping at your chest as if you could reach and tear out the growths with your own hand. “Gojo, I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not!” Grabbing his phone, he hears a loud car horn, and looks up to see Ijichi leaning out of the driver’s seat, waving his arm frantically. Without another thought, he scoops you up and runs out into the street, ignoring the tires screeching, the cars horns blaring at him and the angry shouts as he jumps into the car and slam the door shut. 

Ijichi sets off at a drive, no directions needed. Satoru is sure he’s breaking as many laws as he can as he pushes you back against the seat to buckle you in. Blood dribbles down your lips in bubbles as a thick, gurgling sound begins to grow in your throat and he wipes at your chin with his sleeve, clicking the buckle into place just as you pitch forward. He jerks back just in time as you retch, and, slowly, torturously, you gag out three petals, one after another. Your fingers claw at your own throat, panicking and desperate as you struggle to breathe.

The petals fall in wet pools between your feet, landing on the carpet, and he spares them not even a glance before forcing your head between your knees. You’re still hyperventilating and as Satoru sweeps a hand down your back and up to your neck, his fingers come into contact with something sticky. 

Sweat. It drenches through your shirt so suddenly that Satoru reels at the wet marks spreading through your shirt, making the fabric translucent. Your heart is racing, tripping over itself. When you finally stop coughing, you breathe in harsh pants as he keeps your head between your knees.

Your fingers lace at the back of your head and he grabs them firmly, reassuring that he’s still beside you. 

.

“She’s stable,” Shoko announces to the waiting Satoru and six students. The latter came when their teacher had told them of what happened, and Itadori still clings to Fushiguro’s arm by an iron hand, fingers clawlike into his friend’s bicep. Kugisaki chews on her thumbnail, a bit paler than usual and there are crescent indents along her forearm where she had dug her nails in. Maki’s hand rests on her shoulder. Inumaki’s on the phone with Panda, and he turns the screen around so he can see the Strongest Sorcerer who does not feel quite so strong.

Satoru’s assurances that you would be fine had done nothing but send them into a quiet that scared even him. 

“Is she okay? When can she get out?” the kids demand suddenly.

“We’re waiting for the updates on her scans from the doctors, but she’ll need to stay here under observation.”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that means she gets a few more days off while the rest of us are working our asses off,” he teases. Maki shoots him a glare and his eyes close in a way he hopes arranges his expression in one of joy as he shrugs helplessly. “Well, that means I have another girl I have to spoil.”

“Aren’t you too busy with the four already blowing up your phone?” Kugisaki mutters sourly. Satoru pretends not to hear. His phone has been silent without your texts, and it’s cold and heavy in his pocket.

“Can we see her?” Fushiguro asks. Shoko nods, but holds up a hand and the kids skid to a stop.

“She’s resting. I’m unsure if you know, but certain topics of conversation or trains of thought can lead to more attacks, so stick to talking about your curriculum. Topics you think are safe.” The woman shifts on her feet, a wisp of brown hair swaying in front of her eye. “It’s unavoidable, but use your judgement.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The students walk off down to the dead-end hallway, and Satoru turns to Shoko who has her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up, scanning him like he’s got contraband, and he raises his eyebrows innocently.

“What?”

“It’s getting worse. I hope you managed to get answers,” she says. At once, Satoru’s facade drops, and a sober sensation overtakes his face.

“No, I didn’t. She’s heard of the disease, at least. We talked about Suguru, but it wasn’t like it was under lock and key.” The brunette shakes her head at his words, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. Doing so, he leans back into the uncomfortable chair as she crosses a leg over the other. “She said she thinks about him a lot.”

“She still loves him,” Shoko says bluntly. “She gets that far-off look when she talks about him. You two should trade secrets some time.” A shake of her head, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I healed what damage I could, but I can tell those growths inside are expanding. The attack only seems to have agitated and prompted them to take root.”

“How…” It’s hard to formulate the question. Luckily, Shoko knows him well enough.

“Without seeing the scans, I won’t know. Based on her last ones, I thought at least four months. Now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “She’ll be lucky if she gets two.” Shoko’s eyes flicker down Satoru’s front, and her lips press into a wry line. “And change you shirt. You look like a murder suspect.”

Glancing down, he looks at your dried bloody hand print, stark against white, and he gets up abruptly. Shoko doesn’t stop him.

He walks down to the dead-end hall. He can hear Itadori through your open door cracking jokes, Kugisaki relaying every detail of her shopping trips, and you’re wheezing your laughter despite Maki scolding you to save your strength. Satoru stops just outside your door, out of sight, and rests his head against the frame, content to just listen.

“Tuna mayo.”

“Is that right?” you ask Inumaki. “Lay it on me.” 

You sound exhausted, beaten to the bone, but still, when Fushiguro says something too quiet for him to make out, you still have the strength to tease him for worrying.

.

The night is warm, and he sets the last plant back into its place on your window sill before cracking the window a bit at your request. He’s busied himself making this place as homely as possible as quickly as possible, and in the process, had walked in on you staring at your own scans on the lightscreen mounted on your wall.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you say over your shoulder. He joins you by your side to stare at the scans. Granted, Satoru didn’t cheat his way through medschool like others have, so he doesn’t understand much, but he can tell what is and what isn’t supposed to be there. The floral-like growths situated right where the main bronchi meet the trachea, for one.

The roots spreading across your chest like cracks in concrete, for another.

“The doctors want to monitor this,” you explain, pointing at the roots, “to see whether or not it’ll grow around my lungs or continue outward, around the ribs and spine. If it’s the former, I’ll slowly suffocate and die. If it’s the latter, I’ll slowly suffocate, become paralyzed, and die.” You smile grimly. “Not quite a win-win.”

“Exactly the opposite.” He inspects the growths and through the blue-white-black imaging, he spots the tiny stems emerging from the main growth, sprouting into your lungs. He guesses, with time, those will grow into flowers of equal size before sprouting more shoots.

He wonders…

As if sensing his hesitance, you scratch your collarbone and look at the scans with a new glint.

“The doctors say if I avoid another attack like today, I’ll probably have two months, three if I’m blessed, but because of how big the growths have gotten already and its volatile nature, it’ll be impossible, so we’re looking at a month. Maybe a month-and-a-half?” You smile at him, throat bobbing. “Guess it’s good to have a number,” you add shakily, a short puff coming at the end of each breath as you struggle to fight the cough. “Being a sorcerer, too much uncertainty, I think.”

“You should tell Nanami that. Maybe this time, it’ll convince him to stay away,” he retorts, turning away from the scans. They’re burning his eyes and he doesn’t want to look at the real thing for much longer. You turn with him, walking back towards bed and climbing in. “Are you sure you don’t want the operation? Shoko could do it so fast you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“No, not yet. There are some complications that’ll definitely occur and I don’t want that to happen.”

“But it would save your life,” he argues. “What risks are frightening enough that you’d even consider not having it?” Your gaze flickers as you take another wheezing breath. The strength seems sapped from your limbs—you’re a scarecrow hanging off its pole as you swallow tightly. Satoru leans against your window sill and crosses his arms over his chest so you can’t see the frustrated fists he wants to make. “If this is about Suguru…”

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

“You’re going to die if you keep going down this road. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.” In the back of his mind, klaxons begin to scream.

“Satoru, some things are just beyond logical reason.” He jerks his gaze away, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. You sigh. “I know it’s hard, but this is my choice. I just want you to be here so you know it’s okay.” 

Your hand stretches out. Blue eyes flash to your outstretched fingers and he takes it before he can stop himself. Your fingers curl over his palm, tugging him closer and he lets you, sneakers dragging over the tile until he’s sliding into the chair by your bed. It squeaks against the tile.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” That’s all. That’s all I ask.

A hard, heavy sigh, this time from his end. He tightens his hold on you as you sit there, smiling hopefully. His heart thunders in his chest. “I’m not angry.”

You perk up a bit, and his index finger unfurls to rub your wrist. It feels colder than normal. “Promise?”

He wishes he could lie half as well as you. Either way, he tries his hardest: “Promise.”

By the time it’s quarter past nine, you’re already getting ready to sleep. You have enough pillows to surround your entire body, and he fluffs them up, helps you arrange them until you’re sighing against the white sheets, burrowing in with a sedated smile on your face.

Satoru sits down again on his visitor’s chair and you watch him lazily through the dim orange light stemming from behind your bed.

“You don’t have to stay here and watch me, creep,” you mumble, turning your face away to stare at the ceiling. You cough dryly, but it subsides moments later. Your voice is nothing but a croak as you let out a tired groan, and Satoru smiles to himself, cheek to his fist. 

“I feel robbed of our afternoon together. Making up for it now.”

You look at him again incredulously. “We’re not even doing anything.”

“I don’t know when you were told that every second of us being together had to be us doing something,” he huffs. “I like being in here. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s too much. You’re annoying me.” Even so, your voice turns fond as you roll onto your side, away from him to settle in to sleep and Satoru’s warm gaze lands on your shoulder gently rising and falling as you slowly drift off. 

He already knows you’re gone by the time he’s standing up and gathering his jacket. Walking around the bed, he glances at the bathroom to check the light’s off and catches a glimpse of his shirt. A coil wraps around his gut at the muddy red handprint pressed into the fabric and he turns away to look at you instead.

Your face is in perfect peace, half-buried into a pillow you’re hugging into your chest, and he only soaks in those features. His hand twitches, and his infinity wavers as he raises his hand as if to touch you. Your eyelids flutter and he freezes, fearing he might’ve woken you up, but you only mumble incoherently and turn into your pillow.

Satoru watches on silently just as a breeze sweeps into the room and he looks up where the window he had cracked open. The breeze takes hold of the plants, uplifts them until they sway like a tender dance. 

His chest begins to hurt. The smell of the antiseptic is starting to sting, so he moves his hand to the light switch instead. Flicking it off, he turns to leave.

.

Every time Satoru walks down to the end of the hallway, a different memory will play in his head until he’s playing a movie over and over every single day. Of the first time he met you, although that one is blurry. Your sixteenth birthday when the four of them had piled into your dorm room to drink themselves stupid.

One-and-a-half weeks go by before he realizes that he only replays the moments where you feature. Like his brain is preparing him, reminding him. For what, he doesn’t know. 

He can’t come every day—considering the low number of sorcerers has been taken down by one more, it means besides teaching, he still has to work for the Higher Ups as well as his own personal agenda—but when he does make it, he always makes sure that he soaks in every second. Even the horrible parts. Maybe, especially the horrible parts.

You have scans taken every other day to monitor your progress, so when he arrives at an empty room, he isn’t surprised. It’s when there’s movement in the bathroom that sends his nerves prickling until he catches a slab of golden hair and reading glasses flashing in the sunlight.

“Nanami,” he greets.

“Good afternoon.” His jacket’s off and his sleeves are rolled up. With a quick sweep of the room, Satoru notes that the windows are cracked open and the aforementioned jacket is folded over a chair sat in a square of sunlight.

“Do we need to be so formal?” he complains, bypassing the bathroom and searching for another chair. The one Nanami’s taken by the plants is still warm and Satoru isn’t keen on the idea of sweating so soon. During his search, he stops by the windowsill and his eyebrows rise curiously at the new plants and trash bin pressed up right underneath. “What’s happening here?”

“We were planting new seeds when she had to be taken for her scans. She insisted I finish potting the plants.” Noting the empty terracotta, Satoru bends over and prods at the moist dirt. “I have to go soon, though. I had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as it did and she would be back by now.”

“They started taking MRI scans when the branches continued to grow outward rather than inward,” Satoru informs. “It takes around forty-five minutes, on top of the CT scans they’re taking, too. That’s if she doesn’t start coughing in the middle of it.” 

“I’m guessing she does.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his nose, wiping at his hands free of the last of whatever dirt might’ve been clinging to his hands.

“Yup.”

“I see.” Satoru looks at the plants again. The blond man across the room throws the towel into the dirty clothes basket.“Has she… spoken to you of what to do with her effects?”

Gaze hardening, he doesn’t move at the question. Of course, he’s thought about it, but those bouts of weakness have never been longer than a few minutes. There’s no use in wasting time on a reality that won’t come until it does.

Hopefully, it never does.

“I’m so sick of everyone talking like she’s signed a death sentence,” Satoru murmurs, turning around to look at the blond man at the door to the washroom. “She still has time. Not a lot. It’s not convenient, but it should be enough.”

“She’s already considered the benefits of taking the surgery, and yet she actively decides to postpone it. You know she’s stalling,” comes the steady reply.

“And what about you?” Satoru asks. His words are biting, icy, but Nanami seems unfazed as he begins to loop the tie around his neck. “Would you do it?” Blue eyes meet a stoic face, and the coldness seeps into Satoru’s body. Nanami sighs.

A part of Satoru wonders why he even bothered asking. He already knows the answer—

“No.” Eyebrows shoot up. His mouth drops open and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Nanami merely continues on, quiet as death. “Perhaps it’s because I’m willing to accept my death, but, to be honest, I don’t know how to let any part of Haibara go. I’ve accepted it, but he’s still in my heart and my head.” Lips parting, Satoru takes a step forward as Nanami slants his body away, continuing to fold the fabric into a tie. He looks statuesque, unmovable, and something tightens in Satoru’s throat at the stone-like mask taking over his face. “I’m unwilling to do anything to taint that memory.”

Wordlessly, the blond walks over to Satoru to take his jacket from the chair, rolling down his sleeves and slapping his watch back onto his wrist. Standing less than two feet apart, the two men finally meet eyes.

“Gojo,” Nanami murmurs. “I can’t say I understand your burden, but I am by your side. I do not always agree with your choices, but I still respect them. As your kouhai and as your colleague.” His lips pull in a facsimile of a wry smile and there’s an understanding Satoru doesn’t understand haunting his handsome face. “However, she is your friend before mine. I think your opinion matters much more than mine. Don’t abuse that power.”

Satoru’s eyes nearly reflect in the lenses of Nanami’s glasses. He wishes his friend would take the damn pair off. 

In truth, the reason he’s so irritated is because he knows. If he insists enough, begs enough, there will always be a chance that he can convince you. That you will give in, not because you are selfless, but maybe because you’re too selfish to let him stay mad at you.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and sometimes, the force wins.

But he’d promised, hadn’t he? To not be angry with the choices you’ve made?

“Jeez, it’s somber in here. Who died?” you tease as Shoko pushes the wheelchair in after you. Both men look away from each other. You’re still walking steadily, but an IV is hooked into your chest now, and it’s so obvious you’ve lost unhealthy weight that looking at you is hard sometimes. Satoru does, anyway. 

Noting Nanami, you straighten up. Surprised, but pleased: “You’re still here.”

“I was just leaving,” he says. You frown, but don’t protest. A jujutsu sorcerer’s work is never finished until one stops breathing. “I finished planting the seeds you asked me to, and watered them.”

“Thank you.” He dips his head to you, then to Shoko, before departing, and you watch him go for a moment before your eyes land on Satoru and you smile. The air around you shifts immediately to a vibrant yellow. 

“You’re early, Satoru.” You head towards the bed as Shoko parks the wheelchair by the door. “It took way longer than I thought.”

“That’s because you threw up pistils today,” Shoko replies dryly. Satoru straightens up and looks at Shoko more carefully. Placid lookimg—usual for his mortician friend in the jujutsu world—but there’s a blanching in her knuckles that isn’t usual. “The CT wasn’t good. You know that.”

“Well, it’s still more time than I could’ve asked for, you know.” Shoko shakes her head, and meets his eyes before leaving the room, presumably to talk to your doctors. “Party pooper.”

“First day knowing Shoko?”

You laugh sarcastically, adjusting the hospital gown on your body before climbing into bed slowly, as if your joints ache. Satoru’s feet shift on the tile when he realizes his body moves to help and he freezes. You’re breathing audibly by the time you settle in and you meet his eyes, wondering if he’s noticed.

Of course he has, he wants to tell you. He notices everything about you.

Then, you sigh, and the yellow energy around you flickers into something darker, something grey, something that reminds him of summer thunderstorms.

“The roots have reached the edge of my rib cage and are encroaching on my stomach now,” you inform bluntly. “I probably won’t be able to keep food down in the next couple of days so they’re going to up the ante on this thing.” You gesture to the catheter by your clavicle. “So that’s not really fun. And, they want to start taking scans every single day because the growth is increasing exponentially. The doctors think something triggered the flowers to begin blooming in earnest. Like spring has come to my body, and I’m having the worst fucking time of my life.”

Despite your admission, your smile only falters in that it no longer reaches your eyes. Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do.

The word Hanahaki still burns, whispers coyly in his ear. It teases the tip of his tongue as he watches you look to your windowsill where your new plants are and get up, walking over to inspect your friend’s work.

He wonders if he can bring it up again. If he can insist that there’s a way to save you—

But Nanami’s words linger, too, and he bites his tongue until he tastes iron. 

“Oh, look.” He blinks at your voice, turning to look. Your fingers sink into one of the pots and before he can ask, blue energy flares up around your hand and into the soil and a shoot breaks through the dirt, unfurling as it grows higher and higher into the air.

“What is it?” Petals are beginning to form, the shade of a warm, gentle red that fades in shade as it reaches the stem. Satoru comes up next to you as the first flower blooms and his eyebrows rise. “Tulips. Huh.”

“I used to love them,” you tell him, picking it off and extending it to him. Eyebrows furrowing in surprise, he takes it as you sink your fingers deeper into the soil, sending more cursed energy into the seeds. More stems to replace the one you had picked continue to grow and you pull your hand out, wiping at your fingers with a towel.

Satoru tilts the flower towards his nose, taking a whiff.

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

“Trees and flowers have their own language.” Your eyes do not meet his as you watch the plant continue to grow. Your muscles go slack, and your fingers touch the petals, mind not quite aware of how you’re moving. “Red tulips mean eternal love, and fame.”

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom. 

Suguru. He hears you say his name, even in the silence, and remembers years ago, walking through Tokyo. A neighbourhood he doesn’t remember, his best friend looking at the florist’s shop and immediately perking up to head inside and buy a bouquet after something had caught his eye.

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly. 

“Only one?” Satoru asked, horrified. “You can’t settle down! We’re meant for so many more women than just one!”

A sharp nudge to the ribs. Raucous laughter. “Shut up!”

Quietly, Satoru’s fingers tighten around the stalk as you tilt your head to the sun, inspecting something he won’t understand. He doesn’t have a green thumb, and although you say you aren’t the smartest, he’s seen you grow the college’s gardens in a way that has amplified the beauty already lingering on the grounds. You had dismissed it as a little side project, but seeing you water your plants dutifully, spread feed and root out weeds, makes him wonder if you know how to put half-efforts into anything.

When you garden, you never take the easy route. You labour for the satisfaction, and pour sweat and tears into the soil.

When you love, you love with all of yourself and more. 

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

Because he is the same, and they will never change.

When Satoru goes home, he places the tulip in a vase and the cursed energy prickles at his fingertips.

.

You get worse and worse with every visit. 

Each day brings him another raw wound, salt on blood. You slowly grow more and more ragged, even though you stay in the hospital, confined to your room. 

There are days Satoru walks into your room to you hunched over the toilet, spitting blood and flowers into the bowl and vomiting all you ate the night or day or hour before and he already knows what he has to do. A cold, damp rag to your forehead, a crouching stance beside you as your grip on the toilet seat becomes rigid like steel.

Other days, you’re still asleep because the night before, you’d been hacking up half a lung and half a bouquet. Sometimes, you’re curled around a plastic receptacle already full of your half-attempts to dislodge the pressure building in your chest. 

Or, you’re crying into your hands, breath coming in rapid bursts as you try to force your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and Satoru holds you when you beg him to, and stands in the corner of the room when you push him away.

Afterwards, you always grab onto his sleeves, his arms, and sink against him, shivering. For hours after, he’ll curl around you on your hospital bed, no matter how much his body cramps, until you insist you’re fine.

“It’s a little like touching death,” you told him once, voice raw and fatigued. “When it’s a pretty bad day, and I think I’m going to die alone, it happens, so all I have to do is not think about it.”

There’s a flawed logic there, but Satoru was too busy pressing his nose into your hair and feeling the warmth of your body to reply any more than, “I’ll be there. I promise.”

Two weeks pass (fourteen sets of scans, a different pair hanging from the lightscreen every day tell him that) and Satoru watches as the branches spread through your body, past the reaches of your ribs, and the flowers have spread to your lungs so quickly he’s sure the time for you to decide is running out. 

You’re near-passed out against him on the bathroom floor one evening, and although it’s not closet-sized, it doens’t make the arrangement any less awkward. He’s up against the bathtub, legs sprawled all around you as he holds you in his arms. On the edge of the tub, there is a bar of bodysoap and a bottle of lotion he recognizes as the same one Shoko used to buy when they still had time. Your sink counter is filled with your toothbrush and cup, handsoap and a microfibre towel hanging off the edge smeared with lipstick, foundation, and black streaks of who knows what.

Shoko must have spent the night while he was out hunting a curse in Sendai. Good. He doesn’t like the nights when you’re alone and he can’t be there.

His fingers brush over your shoulder blade, and he travels over something rigid cloaked by your skin. Your eyes are closed, and you’re nearly asleep as you curl deeper against him. Looking down at you, he presses curious fingers into your shoulder blade only for you to let out a soft groan.

“Did that hurt?”

“No. It just feels like you pressed down on a big sore muscle,” you mumble slowly. He trails his fingers over, feels the bumps of the roots curling around your bones before following it towards your spine. It disappears the closer it reaches the trail of knobs that go down your back, and he moves back to your shoulder again. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Does anything?”

“Mostly my stomach,” you tell him. “I’m so hungry all the time, but I can’t eat.” He glances at the IV stand, the only other witness to the events in this bathroom. It leads down through your gown and past your clavicle. Monitored every day in case the growths dislodge it, it’s one of the only things keeping you alive. “And my throat. It feels like I’ve scratched it out until it’s bleeding.”

He tilts his head. His lips barely brush your sweaty scalp despite how cold you feel in his arms “No surgery?”

You shake your head, what remains of your strength slowly coming back. “They say the flowers and roots have taken up sixty-five percent of my chest cavity. It’s not only inhibiting my lungs, but my heart and stomach, too, so it’d be kind of hard to get rid of it all. Not impossible, but it’s really risky. That, on top of the already-present consequences—”

“So let’s say we start with the lungs,” he cuts off, trying to not sound too desperate but these past few weeks have worn him down to the bone. Although he thinks he’s managed to hide it from his students, Shoko has offered multiple times to prescribe him sleeping pills just so he can shut his mind down.

He said no every time.

Your legs draw up and he squeezes your shoulder carefully, looking down. “Are you ready to get up?”

You nod. “I think so.” He wipes at your lips with the rag he left on the counter and you roll your eyes as he makes sure no blood is left on your face before throwing it back up and carefully adjusting you against him.

“Do you want my help?”

“My answer does not matter to you,” you shoot back teasingly and he lets you pull away from him before reaching up with one hand to push yourself up. Your arm wobbles, your feet kicking back underneath you and slowly finding theirselves on the floor. Satoru withdraws, ducking underneath and back up so he can stand, hands floating around your body as you draw the IV stand towards yourself and grab on. When he’s sure your knees might give in, he grabs your elbow, but you shake your head. “I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you breathe, raising your head to look at him. Your lips curl in a soft smile, and you clasp his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he says.

“Not everyone stays for the pathetic girl on the floor of the bathroom floor,” you quip. Turning around, you begin to head back to bed and he trails behind you carefully.

“If the girl’s you, then I think exceptions can be made.”

“Hospital bonus.”

“It adds that you’re in the hospital, too,” he agrees. “My morals are just.”

“Isn’t that a relief?” 

It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him. 

You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.

Not much to miss, to be honest. 

“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”

“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”

“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.” 

It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare. 

“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.

“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”

You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you. 

When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.

“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.

The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.

“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”

“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”

He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”

You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.

.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?

Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.

It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to. 

The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.

He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.

He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.

Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after. 

“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”

“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless. 

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.

“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.” 

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”

You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”

Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”

“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?” 

Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.

“Right.”

“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”

“Yes.”

“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”

“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“

You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.” 

“…thank you.”

Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.

So terribly heartbroken.

And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it? 

He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be. 

I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.

I’m the Strongest.

The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.

Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.

.

At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.

“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.

“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”

You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.

Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”

“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.

You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…” 

“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. “What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”

“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?”

“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”

“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”

“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”

You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”

He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.

A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.

You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.

In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.

Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt? 

Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?  

Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again? 

Because if so, Satoru understands. 

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…

But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.

Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone. 

He glances at the clock. 

How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away. 

He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.

He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.

He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.

Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.

“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.

It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”

“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”

“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around. 

The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.

“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.” 

Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.

Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you. 

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”

“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.

His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.

“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.

Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.

“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”

“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.

“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”

“I can’t eat, though.”

“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.

You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin. 

You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.

Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.

You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.

Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you. 

“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.

“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”

“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”

“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer. 

This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.

“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”

Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.

“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.

Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth. 

“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.

“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”  

He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself. 

“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”

“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”

The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.

“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.

He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…

His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”

“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.” 

Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters. 

Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.

“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”

The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying. 

“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.” 

.

Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“

“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”

“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”

“We should do one of both of us.”

“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“

“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.

When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.

The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.

.

Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.

The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them. 

Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.

He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing. 

Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.

It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…

“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”

You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”

You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.

It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.

“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”

That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.

No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.

You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.

“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”

“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.

“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another. 

Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach. 

It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.

In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.

His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.

Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”

Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.

Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.

.

You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.

His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.

“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.

“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”

“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”

Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.

“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”

“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”

“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.

He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re… going to miss me… more.” 

Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break. 

Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.

“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.

“Anything.”

“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”

Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”

.

“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.

“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”

He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more. 

Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.

.

Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.

Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…

It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.

You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out. 

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”

Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.

Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid. 

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat. 

Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.

Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him. 

Click. Hiss. 

The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed. 

Click. Hiss.

Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.

He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.

Another blink, slower this time.

He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.

“Alright, give it your best shot.” 

Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.

ANGRY?

“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again. 

Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory. 

Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.

Click. Hiss.

He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face. 

“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”

He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient. 

HERE

“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”

YOU AND ME

“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”

Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.

“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours. 

He knows you’re exhausted. 

Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”

Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.

“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”

Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator. 

It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist

It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.

.

At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.

Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.

Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.

She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.

The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.

Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.

Hours pass by in torturous years. 

Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand. 

His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds. 

There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. 

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here. 

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare. 

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do. 

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead. 

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head. 

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

.

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend. 

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest. 

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free. 

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps. 

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass. 

So he did. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can. 

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too. 

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time. 

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.” 

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you. 

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall. 

 Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls. 

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

 “They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use. 

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival. 

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant. 

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up. 

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm. 

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink. 

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world. 

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world. 

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless. 

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping. 

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page. 

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday. 

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this? 

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die? 

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay? 

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love. 

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough. 

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either. 

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more. 

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same. 

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

.

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.” 

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.” 

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away. 

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love. 

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

[fruitcoops]

okay so we all love dad dumo and he's an incredible parent but even dumo isn't perfect. Could we maybe have dumo snapping at logan (or sirius, if it strikes your fancy, but i love dumo+logan dynamics) and then apologizing for it like a parent actually f*cking should

Oof, yes. Combined with asks for Sirius and Logan bonding, as well as some pre-Cap and James. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for parental figure disappointment

The car rumbled. Dumo’s hands squeaked on the wheel as he flexed his fingers. Logan felt like he was going to throw up.

Can we turn around real quick? No, too vague. Can we go home so I can use the bathroom? No, he’ll say I can wait another ten minutes. I forgot my phone at home? No, he saw me put it in my pocket. Logan ran through every possible way of asking to go back to the Dumais house without giving away his dilemma; with each scenario, they grew further from where he needed to be.

“Hey, Dumo?” he began quietly, swallowing around his dry mouth. What was it his father always said? Honesty is the best policy. “We need to go back to your house for a moment.”

“We’re already running late,” Dumo said, not even sparing him a glance in the rearview mirror. The traffic around them was a mess. “If we go back, we’ll miss the first part of warmups.”

“I know, but it’s kind of important.”

“So is the game. If it’s your wallet, you don’t need it right—”

“I left my skates by the front door.”

Dead silence filled the car as Dumo slowed to a stop at the fourth red light. Logan’s heart sank and his stomach crawled into his throat. “What?”

“I left my skates by the front door,” he repeated, staring at his hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Tabernak, Logan!” Dumo snapped. He felt something inside him wither and die. “First the nap, then forgetting to wash your jersey, and now you left your fucking skates behind? What’s going on in your head? You are an adult now with responsibilities, and it’s your job to keep track of your shit.”

“I know,” Logan said quietly.

Dumo huffed. “Clearly you don’t! Do you just not care? Is that it?”

“I care.”

“This isn’t a college team, Logan.” Dumo’s accent grew harsh around his name. It had been a bad day for him—Adele came down with a nasty cold just after Celeste left to visit her parents for the weekend, and there was always an added pressure with home games. Logan knew that, and he knew he should have been paying better attention.

“I know.”

Dumo muttered a curse under his breath and pulled onto a side road, then swore again when his duffle bag slid in the passenger seat. Logan closed his eyes; there was no way they would make it all the way to the house and back to the rink in time for pre-game rituals. Damn it, Tremblay. What were you thinking?

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Dumo parked the car with a quiet “go”, and Logan hurried inside with a slight nod to the babysitter as he grabbed his skates before slinking back to the car with his head hung low.

“I’m really disappointed in you,” Dumo said when they reached the freeway again.

“I’m sorry.”

He received no response.

They won the game despite skipping all their superstitions, no thanks to Logan. He played like shit; Arthur barely gave him four shifts the whole night. Finn shot him a concerned look as he rinsed off and slipped back into his street clothes, but Logan didn’t have the energy to confront both his best friend and the upsetting feelings connected to the aforementioned best-friend-slash-secret-crush. If he tried, he’d certainly end up doing something stupid.

He packed his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed Dumo out to the car like a stray dog with his tail between his legs. “I really am—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dumo interrupted as they pulled out of the parking lot. Logan pressed his lips together. “Are you hungry?”

Starving. “Kinda.”

“I’ll heat up some leftover lasagna when we get back to the house. Will you pay the babysitter and make sure the kids are in bed?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Logan ground his teeth around the steady ache building in his chest—he hated disappointing people in general, but it was a whole different story with Dumo. He was his second father, the person Logan admired most on the team. He gave him a home and a substitute family to ease the homesickness, and was always there to cheer him on. And Logan let him down.

They went through their nightly routine silently, which was a sharp contrast to their usual banter. Marc and Louis refused to go to bed at first, nearly bringing Logan to tears in his frustration, but he eventually got them settled down and tucked in. By some miracle, both the girls were already asleep.

“I’m going to call Celeste,” Dumo finally said as Logan unloaded the dishwasher. He nodded without a word, not trusting his voice.

As soon as the dishwasher was full and running, Logan took his phone out and dialed the only person he wanted to hear from. It rang twice before connecting. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Hey, Cap, what’s up?”

“Not much.” Sirius sounded confused, and more than a little tired. “Ça va?”

Logan’s eyes burned. “Not bad. Do you have a minute?”

There was a rustling noise from the other end, followed by the clink of keys. “You’re at Dumo’s, right?”

“Oui.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks,” he managed around his tight throat. “See you soon.”

Hushed voices came from the living room and Logan padded down the hall, knocking gently on the doorframe. Dumo looked up and furrowed his brow. “Un moment, mon amour. Are you alright?”

“Sirius is coming by in ten. We’re going to hang out for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Tell him I say hello.” Without another word, Dumo uncovered the base of his phone and returned to his conversation. Logan nodded and headed back out into the hall, swallowing down the tears forming behind his eyes.

Ten minutes turned out to be seven minutes—Logan was simultaneously flattered and concerned—and a soft knock startled him out of his thoughts. Sirius already looked worried when the front door swung open. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Did something happen to Celeste?”

“She’s fine. Dumo says hi.” And he’s horribly disappointed in me. Logan took several deep breaths through his nose to control the tremor in his voice and Sirius gave him a worried once-over. “Can we drive around for a bit?”

“Of course.”

For all of his bluster and general brooding vibe, Sirius continued to be the king of empathy and (in Logan’s opinion) a secret mind-reader. The second his arm draped across Logan’s shoulders and held him close as they walked down the sidewalk, he felt some of the pressure in his chest release. “Sorry about the late call,” he sniffled. It was a cold night—the snot threatening to drip from his nose was frigid already. “I just—I needed to get out for a minute.”

“À tout moment.” Any time. Logan didn’t feel deserving of that kindness after the mess he had been on the ice. The heaters kicked on as soon as Sirius started the car and Logan closed his eyes, leaning back into the warm seat. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s so stupid.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Logan took a moment to breathe before shaking his head. “I forgot my skates. We were already running late, and I forgot my fucking skates at the house.”

Sirius hummed, but said nothing.

“It’s—Dumo has been having such a horrible day.” Tears clogged his throat again. “And I took a nap earlier because I stayed up late last night like an idiot, and Adele’s sick so he had all the kids and no help while he was trying to get ready, and then I overslept so it was already going to be rushed and forgot to clean my jersey and then—and then I forgot my skates. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” Logan wanted to kick him for being so infuriatingly patient. Sirius glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s not why you’re upset, though.”

“He’s—” Logan broke off and swiped the first tear away with his sweatshirt cuff. “He said he was disappointed in me.”

“Ah.”

“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about.”

Sirius sighed through his nose and pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour Taco Bell, then turned off the car and faced Logan with one eyebrow raised. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Belittling yourself.”

“Okay, Heather,” Logan snorted. Sirius reached over and flicked him on the forehead. “Hey!”

“You forgot your skates. Big deal. We’ve all been there.”

Logan shot him a glare. “You’ve never forgotten your skates.”

“Yes, I have. My very first game with the Lions, actually. Except I didn’t realize it until we were already at the rink.”

“Did Dumo drive you back?”

“The whole damn way. He was mad as hell, but he did it.” Sirius’ face softened, and he poked Logan gently on the thigh. “Stop kicking yourself for this one. It sounds like it was a bad day for you both.”

“I still feel like shit.”

Sirius shrugged. “I bet. Disappointing Dumo is the worst feeling ever.”

“He wouldn’t even let me apologize.”

“He will.”

They sat in silence for a full minute as Logan tried to find the right words. “How did you deal with it? Letting people down. It feels like I’m drowning, sometimes.”

“Really, really poorly,” Sirius half-laughed, crossing his ankle over his knee. “It wasn’t until I was named captain that I started accepting that people weren’t lying when they forgave me for fucking up.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, the people I was around as a kid didn’t make a habit of apologizing to me when they did something wrong.”

Logan looked up from the faded letters on his sweatshirt sleeve and sniffled. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

“Pas de problem. I figured you could use some company outside the house.”

“You’re the best.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” You’re like a brother to me, actually. “Is this what James did for you?”

“No,” Sirius laughed. Affection took over his face, bright even in the dim light from the streetlamps. “No, he snuck me onto the roof of the rink with massive amounts of junk food and stayed with me until the imposter syndrome faded. It was fantastic, but we nearly got hypothermia several times in the winter. This is much more comfortable.”

“Thanks for helping me keep all my fingers and toes,” Logan said wryly. He lapsed back into silence and folded his forearms on the dashboard, sighing at the pleasant stretch of his back. “I know I have to go back eventually, but I’m scared.”

“Honestly, Logan, I bet he’s already forgiven you. He knows it was an accident.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” The words came out as little more than a whisper. Sirius’ hand rested hesitantly between his shoulder blades until Logan leaned back into it, then began rubbing gentle circles.

“He does,” Sirius said softly. “And he loves you so much.”

Logan sniffed back more tears. “Really?”

“Ouais. You’ve been living with him for nine months now, and he’s so proud of how far you’ve come.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me. Last week, after your hat trick. People fuck up, Logan, but that doesn’t mean they’re unforgivable. You don’t need to flay yourself for one bad day.”

Logan shut his eyes with a slow exhale and buried his face in his forearms. “I think I’m ready to go back now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“D’accord. Buckle your seatbelt.”

He straightened up and stretched, wincing at the crack of his back. Sirius drove out of the parking lot and hummed under his breath to the radio, but Logan didn’t miss the careful glances out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he finally said. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Sirius said casually, though he looked like he was holding something back. Logan didn’t press; Sirius would talk in his own time if he wanted to. He opened his mouth, paused, then sighed. “But I do worry about you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Thank you, Captain Black, for the most media answer of all time. “You really don’t have to.”

Sirius parked the car and leaned his head back against the seat. “You’re my friend, and I care about you, so I worry.”

Logan blinked at him. “You care about me?”

“Obviously,” Sirius muttered. Even in the darkness of the street, his cheeks were pink. “Now go on, you've got someone waiting for you.”

“I care about you, too.”

“Out of my car, Tremblay.” Despite his words, a smile quirked at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. Logan socked him lightly on the arm and opened the door, shivering in the night air as it bit through his hoodie.

“Drive safe, Cap.”

“I will.”

The walk to the front door felt less like a trip to the gallows and more like coming home; Logan felt his muscles relax, and saw the curtains shift as someone moved away from the window. Dumo opened the door before he could even knock.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison. Logan raised his eyebrows and Dumo opened the door the rest of the way, ushering him inside.

The moment the door closed behind him, Dumo wrapped him in a hug. “I’m so sorry for what I said earlier, Logan. You made a mistake, and I shouldn’t have come down hard on you.”

“I’m sorry I made us late,” Logan said into his soft shirt. “And for not helping earlier. It won’t happen again.”

“All is forgiven.” Dumo patted him on the back of the shoulder and held him at arm’s length with a sad smile. “I should have kept a better handle on my temper. You don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”

Logan bit back the urge to say it’s okay or I deserved it and instead pulled him in for another hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I didn’t realize how much you’ve helped me until today.”

Dumo made a quiet sound and held him tighter. “It’s a gift to have you here.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of emotion rolled in his heart. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” he whispered. They stayed like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, before Dumo stepped back.

“Get some rest. We have early practice tomorrow.” He mussed Logan’s hair and gave him a nudge toward the stairs. “Bonne nuit, mon fils.”

Mon fils. Logan’s breath caught for a second and he smiled. “Bonne nuit.”

[derpycat02]

Are you named after anyone? Yes! My birth name is an amalgamation of family names, and my chosen name is as follows: Alex - this one cool chicken I met when I was <10 and DEFINITELY had a crush on. Alex has been my favorite name ever since. Orson - my favorite character in my favorite anime. FaeGolden - twist on my mother's maiden name.

When was the last time you cried? Unsure.

Do you have kids? Biologically? No. Legally? No. However I do actively try to be a safe, adult, often parental space for the young queen kids in my life who aren't safe to be queen at home.

Do you use sarcasm? Not once in my entire life. Why do you ask? (/sarcastic)

What sports do you play/have you played? I was in marching band from 8th grade through my first semester of college, was part of the chess team in middle school, and took dance classes in elementary school. I also went to a singular softball practice in 1st grade. That didn't work out. Oh and I was a part of the tennis team for one year in high-school. The coach didn't sign me up for competition bc he "didn't want me to embarrass myself".

What's the first thing you notice about people? Vibes. Gotta run the vibe check before anything else happens. That or style.

Do you prefer scary movies or happy endings? The answer is both obviously. Gimme a scary movie where everyone survives even if they'll never be the same again. Yes they've been through hell, but they made it back and they made it together and that's all that matters rn.

Do you have any special talents? I'm kind of a jack of all trades which I consider to be a special talent in itself. You show me how to do somethin once or twice and I'll be teaching other people how to do it in the next few minutes. Aside from that I have a 3 1/2 octave range and can imitate a cricket really well.

Where were you born? Little Rock, Arkansas (United States). Initially I was supposed to be born at home but after over 24 hours of labor the midwife told my mom to get her ass to a hospital.

What are your hobbies? Playing video games mostly, but I also read A LOT of Webtoons and occasionally I'll wrote a song, story or poem; crack open a coloring book; or work on a cosplay.

Do you have pets? Currently no, but I plan on trying to get an ESA soon!

How tall are you? No idea. 5'5"???

What's your favorite subject? I don't know if I have one. Like, there will be classes that I like more or less than others, but that's usually because of the teacher or the environment. I really just love learning in general, and none of my class subjects of any more interest to me than the rest. That said, growing up I've always favored the arts to my core classes. It's just that, as a music major, all of my classes are about the arts.

What's your dream job? I always feel really lazy for being honest about this question but no important adults are going to see this so I guess it's fine. I would like to not work. I want my job to be to stay at home and take care of myself. Maybe I'd get into streaming or content creation, but really I just kind of want to go off grid and be self sustainable.

What's your eye color? Brown, but I love to wear all kinds of colored contacts.

Open tags bc I'm afraid of tagging mutuals and them thinking I'm weird.

15 questions for 15 mutuals

❤️ Thanks for the tag, @descendantdragfi, @obscurus-noctem and @fluttereyes  ❤️

1. Are you named after anyone? Not directly, but my mother chosed a name of  a british singer she liked when she was living in UK, years before my birth. The singer was already completely forgotten when I was born though. :p

2. When was the last time you cried? Full tears, I don’t remember, but last week, I had really teary eyes reading a journalist I was follwing on Twitter was dead.

3. Do you have kids? No.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? To me, to life, quite often, though I’m probably more ironic than sarcastic, but  not to others, it can be hurting. Yep, I’m a soft heart. :p

5. What sports do you play/have you played? Gosh, none, I’ve always hated sport (and it’s mutual). I walk and do yoga alone, but I don’t consider that as sports.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people? Actually it depends on who are these people, where we are, and why I meet them!

7. Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings can quickly run on my nerves, so scary movies (but they can run on my nerves too! :D)

8. Any special talents? Nope, absolutley none. I can’t even move my eyebrows in a funny way or whatever useless talent, so let’s not talk about outstanding ones!

9. Where were you born? Paris, France.

10. What are your hobbies? Huuuuh, would you believe it if I’d say Sims and CC making? :D Also baking and gardening (though that last one is more something I do because I want to eat healthy vegetables, not because I have a passion for gardening). And reading!

11. Do you have any pets? No

12. How tall are you? 1,78 m

13. Fave subject in school? It used to be literature but it would be history nowadays.

14. Dream job? Not needing to work would be my dream life. Then, a dream job? :/ 15. Eye colour? Blue.

Tagging (I tried to pick people who haven’t replied already, sorry if you did in the meanwhile! ;D Also, feel free to ignore, as usual!): @tragicpixel, @treason-and-plot, @tsims, @camisulsul, @nessysims, @grandelama, @eisfee, @pixelbots, @lilidebergerac, @simlicious, @laurademelza, @simsaralove, @kimmiessimmies, @pancakebobs, @theplumdot

[erin-bo-berin]

Sweet Cheeks

MASTERLIST

This was an anon request for a smut where Spencer and the reader have a Garcia and Morgan like relationship and boy was this fun to write. I think I got to around 3,000 words before I even got to the smut part so I might’ve gotten a little carried away. Happy reading!

Also, HUGE thanks to @multifandommandy​ for inspiration and help with Morgan quips in this. You’re the best. :)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 5,056

“Last night around 2 am in Alexandria, Virginia, Desiree Armstrong was brutally murdered in her bed.”

Your finger pressed the button on the remote to bring up more images of the grizzly murder on the screen. You grimaced, looking away.

“Yeah, this is why I never look, kid,” your mentor Penelope Garcia said from the round table, her back turned towards the screen.

“It was definitely brutal alright,” Emily Prentiss commented.

“There’s so much blood, you can hardly tell what happened,” Derek Morgan piped in.

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned, “The poor woman.”

“Has the autopsy report come back yet?” Jennifer Jareau—JJ for short—questioned.

“Yeah. She was stabbed 24 times with a-”

“Kitchen knife. It looks a lot like a Santoku knife. They’re similar to a chef’s knife, but they’re shorter and thinner with a flat blade instead of a curved one. Mostly, they’re used for mincing, slicing and dicing. You can tell because the stab wounds are slightly longer than a normal knife wound would leave,” Dr. Spencer Reid cut in.

You gave him an exasperated look.

“Okay hot stuff, would you like to come up here and finish my presentation for me?”

He grinned, looking back down at the file.

“Anyway, as I was saying. Her 18 month old Willow was missing from her crib when the neighbor found Desiree.”

“That means she’s been missing for at least six hours already,” David Rossi noted.

“Which is why we need to get a move on,” Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner said, “Let’s go.”

Everyone gathered their things, heading for the door.

“See ya later, Dite,” Spencer called over his shoulder as he headed to the door.

You grinned at his special nickname for you, remembering how the nicknames had all started between you two.

“You know how to reach me if you need me big boy,” you called back.

“You two sound like Derek and I,” Penelope chuckled from behind you.

“Well I did learn from the best.”

•

When you’d started at the FBI, you were placed in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Working under Penelope Garcia, their tech analyst as her assistant/protégée, you were anxious to learn as much as you could.

You were endlessly amused at the playful banter and nicknames Derek Morgan and Garcia had for each other. Although it appeared to be flirty, it was none other than just platonic teasing and banter. They just had the personalities for that.

To not be a profiler, Garcia sure could pick up on things as well as the actual profilers.

Like your almost immediate crush on Dr. Spencer Reid.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that it took you a few months to finally be comfortable around him. 

You could do your job well, but not without awkward fumbling or the nervous voice cracking.

One time he actually thought you were losing your voice and suggested you drink some warm ginger tea with honey for it. He couldn’t see you through the phone, but your cheeks flamed from embarrassment.

Garcia had laughed for almost ten minutes when you told her.

“Loosen up Y/N,” she said, “He doesn’t bite.”

“I know,” you grumbled, “But he makes me nervous.”

“Well it never hurt anyone to be a little flirty,” she pointed out, “Try it sometime. Even if it’s not reciprocated it can go a long way for your confidence and helping you be more comfortable around him.”

You had to admit she had a point.

Thus, your nicknames for him began.

-

“Ready to help sir,” you’d walked into the briefing room where the team was sitting around the table, working a case.

“Okay, Y/N we need you to look up every male in a 100 mile perimeter of D.C. that owns a Lamborghini,” Hotch said.

“Well that’s gonna be like looking for a piece of hay in a haystack,” you mumbled.

As good as Garcia was, you knew broad searches were still tedious to comb through without other search parameters.

“Narrow it down to owners that are between the ages of 25 and 35,” JJ said.

“Are married or have just recently been married,” Morgan added.

“Okay, keep it coming,” you scribbled your notes on your notepad.

“Look for owners that have no children. Also, check their financial records. They might’ve come into a large amount of money recently,” Spencer said.

“Got it, sweet cheeks. I’m off to search.”

You left to head back to yours and Garcia’s lair, missing Spencer’s raised brows and slightly flustered and confused expression.

Morgan smirked at Spencer, holding back a laugh.

“Which cheeks?” he teased.

Spencer blinked slowly, looking quite dumbfounded.

“She means the ones on my face...right?”

Morgan laughed out loud at this as he stood to grab more coffee. He patted Spencer’s shoulder on the way out.

Pretty boy had a lot to learn.

-

Sure, the first nickname had kinda just slipped out. But Penelope was right. It kind of was enlightening to tease Spencer. It was amusing and adorable when he would get flustered.

What you didn’t expect was Spencer’s nicknames for you.

The phone rang and you hit the answer button.

“Y/N’s the name, researching is my game.”

“Wow, you sound just like Garcia,” came Spencer’s voice.

“She learned from the best!” Garcia called from across the room.

“I need your undivided attention, bright eyes.”

The pet name slipped from his lips so easily that you actually stared at the phone, making sure you were actually on a call.

“Y/N?”

“Bright eyes, huh?”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one with Garcia rubbing off on you,” he chuckled.

“Okay. I’m all ears,” you positioned your hands above the keyboard, ready to work, “Fire away, stud muffin.”

•

It’d been five years since you first joined the team. You and Spencer were now incredibly close and flirty nicknames were now an everyday occurance. 

Even Garcia and Morgan were no match for your banter and here you’d thought theirs was crazy enough.

Maybe it was because you had feelings for Spencer, maybe not, but it didn’t faze the team much at all. They were used to Derek and Penelope, so it was just another day at work.

That didn’t stop their passing comments on the matter.

“Jeez, the sexual tension in here is so thick I can cut it with a knife,” Garcia once commented.

“Will you two ever just suck it up and date?” Rossi shook his head after listening to another every day banter.

“Can these two just fuck already or something?” Was a comment you’d accidentally overheard Morgan say when neither of you were around.

You weren’t exactly sure what to call you and Spencer, but he was a friend and that seemed to be how it would remain, regardless of your crush.

“Any luck in finding Willow’s father?” you asked Penelope as you scanned Desiree Armstrong’s documents.

“Nope,” Garcia huffed.

The two of you nor the team had any clue who would have done this to Desiree. They decided to start looking for a father, to see if he could be a suspect. So far, a search for him turned up nothing. He seemed to be a ghost.

Your phone rang and you answered it with a click of a key.

“Hey Aphrodite, I need your brains.”

Aphrodite or Dite was what Spencer had taken to calling you pretty early on. It was quite flattering considering what she was the goddess of.

“Well if it isn’t Hunky Brewster,” you commented, “And to think the genius needs my brains, I’ve never felt more special.”

“That you are,” he chuckled, “I need you to look into a neighbor: Evan Kelly. The victim’s sister said he had been bothering her for a while.”

“Gotcha,” you typed out the name, waiting for search results, “I’ll hit ya back when I got something.”

You hung up, beginning your research.

•

Spencer was in front of the murder board, studying it. So far, they only had Evan Kelly and the missing father. 

He was currently on the phone with Y/N, going over the findings on Evan Kelly.

“Basically there wasn’t a window this guy hadn’t peeped in,” your voice came from the speaker.

“Any arrests?”

“Nope. Seems like this guy was just a creep.”

He sighed, rubbing his jaw, thinking.

“Any luck finding a father of Willow?” he asked.

“Garcia is still looking, but he’s just not there,” you said.

“Like not in the picture?”

“Like doesn’t seem to exist. We can’t find a record anywhere.”

“Look into adoption records, see if you can find out if she was adopted. She might not biologically be Desiree’s,” he said.

“Good point,” you said, “Now I know why you’re the genius.”

“I aim to please, pretty lady,” he smirked.

“I’ll get back to you in an instant, sugar lips.”

When he hung up, he turned to see Emily staring at him, jaw dropped.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head in exasperation before she spoke.

“What did you do to her?”

•

The team was back at headquarters, working hard to find the precious little girl.

You sat at the round table, working on the new lead the team had just discovered.

“So let me get this straight,” JJ said, “Willow Armstrong was adopted by Desiree Armstrong, although not through a legal company. As in, the company wasn’t legit?”

“More like it wasn’t done through any company at all. There was no paperwork, no legality, nothing,” Garcia answered, “It’s basically like the birth mother just handed over Willow and disappeared.”

“Maybe that was part of their verbal contract?” Rossi brainstormed.

“If so, then there might be an angry birth father out there,” Spencer thought out loud.

“And nearly impossible to find,” Derek sighed.

“Um, hello? Have you met me and my protégée here?” Garcia asked, motioning between you and herself, “We can find almost anything.”

“Any luck on finding an adoptive father of Willow?” Hotch questioned.

“No, there wasn’t a father,” you said, “Desiree was a single mother but her ex-boyfriend Scott Griffin knew she wanted to adopt apparently. I’ve contacted him and he’s willing to talk to you guys.”

“You never disappoint, angel face,” Spencer mumbled, still studying the murder board.

“Okay, Morgan, Reid you go speak to Griffin. We’ll stay here and see if we can track down the birth mother,” Hotch said.

“Got it. Thanks baby girl and protégée,” Morgan teased.

A moment later they were out the door.

•

“I hadn’t spoken to her in some time until just a few weeks before her death,” a bereaved Scott Griffin said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Morgan said sympathetically.

“Mr. Griffin, did Desiree ever mention the name of the birth mother?” Spencer asked.

Scott sat, thinking for a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, she did. It was a unique name. Lorina something. Lorina Cano I believe. She wasn’t from here, but she lived around here she said.”

“What about the birth father?” Morgan asked.

“I never got a name, but Desiree said she claimed the birth father didn’t even know about the baby.”

Morgan and Spencer shared a look before turning back to Scott.

“Thank you for your-”

“Wait, there’s something else. I don’t know if it’s relevant, but the last time I talked to Desiree she said she thought there was a man following her. She caught him on her surveillance once.”

Morgan nodded while Spencer pulled out his phone.

“Thank you. We’ll see ourselves out.” Morgan said.

With a knowing look at Derek, Spencer hit your number, putting the phone to his ear.

You answered the call, putting it on speakerphone so Penelope could hear as well.

“Hola papito, how may I help you?”

You heard Spencer’s easy chuckle.

“Dare I ask what that means?”

You opened your mouth to speak but Garcia answered for you, not even looking up from her computer.

“Hot daddy,” she called.

If you could see him, you were sure he was blushing a bright red.

“I forgot to mention you’re on speaker, so keep it clean, both of you,” you chuckled.

“We need you to pull the surveillance from Desiree’s house. Scott Griffin said there was a man stalking her,” Morgan said.

“Okay will do. It’ll be ready for your viewing pleasure by the time you get back,” you said.

“Thanks Dite, you’re the best.”

“You know it, dreamboat.”

•

Half of the team were following other leads while you, Morgan, Rossi, Spencer and Garcia attempted to view the surveillance footage. It was slow going since it was pretty grainy.

Spencer stood in front of the big screen in the briefing room, studying it closely, his chin resting in his palm as he watched. He glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Honey, can you come here for a second?” he asked.

“Sure, sweet cheeks,” Morgan smirked, walking over to him.

Spencer looked at him, exasperated.

“Not you. Y/N.”

“Oh I see how it is. That hurts, kid,” Derek said, a hand over his chest mocking hurt.

You noticed Rossi’s lips quirked as you walked past him towards Spencer.

“Not. A. Word,” you mumbled to him.

“Do you see this car here?” Spencer pointed to the screen, “I think our suspect just got into it. Can you zoom in and see if we can make it out?”

This, he said to Garcia.

“On it, boo.”

He turned to you.

“I need you to see if you can find anything on Lorina Cano. If we can find her, maybe we can find the birth father.”

“Yup. My fingers are ready.” 

You were back in your chair working on your task, Spencer watching from behind you.

“Okay, got it.”

You pulled up the page for him. He read it, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Do you mind?”

“Not one bit,” he mumbled, still reading.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the screen. Your heart sunk when you saw the same thing he just had.

“Dammit,” he groaned.

“She’s been dead since last year,” you mumbled, feeling defeated.

“Well I guess we have to track down the mystery father another way,” Rossi mused.

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, feeling like you’d failed.

“It’s not your fault Y/N, don’t worry,” Spencer said, pecking your cheek, “I have an idea though, I’ll be back.”

You were still stunned from the kiss that seemed to come out of the blue. It took you a second to notice the other three staring at you, raised brows and amusement all over their faces.

Your gaze went back to the screen quickly, your cheeks flaming hot. 

Derek’s amusing response made you blush even further.

“Reid never kisses me like that.”

•

“Guys, I think I got it!” Garcia said, rushing in with her laptop.

You had been lounging at the round table eating your dinner. She’d been sympathetic to your frustration and ordered you to take a break from your research to have some dinner.

“Got what?” you asked, slapping Spencer’s hand away from stealing more of your fries.

“Ow!” he pouted.

“Fine,” you groaned, putting one in his mouth.

You turned back to see, once again, the entire team staring at you two. Garcia especially.

“What’d you find, Garcia?” Hotch prompted.

“Right. Yes. Okay, so from the partial license plate I found who I believe is our unsub. His name is Noah Elliot and he works for a trucking company. I just spoke to his boss. Well, get this. We know the father didn’t know about the baby, right? Somehow he got clued in—whether by a friend, a family member, who knows—about little baby Willow and he was furious. So, he finds Lorina I’m assuming and finds out that she gave Willow up for adoption. Somehow he found Desiree and killed her, kidnapping Willow. If you think I’m done yet, I’m not, I have so much more! According to the boss, a truck recently went missing from the company, they haven’t been able to trace it. Noah hasn’t showed up for work in a week and the boss was cleaning out his locker since he was gonna fire him when he finally showed up again. In the locker he found this.”

Garcia turned her computer around. Pictures of Willow and Desiree had been hidden in his work locker, assuming no one would ever find them.

“He was stalking her,” Emily said.

“Yeah and hardcore,” Garcia said.

“Garcia is there a way for them to track that missing truck?” Hotch inquired.

“Yes, they’re working on it now and before you ask the address is being sent to your phones right now.”

“Let’s go,” he ordered, the team following behind them.

“Be safe!” you and Penelope called after them.

•

“I’m exhausted,” you sighed, plopping down in your chair.

In total, it had taken a little over 24 hours to find little Willow Armstrong, safe and sound. After managing to activate the tracking of the missing truck, Noah Elliot was located and caught trying to cross the Virginian border into North Carolina. He would be going away for a minimum of 25 years.

Willow would be placed in the care of Desiree’s sister. It was a bittersweet ending. Even though the child had been saved, it still upset you knowing that the poor little girl had lost her mother at such a young age. But, it was a win. Not all cases ended happily and you were glad this one had.

“Same,” Garcia mumbled. 

You were waiting for the team to come back. Garcia had ordered pizza and everyone was going to relax and rewind before heading home. It was well deserved. They had been on the move almost constantly throughout this entire case.

“Good work today, bright eyes,” she smirked.

“Stop it,” you groaned.

“Aphrodite, Dite, Angel Face, Honey,” she replied, heavy emphasis on each nickname.

“Okay, so? You call Derek nicknames all the time. Spencer too and the others.”

“That’s different. I do it out of love and you know Derek and I just have that type of close, comfortable relationship,” Garcia pointed out

“That’s the same with me and Spencer. I don’t see your point.”

“Yeah because you don’t see all the flirting that happens around this office like we do,” Garcia gave you a look, “You were feeding him fries earlier for God’s sake! I wish you two would just do something.”

“Well that’s going to be hard to do considering it’s a one way street, Penelope.”

“You clearly don’t know the boy genius like I do,” she smirked, “He doesn’t...what’s the word for it? Flirt. Not like he does with you because he’s comfortable around you and likes you.”

“I love you Garcia, but you’re delusional,” you heard a noise in the hallway, “Say is that the delivery guy?”

You hopped up to go check.

“I swear Y/N, I will lock you two in a room if I have to,” she mumbled.

You turned around, an eyebrow raised.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she grinned innocently.

You walked out into the hall, Garcia at your heels and found Spencer carrying three boxes of pizza, a big smile on his face.

“Someone order pizza?” 

•

You were the last to leave, so it seemed. You wanted to tidy up your desk and get some work done so you wouldn’t have to worry about it later. 

You stood in the deserted hallway, waiting for the elevator.

“Late night for you too?”

You startled and turned to see Spencer exiting the BAU, walking towards the elevator.

“I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“Sorry for scaring you, by the way,” he chuckled and you waved it off.

“Tough case, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, walking into the now opened elevator.

“You did some great work, Y/N,” he said, walking in behind you, hitting the button for the lobby.

“Hey, you’re the real hero here,” you smiled, “I just do computers.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t know what to do without you,” he said then quickly clearing his throat, realizing his mistake, “I mean we wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Well, thank you. That’s sweet.”

You rode in silence until a loud crash rang throughout the elevator, followed by a shuddering sensation. Suddenly, the elevator came to a complete stop.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” you gasped.

“Uh, well. This isn’t good.”

Spencer hit several different buttons with no luck. The elevator still hung between floors and you were stuck in here.

You were literally stuck in an elevator with Spencer. 

With your feelings bubbling to the surface even more lately, especially during this case, this was your worst case scenario.

This was not good.

•

“So,” Spencer said, pocketing his cell phone, “Hotch said it would be at least an hour or so before he and the building engineers can get down here.”

“Wonderful,” you mumbled, pacing the very small space of the elevator.

You were sort of freaking out. Not because of the actual being stuck part, but because you were afraid of what you might do or might say. This was dangerous territory.

Of course, there was no way Spencer knew that and he obviously interpreted your anxiety as a reaction to being stuck.

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay.”

He grabbed your elbow, stilling your steps in front of the metal doors. You slumped back against it, but at least you stayed still.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Studies find that the best distractions in stressful situations are meditation, helping others and-” he paused.

With a quick purse of his lips, his eyes glanced upwards nonchalantly and his brows raised just the slightest.

“Orgasms.”

Your eyes widened, sure you’d misheard him somehow.

“I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

Your mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“What exactly are you saying?” you asked hesitantly.

“I think you know good and well what I’m saying.”

You were astonished and exasperated.

“Dammit Spencer, if you’re just messing with me, I swear.”

He was closing in on you now, a slight grin on his lips, tongue flicking over them in a quick movement, moistening them.

“I’m not,” he whispered.

Then his lips were on yours. It took a moment for you to get over the initial shock, but when you did, you were kissing him back. 

His hand that rested gently on your cheek, slid into your hair, pulling your head closer to him. After a minute of pure heaven for you, he pulled away much to your dismay.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he murmured, lips hovering over yours.

“Yeah?” you whispered, eyes still on his lips.

You were on cloud nine and you just wanted his lips back on yours.

He hummed his response, pressing his lips towards yours again. His hand slid along your waist, pulling you into him. Your lips moved feverishly with his, your first initial soft kisses quickly gaining intensity.

“Hold on,” he said after parting from you again.

He shedded his suit jacket and your eyebrows rose. He moved to the opposite side of the elevator, tossing the jacket over the camera that hung in the top corner.

You bit your lip, trying to hide your giggle.

“Just in case,” he smirked.

It took about only two steps for him to be in front of you again, his mouth busy against yours once again. 

You still hadn’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that you were currently trapped in an elevator, your back pressed against the metal doors, making out with Spencer. But then again, you didn’t want to focus on anything but him at the moment.

A small moan escaped you when he tugged your lower lip gently, teasingly. His hands had somehow made it under your dress, sliding up your bare thighs.

You broke away with a gasp when his touch ghosted over your nether region through your underwear. He pressed his lips together, pulling them inward, his dimple showing up because of the expression.

“Is this okay?” he asked, hand hovering near your pulsating core.

“Y-Yes,” you managed to croak.

You don’t know just how long you’d been lost to his kisses, but he had gotten you worked up and you could feel yourself throbbing with the want. All the sexual tension the both of you had shared was coming to the surface and you were craving every bit of it ten times more now.

His fingers traced a line upwards along the outer portion of the undergarment, his lips on your jaw, making a slow descent to your neck. He was taking his time with you and it was driving you crazy. His hands slid up, pushing your dress up with them.

You reached out for his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down. Other than your heavy breathing, the only sound was the slow grinding of the zipper as you pulled it down slowly. Your anticipation and arousal were making you short of breath and Spencer pulled back, eyes searching your face.

“I’m sure,” you answered his questioning expression, firmly.

That was Spencer. Always making sure to think of the other person first. You knew he wouldn’t have continued if you weren’t comfortable with it. 

His own arousal had grown to match yours, though his was obviously more apparent. You pushed his suit pants down, his underwear following.

Before you realized it, he’d hoisted you up and your high heeled feet were crossed behind him. His hand reached down, pushing your underwear to the side with a determined roughness as he kissed you. Then he was inside you.

Your hand tangled in his hair as he thrust gently to begin with, his eyes locked on yours. You felt a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach that wasn’t caused by your desire. 

The way he was looking at you was giving you extreme butterflies. It was as if you were the most beautiful woman in the world to him. 

Your hips moved in time with his and you bit your lip, whimpering from the pleasure. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. 

“Fuuuck,” he groaned lowly, sending your body aflame even more so than it already was.

Never would you have thought that Spencer moaning in your ear would be so hot, but it was.

The more he thrust into you, the more your moans became less restricted, flowing freely from your lips.

“Spencer,” you moaned, gritting your teeth, “Harder.”

If he wanted to fuck you as hard as he wanted against these elevator doors you’d be totally okay with it. 

He obeyed your wishes, his body rocking into yours, one hand behind your head to keep you from hitting it. You briefly register the thought that even during a situation like this he was caring enough to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself. 

“Y/N, shit,” he grunted, the sound sending shock waves down to your core.

As much as you loved his nicknames for you, you couldn’t help but love hearing your name fall from his lips in such extreme pleasure.

You grinned slightly, his nose pressing lightly against your cheek as he pulled you closer to him, his thrusts becoming uneven. He was on the brink of losing it, you knew it.

“Come on Spence.” 

Your hand gripped his hair and he lost all control his groan rippling through you. You had trouble realizing that you were the one having this affect on him.

But he wasn’t done with you, yet.

If he’d told you once, he’d told you a thousand times that he knew how to be a gentleman.

You reached down to finish yourself off but his hand moved yours out of the way, thumb landing on the bundle of nerves that sent an electrified feeling through your veins when his touch reached it.

“If you don’t know me by now, Y/N,” he grunted, his thrusts coming hard and fast.

“G-Gentleman. I know,” you moaned, your head lolling back against the metal doors.

His lips ravished your throat, his combined efforts releasing the fire in the pit of your stomach. You completely let go, your breathy moans filling the elevator, your back arching away from the doors.

When the intense feeling had subsided, your eyes opened to find him watching you. Your cheeks heated as you realized how out of control you must’ve been the entire time. But instead of being horrified or regretful, Spencer was smiling at you.

He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you gently, igniting the butterflies once again. It was this that truly confirmed that you’d fallen and fallen hard for Spencer.

After parting, you readjusted your clothing in silence, not exactly sure what to say.

“So, uh, wow,” he laughed a bit as he pulled his suit jacket back on.

He’d retrieved it from over the camera shortly after you’d disconnected from one another.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

Your legs were definitely feeling like jelly at this point and you were pretty sure he could tell. It had been pretty amazing sex. 

“I know this is kinda backwards from how it’s usually done,” he chuckled, suddenly timid, “But could I take you to dinner sometime?”

Your hand found his and his fingers automatically threaded through yours. You kissed his cheek before answering.

“I’d love nothing more.”

The whirring of the elevator startled the two of you. Ironic how it was just in time, it seemed.

The elevator arrived back to the floor of the BAU and you were surprised to see Garcia and Morgan in the hallway.

“What are you guys doing here?” Spencer asked, stepping off the elevator, you at his side.

“Hotch had a thing he wanted us to do,” Garcia explained lamely.

“Like getting us out of the elevator?” you asked, suspicious.

“Yes! That’s it.” Garcia said, eyes flickering to yours and Spencer’s joined hands.

She was heading back to her lair when you heard her call.

“See Morgan? I told you stopping the elevator would work!”

Spencer’s jaw dropped and you gaped after Penelope dumbfounded. 

Derek laughed heartily at your matching reactions before following after Garcia, calling over his shoulder to Spencer.

“Hope you had fun, sweet cheeks.”

Tag List: @dreatine​ @reid-187​ @groovyreid​ @reidslibra​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @fuckthealarm​ @whatspunispun​ @iamburdened​ @cindywayne​ @thomasfoockinshelby​ @tinyminy88​ @theitcaramelchick​ @missprettyboy​  @hushlilbabydoll​ @sammy-jo1977​ @theonlyone-meeeee​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @lemonypink​ @multifandommandy​

[mileapokp1677]

Three Steps to Win You (CH 11)

Title: Three Steps to Win You

Rating: M

Pairing: DaddyChan/Tankhun, Kinn/Porsche, Vegas/Pete

Category: M/M, AU Nerd-Jock

Summary: Accidentally, scientist Tankhun Theerapanyakul embarrassed footballer Captain Chan "Daddy" Knight in front of his coach, teammates and fans. He had to fulfill three tasks from the captain before his apology was accepted.

Chapter 11 

(Chan POV) 

The Next Day 

Chan got up from his bed slowly and in pain. It had been a long time since the last time he had had to compress his thighs and calves with ice like this, and it truly makes Chan feel his age, all 36 of it. But BSFC's victory over Bangkok United in yesterday's match was really sweet and Chan wouldn’t have it any other way. Moreover, not many professional athletes in his age could continue to compete at the top level like this, most of them had to give up their careers because their skills have drastically decreased, or some even had to retire early due to injuries. Chan realized he was one of the luckiest, and for that he was very grateful. So, no complaint whatsoever from him.

Chan was just about to consume a huge portion of vegetables-fruits-protein powder smoothie that had just been blended, when his cell phone rang. It was Don.

“Coach?”

“How are your thigh and calf muscles? I hope you've iced them.” 

“Already did, Coach,” answered Chan while shaking his head in wonder. “I guess, nothing escaped your scrutiny.” 

“Chan, I’ve been training you for almost 14 years, of course I’m aware of your condition. Just like I’m aware that you drained all your energy to guard that United midfielder, ” stated Don. "If it weren't for the fact that I knew yesterday's derby meant a lot to you, I would have stopped you.” 

“Thank you, Coach.”

“Overstraining your leg muscles at your age is not a wise choice, especially when you intend to play in all the games this season.” 

“Understood, Sir.”

“It's a good thing that next weekend there will be no match because of International Friendly, so you can rest more.” 

“Yes, Coach,” responded Chan. “What can I do for you, Sir?” 

“Ah yes. Saturday morning, people from management came to the training ground to give you a notice, but you weren't there yet, so they gave it to me. Since that day we were all so focused on the derby match, I forgot to pass on their message to you.” 

“Oh, what message?” 

“The National Football Federation has decided to give you a special award to honor your outstanding professional football career.” 

Chan was stunned for a moment, he knew he had a good career as a footballer, but never expected the National Federation would want to award him with such a high honor. He felt very flattered and grateful at the same time.

“Chan? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Coach. It’s just that… I don’t really know what to say…”

“You deserved it. When I told you, you’re my pride and glory, it wasn’t lip service, you know that, right?” Again, Chan was stunned. Don is more than just a coach for him, he’s like a father figure, a mentor.

“Coach, I…”

“I’m sure Mr. Krisda already told you about the BSFC offer.”

“Coach…”

“Wait, I'm not done talking... I’m also aware that you want a long break from football. The point is, once you're ready, BSFC is also ready to accept you as part of my coaching team. I'm waiting.”

“Hn,” responded Chan curtly because he knew if he spoke any more than this his voice would crack. Even now, he was having a hard time holding back his emotions.

“Okay, I better leave you and your super healthy smoothie.”

Chan chuckled.

“Coach, if I didn't know better, I'd think you had planted a secret camera here to spy on me.”

“What makes you sure I don't plant one? Good day, Chan!”

“Have a good Sunday, Coach.”

Chan was still filled with disbelief as he finished the smoothie. Usually after breakfast, he would do light exercise and cardio, but he decided to skip it today. He will allow his muscles to rest for the next 24 hours. As he was contemplating what he was going to do to spend his Sunday, the notification on his cellphone rang again. It was a message from the architect firm, asking his permission to call him. Chan decided to just give them a call right away. 

****** 

(Tankhun POV)  

Three Days Later

New Message from Caramello

Tankhun's eyebrows rose in response to seeing a new message notification from Chan, the first in eighteen days, but who's counting, right? Tankhun ignored the voice in his heart that suspiciously laughed at him just now and immediately opened the message from the footballer.

[Caramello]

Ready for ur second task?

Tankhun let out a grunt although inside he was very curious. Before he could reply though, a new message from Chan appeared again.

[Caramello]

Still giving me the silent treatment?

[Tankhun T]

Please ... you’re not that important for me to give you the silent treatment. I'm just busy.

[Caramello]

Ouch!

Tankhun smiled.

[Caramello]

I'll pick you up Saturday at 7.50 AM. Be ready!

7.50 AM!? Is he mad?

[Tankhun T]

Not so fast, mister. You'd better have a good reason for ruining my weekend, and you should tell me clearly what task I have to do. Do you even know my home address?

[Caramello]

I’m Chan “Daddy” Knight, the Captain of BSFC. I have my own way. 😉  

Did he seriously just throw my own words at me? Damn this man!  

Again, before Chan could type a reply, a new message from that... that old man appeared.

[Caramello]

There will be many activities that require physical exertion. So, I recommend wearing something that is comfortable and not designer clothes.

Tankhun gasped.

How dare he? Why, you…

Tankhun never typed as fast as he did at that moment.

[Tankhun T]

One, I never let anyone tell me how to dress myself. Two, I let you know that I can do anything in my designer clothes!!!  

[Caramello]

If you're not afraid they'll tear or dirty, be my guest, Pumpkin. Don't tell me I didn't warn you.  

[Tankhun T]

It’s Doctor! And what’s that supposed to mean!?  

No reply. 

[Tankhun T] 

CHAN! ANSWER ME!  

Still no reply.  

[Tankhun T]

I hate you!  

[Caramello]  

See U Saturday~ 😊 

UGH!

****** 

(Tankhun POV)

Next Saturday 07:30 AM  

As soon as Tankhun saw Kinn and Porsche having breakfast with Pa in the dining room, he's 100% sure that his suspicions last Wednesday – regarding who had informed Chan their home address, confirmed. 

Nosy bastards.

“Good morning… looks like someone still hasn't given up on meddling in my business,” jibed Tankhun, face full of accusation.  

“Good morning, son.” 

“Good morning, Tankhun.” 

“What do you mean, P'? We missed you, Pa, and Kim, so we decided to have breakfast here today,” Porsche replied, his face guilt-free, his lips curled into a wide beaming smile, his eyes as mischievous as an imp.

Ugh, this lil shit.

“Tankhun, come, Kinn and Porsche bring your favorite fried dough stick to eat with the porridge,” requested Pa, as he patted the seat on his right side. “Let’s eat while it’s still hot.”

“Yes, Pa,” answered Tankhun, obeying his Pa’s request. “Where’s Kim?”

“Still sleeping, I guess, but I’m about to wake him up now,” said Kinn. “We haven’t had breakfast together like this for a while.”

Kinn left the dining table to go upstairs to wake their youngest brother.

The mischievous look in Porsche's eyes grew even more intense, and suddenly Tankhun realized the real reason for his brother and brother-in-law's visit to the house early in the morning. Tankhun couldn't help himself not to feel amusement, his pouting had turned into a smile, while continuing to enjoy his favorite fried dough sticks.

"It's going to be spectacular, P'," promised Porsche. “You look great, by the way. Special occasion?”

“Shut up,” replied Tankhun, chuckling at the thought of what would happen soon. His brothers were his weakness, he could never be angry with them for long.

"It's the weekend, and I don't have practice today, why do I have to eat breakfast so early?" Kim grumbled as he entered the dining room and took a seat next to Tankhun. His fairly long hair was tangled, and Tankhun reflexively straightened and combed it with his fingers.

"You haven't washed your face, have you?" asked Tankhun.

"This is your punishment for waking me up so early, please enjoy my face that is still full of drool," replied Kim, still feeling annoyed. "Good morning, Pa." 

“Morning, Kim.” 

Kinn had just returned to his seat next to Porsche when the doorbell rang.

“Ah, right on time,” said Porsche, looking meaningfully at Tankhun.

"Kim, would you please be a sweetheart and open the door?" asked Tankhun sweetly.

“But whyyyy~ I haven’t even had a drop of water,” wailed the youngest Theerapanyakun boys.

“Pretty please?” pleaded Tankhun again, puppy eyes in full force.

“Sometimes I really hate being the youngest, you all take advantage of me,” Kim protested as he got up from his seat and walked towards the door.

Tankhun, Kinn, and Porsche were following Kim slowly, trying hard to keep him from noticing that they were trailing behind him.  

“Good morning, is this the Theerapanyakul residence?”

“Holy Shit!” Kim shouted as he slammed the door loudly.

“Umm, Kim… you do realize you just slammed the door in your favorite captain's face, right?” asked Porsche, desperately holding back his laughter seeing Kim's shocked face.  

“HOLY SHIT!!!”   

TBC

[goldentsum]

— delivery boy

PAIRING: shinsou x reader

GENRE: fluff, awkward scenes

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

SUMMARY: a sleep-deprived college student just trying to get by the hellhole he’s in by getting a job as a delivery boy. shinsou hates what he does but if he can get a certain cutie, it might lessen his hatred for his job. 

TAGS: college au, just fluff with soft and awkward shinsou, sleep-deprived! shinsou as always, cursing, crack

AUTHOR’S NOTE: quarantine made me do it. sighhh, can’t i have a cute delivery boy everytime i order shit? also, shinsou is me pls. D:<

shinsou hates his job. he doesn’t like it one bit. the way some orders are too long that he was using his big brain juice all the time or when someone cancels their order when he already bought the fucking food, he absolutely hates it. his faith in humanity is decreasing at a rapid speed with his job, not like it exists to begin with anyway.

the purple-haired male is proud of his 4.0 gpa despite him slowly losing his sanity as he lose sleep over it but there was this asshole of a teacher in literature 3 was making it difficult to maintain it just because the old geezer has his head stuck in his ass and he won’t even give them the ppt slides, that asshole. 

shinsou rubbed his tired eyes while his one hand typed on his computer, listening to the asshole professor in front. the male craned his neck and massaged his neck then took a quick sip of coffee, closing his eyes as he did so. when he opened his eyes the slide in front was already different, making him put down his drink in surprise and tried to copy the notes in a hurry, cursing quietly when he noticed that the last sentence in his notes was cut off.

he fussed over his notes because it was the only thing that’s keeping him from failing the class. the professor was an asshole and liked to pick on his students and shinsou absolutely hates him. he swears when he graduates, he’ll curse the professor off and flip him off as he walks away from this hellhole. 

when the class finished, shinsou looked at his notes in horror. it was cut off in a lot of places and so incoherent that when he tried to read it, he thought he gave himself an aneurysm because of it. 

his tired eyes stared blankly at his screen while his internal monologue went on about how he’ll just find a sugar mommy and live his best life while the other students went out the room. his thoughts were then cut off when he heard an oh so familiar voice echoing out to him like a siren in the sea. 

purple eyes turned to the side and saw you with your friends who were waiting outside the classroom door as you walked away from his sight. shinsou’s not gonna admit it but he finds you really pretty. you’re just so soft and small compared to him. your sweet smile was always present every morning unlike his dead eyes and resting bitch face. annoyingly, you always distract him from the lessons which freaks him out. 

no one has ever fazed him but then you came along with your annoyingly pretty face and aesthetic outfits. always sitting beside him, you smelled really sweet too as creepy as that sounds, and you always greet him with such softness that it made him wanna vomit rainbows and sparkles. no one has ever caught his attention so how the hell can you distract him without even doing anything? 

also, why do you write your notes in a notebook and still make it look really good and clean? every time he looks over to your side, he sees your notes and his eyes bulge out when your pretty handwriting, the cute and small illustrations, and pretty colors of your notes fill his sight. 

that’s also one of the things shinsou liked admired about you. you’re probably the only person in your whole batch who writes their notes on a notebook, not that it’s a bad thing but how can your notes still be so pretty and organized even with professor asshole’s hellish pace of changing the slides? 

shinsou sighed and ran a hand through his messy tresses then fixed his things up to get away from the hellhole and come home to his lovely bed. It must've been at least 24 hours since he last slept because he was up all night the other day to fix and perfect every assignment in the devil’s class. 

when he finally got to his dorm, a huge sigh of relief left him as the tall male practically collapsed on his bed. his fatigue overcame him in an instant as his eyes closed in instinct, finally sleeping after stressing so much and intaking coffee, lots of coffee. thank god that it was friday and he didn’t have to wake up early because he finally passed his requirements to every class for the semester.

it was already the next afternoon when shinsou woke up, his body ached but at least he wasn’t running on caffeine to keep him from falling over and dying on the spot. 

loud clanking was heard from his kitchen as he perked up in confusion for a moment then groaned in dread when he realized who it was. shinsou let his head hit the pillow once again, staring at his ceiling and he felt a headache coming in already.

fucking kaminari is in his dorm again. he didn’t get the blond’s actions but the latter always told him that he was “making sure he wasn’t dead yet” but shinsou knows that kaminari only wants free food but he appreciates the effort, he guesses but can’t kaminari check if he wasn’t dead a little quieter? 

he sighed in annoyance and grabbed his phone, going out after stretching and feeling his bone pop satisfyingly. shinsou was greeted with the sight of kaminari fighting with the sizzling oil on the pan in his kitchen. 

“what the fuck are you doing?” shinsou’s bored voice reached the blond male who looked at him and smiled, “morning dude. i noticed you had bacon so i’m gonna cook it.” 

shinsou was about to reply but the sharp yelp kaminari let out cut him off and he watched the shorter male curse at the pan, rubbing the spot where the hot oil hit him. 

he scoffed at the scene and shook his head as he sat on the couch and opened the tv. he was scrolling idly through the channels and when he didn’t find anything entertaining, he stopped on the news. 

opening his phone to check his social media feed as he let the tv and kaminari’s curses and screams become background noises. shinsou just wants to see what type of shit people are in these days and it wasn’t because he’s gonna stalk your account. definitely not that. 

shinsou scrolled through your pictures on ig, admiring the aesthetic ones combined with chaotic energy in your profile. he smiled a bit when he noticed you unarchived an old pic in your ig. you had shorter hair in the picture and wore some funky shades. 

“ohh~ who’s that? she’s cute” kaminari popped out behind him, looking at shinsou’s phone over his shoulders. shinsou jumped at his friend’s presence, letting go off his phone accidentally as he tried to grab it to not let it smack against the hard floor. 

when shinsou saved his phone, he whipped his head and glared at kaminari, “what the fuck, denki!” 

“geez, sorry man” the latter nervously chuckled and walked back to the kitchen with fear coursing in his body when the taller male’s glare didn’t falter. shinsou rolled his eyes at him and looked at his phone. his usual dead eyes widened whilst horror filled his system. 

on his phone, it showed your old picture from a year ago and on the bottom left, the heart was filled. shinsou quickly unliked the picture and threw the phone beside him on the couch as if it burned him. 

“what the fuck what the fuck no no no no--” he mumbled in distress, his heart beating a mile per second. he paled when he imagined seeing you again in class on monday. 

“i’m gonna puke,” shinsou muttered and held his head, eyes wavering in fear. kaminari poked his head from the kitchen and saw his distressed figure. 

“um? shinsou? are you okay, dude?” 

when he heard kaminari’s voice, his head whipped to him in a snap. shinsou smiled at him as a shiver ran down kaminari’s spine. “do i look okay, denki?” 

a loud scream echoed in shinsou’s dorm and that was the last time anyone has ever seen kaminari denki. rip. 

shinsou was stressing the fuck out, he even felt tears prick his eyes with how stressed out he is. nothing could compare to the stress he’s feeling right now well maybe his first finals was also this stressful but that’s not the point. kaminari tried to cheer him up with some bacon and eggs but the male was so snappy though he ate the food after denki left. 

after sulking in his dorm, he shook it off and tried to take his mind off it. he showered, worked out a bit in his room, and made some shake but the embarrassment was always looming in the back of his mind. you might think he’s a creep or something. you two barely talked to each other with only good mornings and pleasantries exchanged for the whole semester so what the hell is he gonna do?! 

before he knew it, he was accepting some orders in his phone to let out some steam and keep him busy. for the first 2 orders everything was fine but he suddenly got tired and the shame he left at his apartment was still in his system. so he accepted the last order for today before going back to his dorm to do his last resort of screaming into the void. he then went to the boba shop to get the orders. 

getting the order, he went straight to a nearby dorm in his campus that’s being shown in his phone to get the money and yeet himself out afterwards. shinsou rubbed his neck, mentally and physically tired after going around and delivering people their food and from getting a harsh life-changing embarrassment happen to him. he’s never gonna stalk you or anyone for that matter again and if he ever sees you again, he’s gonna jump through the nearest fucking window, he doesn’t even care anymore. 

as he rang the doorbell and waited for someone to open the door and get the heavy milk teas off his hand, he was already thinking of going to another school and just live a whole new second life. dramatic as that sounds but it was tempting at this point.

but life was not having it. life wants to see him suffer thoroughly. before he thought he just had some bad luck but now, he knows that life was fucking him over and laughing at his misery. 

the door opened and in came to view the last person he wants to see right now, you, and it’s not fair, why are you answering the door with an oversized shirt and some shorts with messy hair, looking like a goddamn cutie! you want to kill him, don’t you? 

your (e/c) eyes gleam with familiarity when you see the awkward tall male from your class and saw the precious boba in one of his hands.

“shinsou, right? i didn’t know you did delivery?” you smiled at him making the purple-headed male scream internally. he cleared his throat awkwardly and nodded, “y-yeah, the pay isn’t that much but it helps...” he replied so painfully awkward that if anyone sees you two, they’ll cringe. it was that bad.

but being the angel that you are, you giggled and nodded as if you weren’t affected by his awkwardness. he’s thankful for that. 

“wait a second, okay? i’ll get the payment” you chimed and he nodded as you run inside the dorm. shinsou’s mind was running a mile per second, did you not receive the notification of his shameful actions? or were you being an angel and sparing him the embarrassment? 

he wants to hibernate and never leave him bed after this. shinsou snapped out of his thoughts when he saw you jogging towards him with the same beautiful smile you wear everyday and he unconsciously straightened up. 

“here you go! thank you, shinsou!” you giggled and got the milk teas of his hands while you gave the money to him. 

“thank you, (y/n)... um, are you gonna drink all of that?” he asked, cursing his mouth when he just blurted it out. your eyebrows quirk playfully and chuckled, shaking your head no. 

“no, silly. my friends are inside” shinsou nodded stiffly and looked around making you two just stand in silence. a painfully awkward silence. shinsou saw you were about to say something but a loud voice from inside the room called out.

“(y/n), where the fuck are you?! the boba! ..shit-! i saw that, you cheater!” you looked back and rolled your eyes then looked back at him. you waved your hand at him with a smile, “well bye, shinsou. thanks again” and closed the door. 

shinsou exhaled a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding, looking at the closed door. he then walked away though his eyes were going to the door again and again until he couldn’t see it anymore. he looked at his hand and saw a piece of paper inside the bundle of money. 

with furrowed brows, he opened the folded paper and he was floored! 

hi shinsou! call me sometime! :)

xxx-xxxxxxx

-(y/n) 

okay, maybe being a delivery boy isn’t so bad after all. he got your number didn’t he? talk about lucky! 

extra crack ending: when you and shinsou are finally dating

(y/n): so... are we really not gonna talk about the post that you liked in my ig?

shinsou: you knew?! 

(y/n): duh bitch.

[nochiquinn]

campaign 3 episode 4: [judge doom voice] you’ll laugh yourself to death!!

(the title is a reference For Me but also someone else pls get the reference)

going into this episode with Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia stuck in my head, so that's a thing

sam is wearing that shirt ENTIRELY to fuck with the color balance of this episode. and my eyes.

"I want to dye my hair to match it" PLS

I want the stocking and I know my partner will want the pjs

"I love shouting that" of course you do

rapid-fire NPCs

MISTER

"you're not here" "yeah but sam is"

oh don't put that guilt on dorian :(

"this is what we should have been doing with doors this WHOLE TIME"

imogen apologizing for getting other people involved in her anxiety is entirely too relateable and I need her to dial it back immediately

ooooh

"I'll rush over to orym" gay

how hard sam stares at marisha's dice cracks me up

f e a r n e

what's in his pockets that killed marisha

WEEKEND AT BERTRAND'S

"thirty-year-old condom....."

deeply love them calling fcg "letters" and I cannot explain why

liam's face is my face

"it's not your fault" "I know." "do you?"

"I'm glad the noise stopped for you" mrs baileyham please it's not even an hour in

laudna: I hate people just from the OUTSIDE, imagine hearing the INSIDE parts

orym: i'M nOt A lEaDeR

f e a r n e

excuse

"smiley FUCKIN day"

orym uses his jumpy boots to shoulder-boop dorian

(also: gay)

laudna

ashton

you're right but you shouldn't say it (right now anyway)

our second character death: fcg gets caramel'd to death

little round fire boi

laudna: I'm just Like This

"this 24 hours has a lot of range"

orym: shoes :D

Light Up M'Balls

"I feel silly" "you LOOK silly"

"wrap around me like a belt" cries

"you got it, simon" CRIES

we did it, we found the ash hole

"claw marks" nope I hate it

death by muppet

FCG it's okay if it's not okay

"your face can barely make ANY face, that's impressive"

orym

I just love everyone here

"it's what you do, it's fine" and you can tell her to STOP FCG ESTABLISH A BOUNDARY

"what feet equates to tallness" this is also how I process math

stop saying entity

"ashton down, fcg up" that's the way we like t- [is snatched offstage by a vaudeville hook]

"it's a 1 but I'm a halfling! ...and it's a 20!" the duality of halfling

"does no one BRIBE anymore?"

mala: but ashton, if you STEAL you keep your gold

"next time I'm here I'm gonna get so drunk I pass out before I break anything"

"we learned something here today"

I fucking love ashton

"I'm the talker? I'm immediately terrified"

they're gonna die so hard

liam is me and I am liam

ashley's hair is distractingly pretty

my BOY

dorian: eat the rich, amirite

this accent sounds like something and I cannot place it

(is it fable 2, it might be fable 2)

d o r i a n

the collapsing tower of laughter on bottom table

(genuinely so pleased that they're where they can collapse on each other again)

"send him back to tal'dorei" lays in the floor about it

"he's a colorful guy" read: he was full of shit

"whitestone has always been a friend to the dead" new theory, laudna is undead, preserved almost entirely with pure salt

"I heard the lady in charge of zephra isn't very powerful" "she's a BITCH" liam: careful, that's my wife

"this isn't even metagaming, I don't know what this is anymore"

"we're inceptioning"

"I don't know much about lords and ladies" press x to doubt

oh no I dozed off

"my dice were distracted"

WHISPERRRRRS

I need Dorian to play an instrument so I can get a bingo

laudna

some things you do not upcycle

"oh, bertie" :(

"literally the only thing he did"

what happened with the ashari? liam what happened to the ashari

[holds orym upside down by the ankles and shakes him until the lore falls out]

#nailedit #good #professional

you ain't gettin ME to no second location

this is a milo appreciation blog

"I was an inspiration" "you always are" surprisingly wholesome background chatter

"if you can't find a chair, make one - steal one - I don't care"

"the head got up and the head got hit"

"tell us everything" "no"

imogen you can't just DO that to people

"did you kiss the beef?"

sam leave him alONE

lift robit

ESSEK-ING

the shadow BAKER?

what're you buying, what're you selling

FEARNE

pies (derogatory)

tonight has an ENERGY

matthew it is 1:45 am pls I want to sleep

"he went to take a piss" no that's dangerous here

cool I hate it

"FUCKING pie fucker"

"that coin also lets you reroll 1s" "I hate it and I'm glad you got rid of it"

mala: okay who has a sacred artifact to pull out and give these people

[stxrrywildflower]

for better or for worse (3)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - when the people they love the most are kidnapped and ripped out of their hands, the bau does everything they can to get them back before it turns dire

warnings - mentions of case, injury details, angst

series masterlist

bloody jewelry and seven smashed phones.

that’s all the bau team had to go off of in the investigation.

just like hotch had offered, he stepped up to take charge of the situation. emily was thankful to be able to step down for the case, the stress was bulding up and she was ready to crack.

hotch fell back into his leadership role naturally, already pulling someone up from the tech department to do their research and computer work. morgan focused on getting everyone back in the mindset they needed.

luke and spencer were most difficult.

for luke, he felt extremely guilty. morgan did the best he could in helping the agent, though penelope missing did affect him as well.

spencer was a whole different story. he couldn’t think straight, they caught him shaking more than once. sure a walk emily had sent him on did help, though coming back started the cycle all over again.

“hey pretty boy,” morgan started. that nickname alone made spencer flinch. “mind if we go and talk?”

the two men stood up, nodding towards emily and hotch who waved them off.

“i feel like a lot of conversations are happening in here,” spencer commented upon entering morgan’s old office.

“what can i say, it’s a good space,” morgan smiled.

morgan sat on the edge of the desk while spencer took the couch, immediately grabbing a pillow to hold against him. “i’ve already talked to alvez but i figured we need to sit down one on one.”

“it’s not your job to be the team therapist.”

both laughed at that. “yeah well as your friend and honorary older brother, it’s my job to check up on you. and i know how hard this case is for you. i may not be a profiler anymore but your body language is all over the place. and i’m sure that-”

“you know what the last thing i said to y/n was?” spencer interrupted.

morgan stayed quiet, not wanting to say the wrong thing to potentially set him off. “i told her i loved her too,” spencer revealed quietly. “i was dropped her off at her apartment and she kissed me goodnight before telling me she loved me.”

the older agent hugged spencer, not exactly knowing how else to console him other than that. it broke his heart at both the confession and the tears that had started to flow down his cheeks. morgan’s hugs were comforting, they always were. “we’ll get her back kid. that way you can tell her you love her again.”

they stayed in there for a little while longer, talking to refresh their minds of the situation. “we should head back. who knows what the team has discovered by now,” morgan offered. spencer accepted the extended hand to help him up and the two headed back towards the bullpen.

all bets must have been placed on the unsubs making contact sometime soon and through a phone call. a phone incase of ransom or demands was set up on luke’s desk, another machine set up to help trace a call.

hotch and emily remained by the desk while the others work, though main focus was on the device.

the second the phone rang, all members of the team’s attention immediately went to the device. hotch held his hand out, letting them know to keep quiet before signaling emily to pick up the phone.

“hello?” the unit chief answered.

a staticky voice, obviously altered in some form, played over the speaker of the phone.

“you will be receiving a note in exactly fifteen minutes. i expect you to choose wisely.”

sixteen words. sixteen words was all the communication they had from your captors. and it still didn’t feel like enough. “good and bad news,” the new tech analyst announced. “i didn’t pinpoint an exact location but i did narrow it down to areas. they’re no where in the city, somewhere west.”

“choose, what do they mean choose?” j.j. rushed out, panic evident in her tone.

“i need everyone up in the conference room.”

just like the unsub has said, anderson entered the office holding a long office envelope. he handed it over to hotch, who placed it on the round table for examination.

a piece of paper was the first thing pulled out, folded neatly and sealed with wax. with gloved hands, hotch pulled at the folds, breaking the seal. inside, in perfect red ink, was the promised note.

seventy million in twenty dollar bills for their safe return. ten million for each person

or,

ten million for one. your choice. you have 24 hours.

“they want us to choose?”

hotch frowned, reaching back into the envelope

spencer held his hand over his mouth, not even close to being prepared for what he, and the rest of the team, saw.

seven polaroids, all glossy and crisp, were layed out on the table. each was a different picture, all from the neck up. you, along with the others, occupied a square. your injuries were shown, displaying the level of injuries everyone had suffered.

you, andrew, and will were easily the worst. your face was bruised and bloody, dried blood on your nose and dripping from a cut on your forehead. andrew had a similar cut, this time on both of his cheeks. will had a split lip and swollen eyes.

the others, had just a few knicks and bruises. they looked relatively fine, just in shock from the situation.

“oh my god,” j.j. was the first to speak, reaching out to pick up the photo of her husband. the rest did the same, no one knowing how to react to the pictures.

spencer was seconds away from running out of the room, his stomach was flipping and he just overall felt sick. he wanted to rip the photo up, never wanting to see it again.

“we need to start from the begining,” hotch announced. “they’re obviously a team. there’s no way they could have taken seven people without assistance. but that does raise another risk, they could potentially split if something does go wrong.”

that sentence didn’t ease the team at all.

“let’s focus on what they left. broken phones is to let us know they’re missing. but i think we should be focusing on the word love,” morgan added.

“that’s obvious,” matt spoke up. “they’re the people we love the most. by taking them away from us, they want us to experience a certain type of pain.

“we could be looking at siblings!” emily exclaimed.

j.j. nodded at that. “that does make sense. usually partnerships like this wouldn’t have the same level of hatred unless they shared the exact same experience. abandonment or losing someone could be a trigger.”

“we need to look at triplets and siblings who experienced some from of loss in the family. it’s going to be a long list but we can reduce it by the property owned,” hotch ordered.

while the tech analyst did their own digging, the rest of the team went through a box of every case involving families in the state.

it was a painful process, taking seven hours before anyone actually found anything. by then, the conference room was a mess of papers scattered around and empty coffee mugs.

the team narrowed it town to triplets, one girl and two boys. their parents had passed when they were teenagers, the oldest boy gaining custody of them. they were forced to live on their own, fending for each other. they had it out for the bau ever since they denied looking into their case.

besides motive, they owned a ranch a bit further outside of the city. a perfect place to conceal their plans. adding on to the lack of paper trail and trigger, it was more than likely that they were the unsubs.

no one from the bau team was allowed to go on the raid, their emotions could greatly alter the arrest. hotch and morgan led it, accompanied by swat.

instead, they were sent to the hospital. it was inevitable that all of you would need medical attention, it was the best option for them to go and wait, hoping for your safe return.

almost an hour went by without any news.

the team sat in one of the designated waiting rooms, all having some nervous quirk to help calm them down.

with little warning, a flood of doctors and nurses passed the room, a few police officers and swat agents as well. at the end of it all were hotch and morgan, both taking off their kevlar vests as they entered the room.

in an instant, everyone was standing up. emily was the first one to attempt to leave the room. hotch blocked the doorway, using his hand to prevent her from going anywhere.

“hotch what the hell. let me through,” emily demanded.

one flick of the eyes back and forth between the two former agents was all the team needed to raise further questions. it was and has always been a telltale sign that they were either lying or hiding information.

“what aren’t you telling us?”

hotch let out a sigh. the tense silence in the room did nothing for anyone’s nerves.

“we only got four of them.”

☆ ☆ ☆

teaser

tags - @zozoleesi @emxlyprentxss @spencerreidfanatic00 @mrs-dr-reid @irjuejjsaa @ogmilkis @sageellesworth05 @mortallythoughtfulgurl @brainyreid @ah-blossom @kissessforharryyy @ssareidbby @spencersglasses @spenciepoo338 @mggstyles @emilouu @loki-an-idiot @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @pianofirepirate @ssa-morgan @afuckingshituniverse @spencerslatte @reminiscing-writer @kianagilder-blog @ssaic-jareau @theatrenerd101601 @drprettyboyreid @emilyxprentiss

[jenonctcity]

My Beginning - Part 3

Differences – Lee Jeno

Part of the Bad Boy Series.

Badboy!Au, Streetfighter!Au

Warnings: Mentions of mental health, Disability (blindness), Mild Violence, Mentions of suicide.

Word Count: 5.3k

“It’s hard being a father.” Renjun’s words rang through Jeno’s head like a school bell echoing through empty halls. The words bouncing around and causing his headache to build every time his head repeated the words in his brain. He let out a sigh, his head resting against the back of the sofa and his eyes shut, not that it would matter if they were open, he couldn’t see either way. He just preferred to keep his eyes closed, it meant he didn’t have to remember to blink when his eyes started to dry out or irritate. For the past week, Jeno’s world had been pitch black. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. With blindness came a sense of self-pity, boredom, and the overwhelmingness of relying on others to do basic tasks. It wasn’t only the blindness that was dousing his normal way of living with stress and worry. It was also the fact that you were carrying his unborn child. A child he did not want. Despite having you with him almost 24/7 because of his accident, the two of you still had yet to talk about the elephant in the room. You both kept putting the topic off and instead focused more on how to cope with Jeno’s lack of sight. You had quit university. It was a decision that was hard for you to make, but you knew it was the right thing to do. Jeno only had his friends to rely on, and they couldn’t be there for him as much as you could. So you quit your studies. Jeno had a lot of money saved up and had gotten Renjun to sell his car on for a hefty price too, so you could both live comfortably for the foreseeable future. Of course the money would run out eventually, but hopefully by that time, you would have solutions to your problems.

Jeno could still hear your whimpers echoing around his head with Renjun’s words. The whimpers you had let out when you’d walked back into the hospital room with a cup of water and found a doctor examining Jeno’s eyes, only to be told your boyfriend had lost his sight because of the damage done from the accident. Your knees buckled and luckily Jaemin had caught you before you’d hit the floor. Jeno just laid there and listened to you sob into his best friends’ chest for what seemed like hours. He felt numb, despite all the pain he was in, and he was at a loss of what to do. He was blind, with a baby on the way. He’d never felt more useless in his entire life as he laid in that bed and stared at the darkness. Jaemin had calmed you down, with promises whispered into your hair of everything being okay. The doctor had told you that it was rare for people to lose their sight permanently from head injuries, but it could happen, and only time would tell.

“When they’re babies, you think it’s easy to take care of them and then boom, they get diarrhoea, they wiggle around a bit, and shit goes all up their back.” Jeno could almost hear the smirk in Renjun’s voice. He let out another sigh and shook his head.

“Shut up.” He grunted, clenching his fists by his side as he tried to keep calm.

“You have to be cautious of the three S’s, screaming, sick, and shit.”

“You have to be cautious of my fists Renjun.” Jeno growled, lifting his head and turning it into the direction of Renjun. “I may be blind, but I can still hear you, and I will beat the fuck out of you if you don’t shut up.” He mumbled, his threat sounding weak causing Renjun to know he didn’t mean it.

“Alright daddy, keep your diaper on.” Renjun sniggered, reaching out and patting Jeno on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine Jen; you have all of us here to support you and I am the best dad in the world. Jiyeon is still alive!”

“You forgot her name yesterday...” Jeno deadpanned with a frown on his face.

“That was because all I’ve heard for the past few days is baby names! You know I’m about to have another one, it’ll be arriving any day now.” Renjun and his girlfriend had decided not to find out what gender their baby was, instead waiting and discussing baby names constantly. She was 4 days overdue and the baby would be arriving at any time.

“I’m pretty sure she is the one who takes care of you most of the time.” Jeno let out a soft laugh, his head turning to the sound of the door as it creaked open.

“Hey.” You greeted quietly as you walked through the door, smiling at Renjun and placing the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “Is he okay?” You mouthed silently at Renjun, to which you received a smile and a curt nod. You rushed over to the sofa and slowly sat beside Jeno, not wanting to alarm him. He had been flinching a lot more and his nerves were constantly on edge if he couldn’t hear where everyone in the room was. “Hey handsome.” Your voice was soft, and you took his clenched fist into both of your hands. Jeno let out a long sigh and roughly pulled you into a tight hug. He breathed in, basking in your scent and rubbing his cheek against your own. This was the most affection he had given you since before his accident, and you felt like crying at the sudden love he was projecting onto you.

“I’m tired and fed up of hearing Renjun’s voice.”

“Fuck you, blind ass bitch.” Renjun muttered with a laugh.

“Do you kiss your daughter with that mouth?” Jeno shot back, pushing himself to his feet and lacing his fingers with your own.

“Do you know how to use protection?” Your eyes widened as the boys kept trying to push each other’s buttons. You knew they were both only jesting and that neither of them meant any harm, so you silently started to tug Jeno towards his room as he continued to argue with Renjun.

“Right back at ya, whore.” You closed the door once you’d gotten Jeno into his room, letting out a sigh and gently pushing him to sit on his bed.

“Well I’m glad that you’re still arguing with your friends.” You laughed softly, taking off your jacket and sitting behind Jeno on the bed. You grabbed a hairbrush and ran your hand through his hair, brushing it gently and being careful of the wound he had gotten from hitting his head on the floor. “How’s your head?”

“Painful, I have a headache too.” He sighed, leaning into your touch and relaxing. You’d gotten used to taking care of him as though he was your own child. He could probably do more for himself than you would allow him to, but you didn’t want him to hurt himself yet, so you were just being extra cautious with him. Silence fell between you both, and you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, having to lean up on your knees to reach. “We have to talk about the baby. We’ve been avoiding it since we got home, and it needs to be talked about.”

“Okay.” You sighed, moving to sit beside him and looking down at your feet. “I should have made you aware I wasn’t on the pill, I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault too. It takes two people to make a baby and we were both irresponsible.” He faced forward, his voice sounding low but with a soft timber to it. You felt nauseous just from the conversation, not knowing where it would take you and what decisions you would make between the two of you. “I’m not ready for kids…I had it in my head that I would never be a parent, so this is…fucking with my head.” He ran has hands over his face and let out a groan. You could see he was battling with what to say, and you had a feeling he was going to lose his temper more than once in the upcoming months.

“Well…we should have talked about this before we started having sex. We had sex nearly everyday and you came inside of me nearly every time! Why did you not think to ask me about whether I was on contraceptive?!” You felt frustration coursing through you at how things had happened. You were too caught up the honeymoon phase of your relationship to even think about talking to him about what you both wanted in the future. You knew you wanted kids, and it didn’t bother you when you had them, especially since you were so infatuated with Jeno, you just felt like you were ready. Had you known he didn’t feel the same way, you would have done things different.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me not to finish inside of you?!” He shot right back at you, his own temper flaring up at your tone of voice. He couldn’t see you, which was making him frustrated because it was hard to tell how you were reacting based just off of your words and tone of voice.

“I wasn’t exactly a sex expert! I just laid on my back most of the time and let you do your thing, you know you’re my first for this, how was I supposed to guess that you were going to finish inside of me every fucking time!” It was starting to turn into a shouting match as you both expressed your opinions. Jeno didn’t want to admit that his breeding kink was what caused him to do it, because honestly, he felt stupid for not being cautious with his kink.

“This isn’t what I fucking wanted.” He stood up quickly, his fists clenching. He needed to hit something, but he couldn’t see what he was hitting, and there was no way in hell that he would endanger you by throwing fists blindly. You didn’t say anything to him, staying dead silent as you stewed in your thoughts and feels. Your silence made him snap. “Say something!!!”

“Are you going to leave me…?” The heart-breaking tone in your voice had Jeno’s hands unclenching and his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. His pause had tears welling up in your eyes, and you were glad he couldn’t see your watery eyes.

“No.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair and gripping it tightly. You sniffed, trying to make sure that your voice was stable.

“Do you want me to get an abortion?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, warm tears falling down your cool cheeks and siting on your chin, waiting for the heaviness of more tears to fall to drip onto your tensed hands.

“No.” He answered faster this time, his own tears pooling in his eyes.

“Do you still love me?” You reached out and took one of his hands in both of your own. His fingers laced with yours, and he used your hand as a guide to sit himself back down on the bed.

“Of course I do.” He raised your hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to your fingertips. “Look, it’s going to take a long time for me to adjust to this, and I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I’m happy about having a baby. But I love you, and I don’t want to lose you. So we’ll make it work and I’m going to be there for you and the baby…our baby.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him. You squeezed him tightly, burying your head into the crook of his neck and letting out a soft sob.

“Thank you.” You whispered, kissing his jaw with a quick peck and relishing in being in his arms once more.

---

Haechan had never seen Jeno more down and depressed before in his life. It was hurting his heart to see Jeno sit on the sofa and wallow in self-pity, with the cloud of his disability and despair sitting around his head like a poisonous fog. Jeno was someone who needed to let go of his pent-up emotions, and he always did it with fighting. But he couldn’t do that easily without his sight. Haechan had been worried about Jeno’s mental health, especially because Jeno couldn’t wrap his head around the fact he was going to be a father. He’d created a life, and he knew he’d have a responsibility he had never originally signed up for. It was when Haechan had walked in on Jeno laid on the floor on his back with tear streaks on his cheek that Haechan had finally snapped.

“Get up Jeno.” He snapped with a dominating tone, kicking Jeno in the leg lightly.

“No.” He grunted back at him, not even moving a muscle.

“Get the fuck up. We’re going somewhere.” He left the room, leaving Jeno on the floor to quickly pack up a bag of things in Jeno’s room. When he came back, he saw Jeno sat up on the floor. “Get up!”

“Why?!”

“I’m fed up of you sitting there feeling sorry for yourself all of the time, we’re going to the gym. Come on!” They were teetering on it being an argument as Haechan grabbed Jeno by the collar and lifted him to his feet. Jeno shoved Haechan away roughly.

“Fuck off. I lost my sight and I’m having a baby I don’t fucking want. If I want to feel sorry for myself then I fucking will.” He growled, smacking Haechan’s hand away when it landed on his shoulder. “Don’t act like you suddenly give a fuck about me. Leave me alone.”

“Jeno you’re my fucking brother, I’m done with you not doing anything, it’s been a month and all you do is sit around and mope about the cards you’ve been dealt like no one else has any problems!!!” He shouted, causing his girlfriend to come out of their room with wide eyes.

“Hyuck, what are you doing?” Her voice made Jeno’s head hurt more.

“You can fuck off too!!!” He couldn’t help the words from leaving his mouth. She flinched, her eyes widening at the sudden attack. “You broke my heart and then tell my new girlfriend about what I’m like when I’m sleeping?! Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that, it was as though you were trying to sabotage my happiness, but poor Jeno is a fucking push over who always lets everyone use him as a fucking doormat, so he never said anything!!!” He practically screamed, finally getting everything off of his chest. Jaemin and Renjun also appeared from their rooms, ready to step in in case anything happened. “Everyone thinks they can just say whatever they want to me or screw me over because I’m too kind to do anything about it. Fuck you all!” Jeno had tears streaming down his face that had everybody’s stomachs turning in guilt.

“Jeno calm down, this isn’t good for you.” Jaemin’s voice nearly had Jeno calming, but then his back went back up again and he shook his head, turning to where he had heard Jaemin’s voice come from.

“Don’t tell me to calm down you hypocrite, you’re the first person to get yourself into a state so bad that I have to talk you out of not killing yourself! Have I ever told you to calm down?! No! Because I know it doesn’t work. You don’t understand the pressure you put on me Jaemin, I’m constantly worried about whether I’m going to lose my best friend to depression.” He started to sob more, all of his thoughts spilling out because he couldn’t deal with them all being bundled up in his head anymore. Jaemin’s face fell and his stomach dropped through to the ground floor of the apartment building.

“Jen…” He rushed over to his best friend and bundled him up into his arms, Jeno broke down completely, his knees almost buckling as he sobbed on Jaemin’s shoulder. Jaemin silently cried as he cuddled his best friend. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t do it anymore; I can’t see, I’m not ready to have a baby, and people need to leave me the fuck alone.” He whimpered into Jaemin’s shoulder. “I need to process this in my own time, but everyone is rushing me!”

“Jeno, it’s going to be okay. Let it out.” He rubbed Jeno’s back, swaying them both gently. Everyone else silently left the room, letting them be alone so that Jaemin could calm Jeno down. Haechan felt horrible, he was only trying to help, but he went about it the wrong way and ended up causing his best friend to have a complete mental breakdown.

“My life has just always been a mess…then I finally meet a girl I fall in love with that hasn’t hurt me, and now I can’t even see her…Jaemin I’m starting to forget what she looks like and it hurts so much.”

“I know, I know.” He moved them both to the sofa and settled Jeno on there tenderly.

“If I wasn’t blind…I would have left.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands and feeling like the worst person in the world for saying that.

“You don’t mean that.” Jaemin shook his head and tapping Jeno on the leg. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I’m not sure if I meant it or not.”

---

 It had been 5 months since you and Jeno had came to an understanding about your baby. The past months had been difficult for you both. Jeno’s disability had been tough on you and him, but together the two of you were working through it. There had been some rough spots, like the time Jeno had tripped over his own feet and had ended up with a black eyes for a few weeks, or the time when you were super emotional because of you hormones and he snapped at you about something minor, leading you to cry on Jaemin’s shoulder for 3 hours solid. You had notice that he was still super hesitant to talk about the baby, and he would very rarely bring it up, only talking about it when someone else talked about it first. He had taken very little interest in his own child and had only touched your small bump when he was cuddling you in bed. Also, his vision hadn’t come back at all, which was making the tension inside of him get stronger and stronger the more the time went by.

“Tell your child to stop kicking me.” You mumbled, half asleep under the covers of Jeno’s bed. He was cuddling up to your neck and laying the softest of kisses to your hot skin, his lips trailing up your jaw and getting closer to your lips until he heard your words. He sighed and let out a soft groan, sitting up and placing his hand on your leg, trailing it up until he got to the small mound on your abdomen where his baby was cooking.

“It’s not kicking though?” He furrowed his eyebrows, twisting his body so he was facing your bump and placing both of his hands on it. “I can’t feel anything.” Jeno hadn’t felt the baby kick yet, he hadn’t been interested enough to ask if he could feel it whenever you made an offhanded comment about it moving, kicking, or hiccupping. You were actually taken by surprise when he’d placed his hands on the bump instead of just shrugging your words off.

“Wait a second...” You giggle and take his hands in your, moving them to either side of the bump and very gently putting pressure on them so his fingers dug in slightly. “There, feel that?” You smiled widely, watching the gentle look wash over his face as he felt his baby move for the first time. He nodded quickly, his whole body relaxing and a small smile tugging at his lips. You’d read online that the first time a father feels his child moving inside of the mother, could be a magical moment. And this was the first time you’d seen Jeno be paternal towards his unborn child, so it did feel magical to you. He suddenly pulled his hands away and cleared his throat.

“I’m worried that my sight won’t come back.” He laid back down on his side, pulling your body against his and letting out a sigh that sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s been over 5 months and I still can’t see shit…what if I never get to see our baby?”

“Jeno, give it some more time, the doctor said it could take up to a year for you to see any improvements. Don’t give up hope.” You leaned in and brushed your lips against his. His lips sought after your own when you withdrew them, causing you to smile softly and push them back against his.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He whispered against your lips, moving the two of you so that he was half laying on top of you, being cautious of your stomach.

“You don’t have to thank me.” The kiss turned filthy, his tongue flicking against your own with one of his hands moving up to rub at your breast over your pyjama shirt. You felt arousal heat your body up for the first time in a while. You’d had sex with Jeno a couple of times since his accident, but it was getting harder to do the further along you got in your pregnancy, and Jeno often wasn’t in the mood whenever you were. “I need you.” You whispered into his mouth, gently giving his chest a push. He laid down on his back and got comfortable, his hands reaching out and trying to find your hips as you climbed on top of him. You straddled his hips, making quick work off pushing down your pyjama shorts and pushing Jeno’s boxers down just enough to pull his hardening cock out.

“Be careful baby.” Jeno muttered breathily, his hands finding purchase on your hips to keep you steady on him. You leaned down as far as you could, trying to reach his lips and letting out a whine when your bump wouldn’t allow you to get any closer to him. Jeno heard your whine and his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I want a kiss, but I can’t reach!” You giggled through a whine, giving up and sitting back on your knees. Jeno chuckled lightly, then let out a long moan when you sunk down onto his cock, your warm walls sucking him in and sending a dull sensation of pleasure through you.

“Fuck baby, I’ve missed this.” He squeezed his shut eyes tighter, leaning his head back on the pillows. You placed your hands on his chest and rolled your hips, grinding down on his cock with vigour. He planted his feet on the bed, bucking his hips up to meet your own once you started to bounce, his cock hitting you in all the right places. You knew neither of you were going to last long, the ball inside of your stomach tightening the more you moved on top of him. He kept his hands tight to your sides, making sure you didn’t accidentally topple off of him as his thrusts got harder.

“Jeno I’m gonna cum!” You squealed, almost falling forward as you felt the fire of your orgasm rip through you, your thighs shaking and pussy convulsing around his solid cock.

“Shit!” Jeno opened his eyes as he came, his hips stuttering and his eyes immediately tearing up when he saw your blurry silhouette in the light of the room. “Fuck.” He bursts into tears, shutting his eyes immediately and letting go of your hips to cover his eyes with his hands.

“Jeno? What’s wrong?!” You carefully moved off of him, crawling beside him and trying to pull his hands from his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine baby.” He sniffled, rubbing his eyes and smiling through his tears. “I just love you so much. Thank you for looking past all the shit in my life and seeing the good.” He didn’t want you to know about his improvement, just in case it was a fluke and he went back to being completely blind permanently.

“Oh Jeno.” You melted on the inside at seeing him weep from the reason he gave you. “I love you too.” You leaned down, finally able to from the angle you were now sitting in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

---

Jeno had been keeping a huge secret from you. One he was actually surprised that he could keep a secret because of how much time he spent with you. But it had been two months since he first got a sliver of his vision back. And he could happily tell people that he could officially see again and was no longer classed as legally blind. His vision wasn’t the same as it once was, but he could now see clearly if he had on his new glasses. After finding out about his improving sight, he’d asked Renjun to take him to and from appointments so that he could keep it silent from you in order to surprise you when the time was right. He did admit to Renjun that when he saw you for the first time with your pregnant belly, he had a nervous breakdown. The whole situation of becoming a father finally dawning on him as he saw you struggle to put on your socks. He didn’t help you, mostly because it would have given his surprise away, which yes, he does feel bad for, but you got your socks on in the end!

Something Jeno never could have prepared himself for was when you woke him up at 3am, complaining of pains in your abdomen and whining about the food you had eaten earlier on in the day. He had cuddled you, stroked your hair, and told you to go back to sleep. You’d managed to drift off, but an hour later, you were whining even more because the pain had gotten worse, and the pain was coming in waves that didn’t seem to be slowing down, but instead of speeding up. It was when the bed suddenly became wet and Jeno had thought that you’d peed on him when you realised you were going into labour. The next thing you did was cry, because you weren’t supposed to be due for another 6 weeks, so the baby was more than a month early. Jeno had shouted for Renjun, who had come running in his pyjamas to help the two of you out. You couldn’t thank Renjun enough for all the help he’d been giving the two of you since you found out that you were going to become parents. Sure he loved to clown you both about it, but he was also a big help with getting ready for the baby’s arrival.

When you’d arrived at the hospital, you’d been taken to a room to be prepared for giving birth. You were frightened, because you knew your baby wasn’t going to be as big as most babies, and anything could happen. Jeno had been sat at your bedside through all of your contractions, his hand being held tight in your own and his lips on your forehead whispering words on encouragement. You wondered why he was wearing the glasses that he had told you were simply for fashion and because he felt strange walking around with his eyes shut, but the thought quickly rushed from your head when a painful contraction hit you like a truck.

“Fuck!” You screamed, not usually cursing but the word just tumbled from your lips as you squeezed Jeno’s hand tightly.

“You’re doing so well babe.” He kissed your sweaty forehead, pushing back the messy hair of your forehead and watching as some midwives entered the room. His heart was pounding in his chest, he knew there was no going back now, his life was about to change forever. But he didn’t know whether it was for the good or bad.

“It’s time to push now sweetheart.” The midwife said to you, her and her colleague prepping you to give birth. Jeno took a deep breath, exhaling and inhaling repeatedly to stop the panic attack that was creeping up on him like a lion about to attack a zebra. Everything went by like a blur to Jeno. He heard your groans of pain as you pushed, his hand being gripped in yours like a tightening vice as the midwives gave you words of encouragement. He was speechless, his eyes following the tiny baby as it was pulled from you and taken away to be cleaned up. Jeno had never seen a baby so small in his entire life, and he turned to look at you, his mouth hanging open in shock from the reality of becoming a father.

“Oh my god.” You let out a soft sob when they handed you your baby wrapped in a white blanket. “Jeno, it’s a boy…he’s so beautiful.” Jeno gulped, looking down at his son in your arms. You couldn’t describe the love that bloomed in your stomach as you stared down at your squirming baby in awe. He didn’t cry, he just opened his little eyes ad stared blankly up at the ceiling. “Hey little guy…”

“Can I hold him?” Jeno’s voice was wobbling and you nodded, very carefully handing over the baby to him. You still thought he couldn’t see, so to see him looking down at the baby with open eyes, his eyes flickering up and down the tiny boy’s body as he studied his son. “Minjun.” He whispered the name you’d agreed on for a boy. “He looks like a Minjun.” Jeno glanced up at you, and you felt your heart soar.

“Y-you can see?” Jeno nodded, leaning forward and kissing you tenderly on the lips. “Since when?! Jeno I’m so happy.” You started to cry once more, overwhelmed from the birth of your son and from finding out about your loves eyesight. You wanted nothing more than for Jeno to be able to see his baby, and he could. Happy wasn’t strong enough to describe how you felt.

“The past few months it’s been slowly coming back, I have to wear glasses to see but…it’s better than nothing. (Y/N) you did such a good job, he’s wonderful.” Jeno’s smile lit up his entire face like you’d never seen before. He held Minjun’s little hand with his fingertip and could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Well you helped me make him.” You giggled, watching the magical moment between father and son.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Minjun’s forehead, sniffing back his tears even though one rolled down his cheek. “I wasn’t too keen on the thought of you when I first heard you were going to be arriving you know, but now I can’t imagine not having you. I’m going to do the best I can for you, and you will have the best life I can give you. My own father wasn’t a nice man to me, he hurt me a lot, and set me up for a lifetime of worry. But that’s all my past. You and your mummy are just the beginning, my beginning.” 

---

So what are we thinking? Let me know your thoughts! This story has been a wild ride, thank you all so much for getting this far!

[brywrites]

Date Night I

I got so many requests in my inbox for a version of “Date Night” set in The Keeping of Words universe. There were so many suggestions for how that could look, but I’m really happy with this version, so I hope those of you who like TKOW enjoy it! Part 2 coming very soon!

Summary: Three years after leaving the BAU, Dr. Spencer Reid has given up chasing monsters to be a part-time professor and a full-time dad. It’s all domestic bliss - until Cat Adams turns up at the BAU.

Warnings: mentions of violence, kidnapping, references to past kidnapping and assault

.......................................

“Now, it’s rare for serial killers to go that long between murders, but years passed between the BTK attacks. How did Rader manage to go that long between murders?”

Reid’s students stared at him expectantly, a few flipping back through their notes. A girl in Georgetown hoodie raised her hand. “Well it seems like he stayed connected to what he did in like, other ways? He wrote up detailed plans for each attack so maybe he focused on that.”

“Yeah,” added a boy with round glasses and a sticker-covered laptop. “And he wrote to the police a lot with information and puzzles, so that could have given him the feeling of power he needed.”

“Good, good,” Reid said. “Those are both great points. Rader did all of that and more. The stalking, the planning, the communication with the media is all part of what we c-” His train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He gave it the briefest of glances – just Emily, likely asking for an obscure fact he could provide after the lecture – before pocketing it once more and continuing. “Sorry. Uh, so all of his behavior is what we call sublimating. Psychologically speaking, it’s the process of diverting one’s impulses or desires into a more socially acceptable activity. Forensically, it’s how unsubs curb their urges during a cooling-off period. In this case we see that…” His phone began to ring again. The name on the screen was the same.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. He made it a point not to use his phone in front of his students and to give them the same respect he asked of them while in his class. He quickly sent Prentiss a text. In lecture – call in 30? “As I was saying, in this case it’s clear that–” Before he could even return the phone to his pocket it rang again.

A sudden chill came over him. This wasn’t just about a consult. “I – uh, sorry,” he stammered. His students glanced between themselves. It wasn’t like their hyper-focused, luddite professor to take a call in the middle of lecture. Reid turned away from them as he raised the phone to his ear. “What is it?” he asked.

“Reid, I’m so sorry. We need you to come in immediately. Luke’s out front to bring you to Quantico. We have a kidnapping case and there’s one demand – that we release Cat Adams within 24 hours.” The name made every muscle in his body tense. An automatic trauma response.

“No.” The sound of her name alone sent flashbacks flickering through this memory. Glimpses of Mexico, the inside of a prison cell, his mother screaming, Bianca crying on the witness stand in a courtroom. There was no way he was letting that woman any chance to get near him or his family ever again.

“She insists she’ll only speak if she can talk to you.” This exactly why he’d left the Bureau in the first place.

“Emily, I’m retired, I’m not an agent anymore and–”

“And there are lives on the line, Spencer. I wouldn’t ask if we had any other choice.” And so he ended class early, hurried out of the lecture hall, and climbed into the waiting SUV. Luke tried to catch him up – that morning Garcia had received a video from a woman with dark hair, showing two huddled, hooded figures tied up on the floor of a warehouse. A woman and a small child. They seemed to be crying and while Garcia couldn’t make out their identity, the woman filming wasn’t trying to hide her face at all. The demand attached said they would be killed if Catherine Adams wasn’t released from prison, and Cat only wanted to talk to him. The only man she’d ever lost to.

“This doesn’t follow her typical M.O.,” Reid said. “She usually goes after men, fathers specifically. Why go after what’s likely a mother and child?” Cat was a creature of habit. Her impulsive nature was her downfall. This didn’t seem like her at all.

Luke shrugged. “You know her better than I do. I’ll have Garcia show you the footage when we get there, maybe you’ll see something we didn’t.” But as soon they arrived at the BAU, Emily ushered him off to an interrogation room. There she sat in an orange jumpsuit, staring at the one-way glass, waiting for him with a Cheshire cat grin. It made his blood boil. Reid inhaled deeply before stepping inside. He stood there staring at her in silence. He didn’t trust himself not to scream.

Cat laughed. “Classic negotiating technique. First one to speak loses, right?” The sound of her voice took him right back to that awful night – leaving Milburn, nearly losing his mother, Bianca crying in the roundtable room. Scratch and the crash and Stephen’s death and everything that had come after.

He wasn’t in the mood for her games. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have been finishing his class and going home to pick Eliza up from pre-school. “You arranged the kidnapping of two people and you did it the same way you did it before,” he sighed. Cat immediately launched into her usual banter. She had given up fighting her case, she insisted. Now she just wanted to stave off the boredom by playing with her favorite toy. The only thing she hadn’t done, she claimed, was him.

“You sexually violated me in Mexico,” he reminded her.

“I did? Are you sure?” she asked. He gritted his teeth. “Stop being the boy who cried rape, Spencie, it’s not a good look.”

The room was too small, too warm. He couldn’t bear to be in here with her but he had to be. “I want to go a date,” she declared. “With you.”

“A date?” This was absurd. This was ridiculous. This couldn’t be happening.

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun. And I won’t even get physical, ok?” Cat rolled her eyes. “Unless you want me to.”

There was no way he was going to take Cat Adams on a date. There were only two people he’d ever been on a date with in his life (the ill-fated Redskins game and the Lila Archer incident didn’t count, he’d decided), and he had no desire to add a third to that list. Going out on a date was what he did with Bianca, because he loved her. He took her to bookstores and symphonies and New York City. He bought her flowers and watched her favorite movies and made a list of all her favorite restaurants. That was something special. Something sacred.

“The only date I’ll be there for,” he whispered to Cat, “is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

“You’re gonna let a mother and daughter die?” Cat asked. So whoever was in that video Luke mentioned, it was a mother and her child.

“I never said a mother and daughter. You’re already slipping. We’ll find them, we always do.” The team would find them and he could go home and be with the only two people he wanted to sit across a table from.

“Not tonight,” Cat laughed. “Tonight, I win.”

This was a waste of his time. “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it’ll be a clean sweep.” He turned to glare at her. “Enjoy eternal nothingness. It’s a metaphor for your life.” It was petty, he knew that, but he couldn’t resist letting the bitterness he felt rising in his throat out in some small way.

Cat snorted. “You don’t even realize you’re already losing.” Before he could ask her what she meant, the interrogation room door opened. Prentiss stood there staring at Cat with an expression of utter horror. That Cheshire cat smirk returned. Reid’s glanced between the two women whose gaze held an unspoken secret he couldn’t make sense of.

“What is it, Emily?” he asked.

“Outside,” the unit chief said.

“I did something bad, Spencie,” Cat sing-songed. His stomach dropped. He was missing something. Cat knew it. Emily knew it. And whatever it was, it was big. Emily grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the room. Cat’s laughter echoed. The blood rushed in his ears. Something was wrong.

“Spencer,” Emily began. She shut the door behind her and placed herself in front of it, blocking his way. “The unsub sent another video to Garcia. The woman removed the hoods from their faces and we’ve been able to identify the two victims in the video.” Two people. A mother and daughter. A mother and daughter. I did something bad, Spencie. You don’t even realize you’re already losing. No. No, he couldn’t go there.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said. She turned over a tablet. The video showed a dusty warehouse with big windows. And even if the two people had been wearing hoods, he would’ve recognized them immediately. If Luke had been able to show him the video in the car, if they’d taken him to the roundtable room first, he would’ve known. That was her favorite cardigan and the dress he’d zipped up for her in their bedroom. And those were the tiny shoes he’d carefully tied while she sat patiently in the carseat. And now, those were the faces of the two people he loved more than anything in this life, staring back at him.

“No.” His voice cracked.

“We don’t know how she got to them, but I promise you we won’t rest until Bianca and Eliza are safe.”

“No.” In her wisdom Prentiss had blocked him from running back into that room and doing something he might regret later. Reid bit down, forcing back every curse he wanted to shout. He turned and stormed down the hall, pushing his way through the glass doors until he came upon Morgan’s empty office. He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. It was too hot, his clothes were too tight, everything was too overwhelming and he couldn’t think straight. Fingers fumbled with the knot of his tie, only able to loosen it enough to yank it over his head. He undid the first few buttons of his shirt and shook out his arms. Stimming always helped to center him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand to his stomach. Breathed in and out. In and out.

She had them. Cat had them.

Reid screamed, a guttural sound that came from his throat of its own accord. He spun around and set eyes on a desk piled high with books and papers and he pushed them all off to the floor. A lamp went with them, which crashed into a water cooler that tumbled over on its side. It wasn’t enough. He screamed again, flipping a table in the center of the room and throwing a book at the wall. “FUCK!” he shouted. “GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!”

It was like his body didn’t know how to handle the rage. He fell to his knees and curled into himself on the floor, sobbing. This was his fault, all his fault. His only job was to keep them safe, and they were in danger now because of him.

....

Their captor lowered the video camera, smirking. “I think that’ll be a nice video to send your husband, won’t it?” Bianca grit her teeth, inhaling through her nose and willing herself to keep it together. She had to stay calm, for Eliza’s sake. Her ribs and shoulder ached, the blows the woman had landed to her jaw stung sharply. She thought distantly of the night she’d punched Spencer on accident on their anniversary, thinking him an intruder. There would be a trail of bruises left behind for days at least.

“Mama are you okay?” Eliza asked.

Her daughter’s voice brought her back to the present. Bianca nodded carefully, the movement painful. She needed to keep Elizabeth calm and keep them both alive. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He’ll be here soon, okay? He’s gonna come find us and then we’ll go home.” He would find them. He always would. No matter how far apart they were or how lost they felt, they always found each other. They saved each other, that was what they did. He made sure she ate and protected her from her family and came to find her in the woods. She helped him through grief and stayed with him through withdrawal and guarded his heart from the monsters. He would find her.

The dark-haired woman squatted down on the ground beside them. “It’s cute,” she laughed, a sharp and cold sound. “That you have so much faith in a man. Men are nothing but disappointing.”

Bianca had been let down by men in her life plenty of times. Her father, who she was never good enough for. Her brother, who held the knife against her throat. They were the reason she jumped when doors slammed and flinched when someone yelled and ran far away from her problems. But Hotch and Rossi had welcomed her like a daughter, Morgan had loved her with the playful protectiveness of an older brother, Lorenzo had been a friend when she needed one, and Spencer – Spencer was the opposite of everyone who had ever hurt her.

“What do you want from him?” Bianca asked. “Did he arrest you? Put away someone you love?” The woman – the unsub, Bianca was beginning to think of her as – just glared back. “If this is a trap, he’s not going to walk into it,” she said. “He’s too smart for that. No matter what you have planned, he’ll outsmart you. He always does.”

Her husband, the genius. He’d win. He find them.

“I don’t think he’ll outsmart us,” the unsub said. So there were two of them.

“Really? Because if he finds us, you’ll be outnumbered. Is your partner smart? Or just too cowardly to take him on?” Despite her fear she tried to maintain her best lawyer voice, imagining she was cross-examining a difficult witness on the stand rather than a kidnapper with a gun.

“Cat’s not a coward,” the woman snapped. She froze, realizing her slip.

“Cat? You’re working for Cat Adams?” She should’ve known. Who else hated Spencer more than her? The woman who’d nearly taken his wedding ring, his mother, his life. Cat was the reason he’d been gone during her pregnancy, the reason he’d been traumatized in Milburn, and drugged against his will. And Cat was the reason that her little girl was tied up in this warehouse. Feeling fury burn in her chest, Bianca forced herself to smile through the pain. “Then you’re definitely going to lose. Cat never wins. You’ll see.”

There was a smack, and Bianca could feel the slap across her face before she processed it. She winced, biting her lip to hold back a groan. “Shut up!” the unsub shouted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” She turned and stalked off, slamming the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Bianca could hear her speaking to someone on the phone.

She leaned down close to Eliza. “Eliza Lou, listen close to me, okay?”

“Okay, mama.”

“Remember how I told you we’re playing a game?” She’d begun this elaborate lie when the unsub grabbed them from the preschool parking lot at gunpoint. It was all a game, and they had to follow all the rules to win. “Well this part of the game is a race. We’re racing to get home. I’m gonna try to untie you, alright? And if I do that, I need you to stay really still and pretend you’re still tied up. But if that woman leaves again, or she’s not paying attention and you can get up without her noticing, I need you to run okay? You get up and you run as fast as you can. You run and run and run until you get outside. And when you do, you go to the first grown up you see, and you tell them my name is Eliza and I’m lost. My dad is Doctor Spencer Reid with the FBI and I need to call him. Do you remember daddy’s phone number?”

Elizabeth recited it perfectly. “Good girl,” Bianca said. “Exactly right. You get them to call daddy, and he’ll come and find you. Okay?”

“What about you, mama?”

“That’s the fun part. We’ll be racing each other home. You and daddy are gonna race me and we’ll see who wins. That’s why you have to be super super fast, okay?”

“Okay!” Eliza smiled up at her, and her heart twisted. She was so young. If they were lucky, she would really think it was all a game – and then she’d forget any of this ever happened. And if they were really lucky, she’d get to see that.

Please, she thought. Please find us, Spencer.

...

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before the door opened and Tara appeared. She sat down next to him, knowing better than to touch him. “I know this is hard,” she said. “But they need you right now.”

The people he loved harder than he’d ever imagined he could love were in danger. And it was all his fault. Cat did this because he loved them. She was hurting them because he loved them. And unless he played her game, it wasn’t going to stop.

“I. Can’t. Lose them.”

“And you’re not going to,” she said. “We won’t let that happen. We all love them, too, Reid. But we can find them a lot faster if you’re helping us. Okay?”

He tried to focus on the sound of Tara’s voice. Tara, who Bianca had taken a liking to immediately, who had gone with the two of them and Penelope to a Doctor Who convention, who had never been one to throw the word love around lightly. “Okay.” He forced himself to stand and follow her to the roundtable room. “Catch me up,” he insisted.

“I just finished talking with Cat,” Emily said. “She wants to go ice skating so she can, and I quote, skate circles around you. When I told her that wasn’t going to happen, she instructed me to tell Garcia to check her email.”

“Which I am doing now…” Garcia said, typing furiously. “Okay, this just came in.” A video popped up on the screen. A dark haired woman was in the center of the image. “Juliette Weaver, she’s Cat’s old cellmate and she just made parole,” she explained. Even before the video started, Bianca and Elizabeth’s faces were visible. Garcia glanced it him, her kind face pained. “Reid, I’m sorry.” She pressed play.

“Here we go,” Juliette said.

“Mama, what’s happening?”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just a game. Everything’s okay.” Bianca was trying so hard to keep her voice even.

“It’s not a good idea for parents to lie to their children.” Juliette walked over to Bianca, whose hands and feet were bound. The woman aimed a swift kick to her ribs. Bianca’s yelp physically hurt him to hear.

“Eliza, close your eyes. Close your eyes, sweetie!” The little girl did as she was told just in time to avoid seeing her mother take a punch that knocked her over. They all heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh several times, and Bianca’s muffled cries. And then there was a gun in Juliette’s hand.

“No, no, no,” whispered Garcia, turning away from the screen.

“Don’t do this,” Bianca said.

But the gun went off anyways.

“NO!” he screamed. Reid felt his knees give way at the sound of the gun and Bianca’s screams as every face in the room froze in horror.

But then Bianca kept screaming. And then the scream turned to a gasp.

“Mama!”

“It’s okay, I’m okay, everything’s okay.” The video abruptly cut off.

“Blanks,” Luke said, putting his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “She fired blanks.” He could feel the air returns to his lungs. Bianca was still alive – for now. But that video was a clear warning. If he wanted to keep them both alive, he had to do what Cat wanted.

“You realize what we have to do, don’t you?” Rossi asked. Reid looked away, the fury building inside of him once more.“It’s the only way to get her to slip up. We have to give her what she wants.”

 “Me,” Reid said.

[reversecreek]

ziggy strutting up to me like this gif as i hold up a crucifix n say begone begone vile beast BEGONE from my vicinity i will NOT buy u a happy meal wretched little boy...... some live action rp to start this off..... and SCENE. takes my bow. his pinterest is here n his playlist is here.

* dylan minnette, cis male + he/him  | you know ziggy benson, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of his life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to hand crushed by a mallet by 100 gecs like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole glitching televisions impaled by remotes, nonchalantly texting the babes as a stove fire ravages your kitchen & cartoons turned up so loud it fries your eardrums thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 24th, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY;

from the second ziggy ws born he didnt stop screaming. within the first hours of his life he gave his father an ear splitting headache tht prompted him to say “that uncooked chicken’s fucking demonic” n joke abt popping “it” in the oven to roast. when this understandably received disgusted glances frm the nursing staff he ws all like “jeez alright alright i’m kiddin i’m kiddin can’t a guy have a joke around here?” n i feel like that sets up their dynamic so nice n sweetly <3 (sarcasm) (lips pursed)

frm day one he ws just honestly a rly hyperactive child. when he laughed he’d shriek it out at the absolute top of his lungs bc he’d just get this huge giddy surge of energy all the way to the very tips of his toes n it’d hit him like a shock from a fork in a plug socket. their parenting style ws rly just lazy tbh.... they didn’t have much time for disciplining him. ziggy’s mum wld halfheartedly be like “ziggy quiet now....” n then go bk to nuking whatever vegetables she’d defrosted until they tasted like dinosaur bones..... this wld not make any difference in ziggy’s behaviour

his father rly just took the stance that it ws ziggy’s mum’s job to discipline him or raise him in general which is. 🔪 please enter the 20th century sir.... get ur noggin sorted..... needless to say he wsn’t much involved in ziggy’s life n honestly generally jst didn’t like him. ziggy was a responsibility he didn’t want (accidental prregnancy) n in his literal words once said (blatantly while ziggy ws watching cartoons on the sofa) tht ziggy just “harshes my fucking vibe a lil bit”. 

he wound up leaving when ziggy was six ish.... ziggy watched thru a crack in the blinds as his mum tried to grab at his jacket to make him stay as he lugged out his suitcase..... she even tried to physically cling onto him so he cldn’t get in his ride bt the door wound up slamming n she sat on her knees watching the lights pull out the drive n even long after they were gone. ziggy didn’t rly kno what to do abt this (emotions hd never been smthn he particularly understood, his own or how to handle other people’s) so after watching her fr 5 minutes he went out n gently shook her shoulder n was like. mom come inside u look weird out here. FKGHSFHGSFHKGFHKSGSFGHK. this was him trying to show love <3

ziggy’s mum is like.... rly relationship dependent. she gets all her self worth n validation frm whtever man she’s dating.... so she went on this like.... wild rampage of jst. dating a very large string of men. they ranged frm dreadfully boring to downright awful n were always below her standards. ziggy quite literally hated. all of them. every last one. even one that tried to b nice to him by offering to help him do his math homework when he ws 13 (bc ziggy was struggling a lot w this) n in response ziggy loudly barked until the man gt scared n stumbled backwards into a dining chair on his way out of the room. KGHFHKSJHFJGSHKFG

while him n his mum hv a kind of strained situation (there’s a great deal of resentment from her end n kind of. blaming him fr “driving his father away” n it’s never spoken abt bt it’s very much Present in their relationship n honestly ziggy kind of resents her too fr bringing some of the men into their lives tht she did) there is. love there...... sometimes she’ll like. reach out to cup the back of his head n he’ll duck his head away n be like wtf are u doing checking me for lice? n she’ll jst smile like :)...... knowing that’s how he loves. KHSFGKJGHKSFGFHKGSHF. ugh we love men who know how to process their emotions yesssss king give us nothing <3

(abuse n violence tw) idk i won’t go into it too much bt even tho ziggy’s constantly like 🙄 when his mum shows him affection he wld quite literally. kill fr her n almost did one time.......... narrowly avoided getting charged w assault when one of her bfs was drunk n evil n he went into protective mode.... idk he. has gone thru a lot n seen a lot n so has his mum. they look after each other the best they kno how despite the negatives in their relationship.... it’s complex <3

literally got in trouble so. often. at school. he ws always hyperactive (undiagnosed adhd n also probably not helped by the fact he ws jst allowed to eat sm junk food w 459729457952 sugar percentage all hours of the day) bt when his dad left n like. dealing w acting out so severely at home where his mum’s bfs were concerned it rly escalated..... i jst think he ws like. literally a terror. probably got suspended so many times. maybe even was permanently expelled before he cld get his diploma honestly. set off a firework in school hallway. smthn absolutely reckless n stupid.

hs hd a bunch of jobs mostly in the service industry...... usually ends up getting fired.... worked at mcdonald’s fr a while n then one day he went in rly high n ate three cheeseburgers in front of a weeping child who hd ordered one.... promptly gt fired bt he ws like yo fuck this place i’m quitting n threw off his apron n was like who’s with me??? who’s joining the union??????? to the rest of the staff n they were all mostly like >_> <_< before security approached to forcibly remove him n he grabbed a cookie n crammed it into his mouth in rebellion mid frantic n frankly possessed escape.....

in terms of wht’s going on to this day w his living situation i honestly think he still lives w his mum. i can just see this. KHGFSKGHSFGKSFGH. in like. a ramshackle bungalow in delphinus heights.... having said tht she probably isn’t. there tht often nw she’s dating her latest man (jonas, somehow always sweaty no matter the weather, wears too many gold rings n smells like shoe cleaner) who owns a car dealership n thinks he’s a kingpin for it. still home sometimes tho.

PERSONALITY:

ziggy spends his days working shifts at an ice cream parlour (one he got fired from once bc he broke in high n ate sm ice cream he was lay on the floor in the bk pants unbuttoned stomach bulging sm calling himself garfield saying he had too much lasagna. they hired him bk tho bc he has a harem of middle aged women who lust after him n it brings customers....) or like. cruising parties...... setting off fireworks.... skateboarding...... breaking into abandoned buildings.... filming stupid jackass type tricks....... playing guitar hero...... getting drunk at the arcade..... sometimes busking fr cash in a tossed dwn hat (very badly) (thinks he’s sick at it however)........ or alternatively...... fucking chicks aha...... fuck.......... not exclusive to chicks tho just had to sound despicable bt :smirk: he’s bi Baby.... 

i won’t lie he’s kind of an asshole................ never rly was taught properly how to empathise with ppl so like he struggles w that....... sometimes he’ll say smthn tht’s genuinely just quite mean n doesn’t need to be said but he doesn’t rly realise it’s like bad. n he’s like. what’s the deal haha why are u mad...... 

fuckboy. genuinely jst. rly summarises it well. insatiable. sleeps around wildly. will say he’ll call u back n then will not call u back. lies like oh babe i’m moving to france tomorrow fuckkkkkkkkk sucks so bad that we can only have one night but let’s make it special yeah? tits? n then they’ll see him casually skating past them on the street a week later n be like well clearly he’s not in france. ziggy doesn’t care.

calls himself a “genius inventor” bc he once gutted a vintage analog television n made it into a fish tank. it literally leaked water a bit. still convinced he is a literal visionary never seen before never done again. he’s like i’m on the brink of greatness. i’m the next einstein.

has a bit of a god complex where he thinks he’s the sexiest person in any given room n it’s kind of funny bc like dylan minnette’s sexy to me bt tht isn’t a widespread opinion n ur being a bit bold ziggy...... regardless has confidence thru the roof tht isn’t rly deterred by anything or anyone.....

dyes his hair 49729572459752 colours every colour under the sun. sometimes all at once jst different patches. wears lots of tie dye tshirts n basketball shorts even tho he doesn’t play basketball. rly colourful sneakers. just lots of loud colours tbh. often wears a paper clip in his ear as an earring. pierced it himself. someone probably recorded him doing it fr his insta story. probably was drunk.

drives a vespa around tht is baby blue with pastel yellow polka dots. it has lots of tin cans attached to the back by string like on those cars when u just got married. he did not just get married. u can hear him arriving frm over a street away.

almost never pays fr anything bt is always like “yo it’s my treat” n then either dine n dashes or u have to pay

his idea of romance is nuking a hot pocket as breakfast in bed n then complaining he’s hungry n eating half

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

fuckboy antics: he’s insatiable. rabid. notorious. mayb they fkd n he didn’t call........ jst completely ghosted........ mayb they were genuinely into him n he honestly built up kind of false pretences abt them having a connection n then jst dipped..... cld  b good fr angst n drama <3 someone please egg his house he deserves it <3

high skl heathens: locals tht were equally chaotic in hs..... just picture him having this group of misfits tht were like so loud n always getting up to no good doing god knows what god knows where.... probably gt arrested together breaking into an old abandoned hospital one time........... rly just doing the absolute most at all times............. probably so loud........... drinking n smoking far too much.....

an attempted teenage relationship: i’m like. tentative to even put this one bc i just feel like ziggy wld be a shit bf. KJHGFSHGFHGSFHGFKGHFKSG. but. maybe it ended in drama.....i’d say this wld probably be a girl bc in hs he probably ws less open w his sexuality... maybe ziggy cheated on her or she cheated on him................ angst........ strife.... we love it we love it........ i crash my car into the bridge... i don’t care... i love it... sudden icona pop moment me stood on stage singing karaoke.... it’s just gone 7am as i write this so i apologise if this is losing any. coherency. smiles so sexy....

last adolescent plot i swear: i picture when ziggy was expelled he somehow amassed a large group to protest w signs outside the school fr him to be accepted back. it didn’t work. he threw a party when he received news he hadn’t got back in anyway. maybe ur muse was involved or helped organise this or was violently opposed.

enemies: ppl who just. don’t like ziggy bc like honestly that’s so fair n valid. KJHGFKGHKSFGHSGKHSFHG..... mayb he like. exploded their mailbox one time when they were younger. mayb he skated over their toes. mayb he fucked their bitch aha fuck................. (joking btw) (don’t condone misogyny) (hashtag feminism). cld be fun to play around w

fwb: probably hs a few of these......... mayb they’re cool w things being no strings attached n lax n at ease w ziggy being the mess tht he is in general..... mayb they want more bt ziggy cannot provide...... mayb they literally don’t get on at all n this is their only mutual ground n they keep coming bk to each other.... :smirk:..... whatever u Farncy....

maybe ziggy’s mum dated ur muse’s dad at one point???? we can discuss this if u think it fits..... cld be fun to play around w............

coworkers: past or present r fun..... mayb they were like WTFFF is this guy fking ONNN at a past job (he’s had a few in the food service industry so pretty open in tht area)... mayb they work w him at the ice cream parlour now..... cn discuss the dynamic probably wld be dependent on the muse involved fr like. how he’d act n stuff.... :yum:

[ear-monstrosities]

the silence isn’t so bad ‘til I look at my hands and feel sad, ‘cause the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly (1/1)

Summary: ”I will never stop loving you Chloe. Not now, not ever. No matter where I am, I will be there with you through thick and thin. I will never truly leave you.”

Word Count: 5,336

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Major Character Death(s)

A/N: Title from Vanilla Twilight -Owl City I do not own the characters or anything associated with Pitch Perfect (except Jacob and BJ)

Read here or on AO3

* * * * *    

Chloe dragged her feet through the door and plopped down on the couch. Work had really taken a toll on her today. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her nice, comfy bed and take a 24-hour nap. She knew she couldn’t, though, as she had a family to feed. After several episodes of Meet the Frasers, Chloe glanced at the clock. Beca and Jake should be home by now, they should have been home at least a half-hour ago. Chloe started to get up from the couch when her phone rang.

”Hello?” Chloe hesitantly answered the phone.

”Is this Mrs. Beale-Mitchell?” The man’s gravelly voice came through the speaker.

”Yes, this is she” Chloe’s response showed the worry in her voice.

”Beca Beale-Mitchell and Jacob Beale-Mitchell have been in an accident. Beca is in critical condition.“ The man replied, and Chloe’s face went white. The rest of the conversation was a jumble of words as she grabbed her keys and ran out the door. She slung open the door to her car in a panicked frenzy and sat down in the driver's seat. Not ten seconds went by and she was already screaming down and out of the driveway. She knew she shouldn’t be putting herself in danger just to get there, but she couldn’t stand the thought of her wife and son being hurt.

Chloe pulled up to the hospital and got out of her car hastily. When she got to the front desk, she gave her name and who she was there for, before swiftly walking to see them.

”How bad is it?” Chloe frantically asked the doctor. There was fear in her eyes as a lonesome tear ran down her cheek.

”She’s coming in and out of consciousness and is in critical condition. There’s not much more we can do for her. As for Jacob, he’s stable. He’ll make it out.” The doctor replied with sympathy in his eyes. Chloe opened her mouth to speak but the doctor cut her off.

”You might want to go speak to her. There’s no telling how long she has left. We don’t think she’ll make it through the night” Chloe let out a sob as the tears came streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t attempt to dry them as she walked towards Beca.

”Chloe? Baby, is that you?” Beca said in a raspy voice as her eyes fluttered open. Chloe smiled at the younger woman.

”It’s me Becs. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you. Never.” Chloe said with determination.

”I think I’ll be the one leaving, Chlo.” Chloe tried to protest but Beca stopped her. “I need you to stay strong for me, honey. I might not make it out of this hospital, so that means you need to keep going. Find someone that will take care of you and love you when I’m gone. Take care of our kids.”

Beca placed a battered hand on Chloe’s ever-growing abdomen. She was 6 months pregnant with their baby girl. They used Beca’s eggs, so there would be a mini Beca for her to have running around the house.

”I will never stop loving you, Chloe. Not now, not ever. No matter where I am, I will be there with you through thick and thin. I will never truly leave you.” Beca was crying at this point.

”I love you too, Beca, but you’re gonna be okay.” Chloe replied, but Beca just shook her head.

”I really don’t think I will. It’s just my time to go.” Beca’s voice cracked and she looked away. “But I don’t wanna spend the last day of my life alone. I wanna be here, with you. Will you stay here with me?”

”Of course, Becs” Chloe eased into the side of Beca’s bed and slowly snuggled her head into her side, being careful not to hit a cord or hurt her. About an hour went by with doctors coming in and out of the room. Chloe never stopped crying, and Beca stroked Chloe’s head while she was conscious.

”Thank you, Chloe. Thank you for this wonderful life you’ve given me. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I love my girls-“ Beca caressed Chloe’s abdomen “-and my baby boy who is not such a baby anymore”

The beeping on the monitor gradually slowed down

“I love you, Chloe. So much. Never forget that.” Beca squeezed Chloe’s hand as her eyes fluttered shut and her breath spilled out of her lungs with a small groan. Chloe sobbed loudly and called the doctor in. The doctor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder as she left the room and went to go see her son. She walked into the room and was met with a pair of puffy eyes.

”She’s gone, isn’t she?” The 9 year old boy asked with a shake to his voice. Chloe didn’t say anything as she walked over and held the boy in her arms.

”I made her late Mom. I made her late and now my Mama’s gone” The young boy sobbed into his mother’s shirt.

”It’s not your fault, Jakey. No one could’ve known.” Chloe gently said to Jacob.

”No, no, if I wouldn’t have asked to meet Halsey, she wouldn’t have been there. We would’ve already been home and we would both be safe” Jacob sobbed.

”It is not your fault, you hear me?” Jacob slowly nodded and went back to crying.

”Let it out. Don’t be afraid, just let it out” Chloe whispered to the boy as both of them let their emotions take over them.

”We’ll never be without her. We’ll never forget her. She’s a part of us.” Chloe spoke between sobs.

”She's never truly gone, she's only gone once we forget her. I won’t let that happen.”

-

”C’mon Chlo, you got this. Push!” Aubrey was by Chloe’s side through the entire labor. She didn’t leave once. She might not be Beca, but Aubrey’s husband died a year before Beca did, so they stick together.

”One more push, she’s almost here,” Aubrey said barely loud enough for Chloe to hear. The screaming cries of a newborn baby filled the room. A beautiful baby girl with a head full of brown hair was placed into Chloe’s arms.

”She’s beautiful, Bree” Chloe whispered and started crying.

”What’re you gonna name her?” Aubrey asked while smiling at the bundle of joy in Chloe’s arms.

”Beca Jaymes Beale-Mitchell.” Chloe confidently stated, leaving Aubrey gaping for a few seconds

”J-Jaymes?” Aubrey stuttered as she ran the name over in her mind again. That was the name of her late husband.

”Yes, Bree. I named her after him, too. You both helped me through so much, and I wanted to honor him in a way.” Chloe explained with a huge grin on her face.

”I love you, Chloe.” Aubrey sobbed and kissed Chloe on the forehead.

”I love you too, Aubs,” Chloe said before returning her attention to Baby Beca in her arms.

-

“Support her head, Jake,” Chloe said as she passed the half-sleeping baby into his arms. Jacob started crying as he looked at her.

”What's wrong, bud?” Chloe asked, looking into his eyes. They were crystal blue, but not as bright as Chloe’s.

”She looks like Mama”

-

“C’mon BJ, time for school” Chloe shouted up the stairs and walked into the kitchen where Aubrey was currently fixing waffles. The women had formed a very strong connection in the years after their soulmates’ deaths. They weren’t together in a romantic sense, but they lived together, and to someone from the outside, it would seem as though they were married.

”Yeah, yeah, I’m coming” The moody 15 year old shouted back. Chloe just chuckled to herself. The girl had grown to look and act just like Beca as the years went by. After several minutes, the teen came moping down the stairs.

”Grab a waffle and go, you’re late,” Chloe said with a stern look. BJ nodded and started out the door. She stopped and turned around to look at the picture of her late mother again. Today was a particularly sad day for the whole family; It was Beca’s birthday. BJ smiled at the picture and whispered “I love you, Mama” before walking out the door.

-

”Look at my baby boy. Getting married, god, where has the time gone?” Chloe spoke to Aubrey as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I just wish Beca were here to see.”

”She is, Chlo. Not in the traditional sense, but she’s here.” Chloe nodded and went back to her drink. Chloe wasn’t keeping track of time, and soon enough, Nneka was walking down the aisle. Her dress was beautiful, it hugged her every curve and accentuated her breasts perfectly.

”You may now kiss the bride” Jacob enveloped Nneka in a loving kiss. Chloe started clapping and crying even harder as she watched her only son finally start truly living, with a wife of his own.

-

“Mom, I think I’m gay” BJ blurted out over dinner. Chloe dropped her fork but quickly recovered.

”Me too, ‘s no big deal. I’m glad you told me, honey. That’s a hard thing to do” Chloe smiled at the brunette girl.

”I don’t even know why I was scared to tell you” Chloe shrugged along with BJ “Hold on, backtrack. I thought you were pansexual?”

“I thought I was, but I’m not capable of loving anyone but your mother. If that makes me gay, so be it” Chloe explained without making eye contact. BJ knew this was a hard topic for her. Even after 16 years she still couldn’t love anyone else. No one compared to Beca. BJ placed a loving hand on her mother’s knee.

”You are just like her. I know I tell you this a lot, but you are an exact copy of Beca Mitchell. From the dark clothes, to the snippy attitude, to these ear monstrosities here-“ Chloe flicked BJ’s ear spike and she laughed at the memories of Aubrey and Beca in college, “-you are just like her. I just wish you knew her.”

BJ grinned at her mother and nodded. “I’ve seen so many pictures and videos it feels like I really do know her. I wish I could’ve met her” Chloe nodded and smiled at her daughter.

-

“I got in!” BJ shouted over the phone.

”Of course you did, you’re a legacy!” Chloe’s smile could be heard through the phone as her daughter did a small dance on the other line.

”You’ve come so far, I’m so proud of you”

-

“Oh god, first I had to give away my son, now I’ve gotta give away my daughter, too” Chloe whispered to herself as the bride, Nessa, began to walk down the aisle. BJ was standing in an all-white tux with a single rose in her pocket. Nessa had a flair of red across her collarbone. They were both so beautiful.

”I do,” BJ said, and she didn’t even need for him to say the words, she was already kissing her wife. The two 27 year olds got lost in the moment before coming back to reality and sheepishly smiling at their mothers.

The music was comprised of only Beca’s playlists, which in its self made Chloe cry. BJ climbed onto the stage “There’s a certain song I wanted to sing tonight. It goes all the way back to 2012 at Barden University. That was when my Mom fell in love with my Mama. This song is dedicated to my amazing Moms.”

The beginning notes of Titanium began to play on the stage, and Chloe instantly started sobbing. Aubrey placed a loving hand in the small of Chloe’s back. She sang along quietly and thought of Beca. All the bumps along the road, the messy parts of life were worth it, because she made the good part so much better. She was Chloe’s sunshine, even with her dark fashion choice.

”I love you Moms. I always will. Even when we’re not together, you’re a part of me, and It’ll always be there.” BJ smiled at the sky, then at Chloe when the song ended.

-

”Aubrey, do you ever regret this?” A weary, 68 year old Chloe asked. Aubrey looked confused. “I mean, do you regret not getting remarried?”

”Not at all. After Jaymes died, I realized I couldn’t love anyone else. I loved him so much I could barely breathe without him, so I knew no one could love me enough and have me return those feelings.” Aubrey replied with a shake to her voice.

”Me neither. I’m glad you’re here with me. I couldn’t have done it without you. Now my babies are all grown up and I’m missing Beca even more. I know I’ll see her soon, though.” Chloe smiled to herself at the thought of her wife.

”Don’t say that, Chlo. You still have a lot of life left to live. Don’t give up on me now” Aubrey chastised the red and white haired woman.

“I’m not giving up Bree, I promise”

-

Chloe didn’t stay true to her word. In the years following, she was waiting to leave so she could be with Beca. She wasn’t trying to die, but she was ready to go be with her loving wife again.

”Chloe, you have to go to the doctor.” Aubrey said as Chloe was taken over by another coughing spell. The coughing lasted several minutes and was accompanied by a sharp pain in the ribs.

”I’m fine”

-

”Chloe, you’re going to the doctor, now” Aubrey commanded and dragged Chloe to the door.

”I’m really fine, I promise.” Chloe was very obviously lying.

”No, you’re really not” Aubrey felt a tear run down her cheek as she watched the frail woman get into the car

-

“You have Mesothelioma, stage 4” The doctor gravely stated. Aubrey gasped.

”Stage 4? I-I don’t” Aubrey stuttered.

”It’s okay Bree. I was afraid this would happen. I let it go on too long.” Chloe silently cried into Aubrey’s shoulder.

”You have the option to undergo chemotherapy, but otherwise there’s nothing we can do. It’s already spread too far, we can’t remove it” The doctor had a sympathetic look on his face.

”Just let me go. Let me go in peace. Chemotherapy won’t do me any good.” Chloe wiped away Aubrey’s tears.

”I have been with you for 50 years, I’m not leaving you that easy, Chlo.” Aubrey determinedly stated.

”Bree, I’m dying already. Be grateful for the life we have while we still have it. I want to go home.”

-

Chloe’s last days were spent in pain. The cancer was spreading even further into her lungs. It was getting harder and harder to keep going. It had been 6 months since the diagnosis, and Chloe didn’t know how long she had left. She really didn’t want to know. As Chloe settled into bed, Aubrey began her nightly routine with Chloe.

”Goodnight Chloe. I love you so much. More than you can even imagine. I’ll see you later.” Aubrey leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Chloe dreamt of Beca and the Bellas. She remembered every touch, every kiss, every moment. She dreamt of meeting all the Bellas, of ICCAs, of every date they ever went on. She remembered it all.

...

”Hi, any interest in joining our a Capella group?” The bubbly read-head asked the sulking brunette.

”Oh, right, this is like a thing now” Aubrey was not amused by the girl’s tone, but Chloe was undeterred. She saw the potential in the mysterious woman.

...

”I’ve got more important things to do!” Beca shouted to no one in particular.

”What could be more important than this?” Chloe asked, bewildered.

”Nothing, forget it” Beca threw her hands up and turned around.

”No, you don’t think that we haven’t all realized you’ve been a little checked out lately?” Chloe borderline shouted at Beca.

”C'mon, Beca, just tell her.” Amy chimed in, to Beca’s dismay.

”I heard that, tell me what?” Chloe demanded.

”Oh, you misunderstood me, I clearly said rumpumpecker, ushmeller” Amy clarified, but Chloe didn’t pay attention.

“Listen, I don’t want you guys to fight. You’re Beca and Chloe. Together you’re Bhloe, and everyone loves a good bhloe.” Amy said, the girls ignoring her attempt at a joke.

“Okay, I have been interning at a recording studio, and a legit music producer wants to hear my work, God forbid I have something going on outside this group.” Beca broke down and told her.

”Okay, so why would you keep something like that from us-“ Chloe was cut off by a fuming Beca.

”’Cause you’re obsessed! You all are! We’re graduating and the only person thinking about life after the Bellas is me.” Beca looked at all the girls that were listening intently.

”What is so wrong with being focused on the Bellas? This has been my family for seven years.” Chloe retorted with a bite to her tone.

”Yeah cause you’re too scared to leave! Sack up, dude!” Beca shouted which earned a “Girl fight” from Cynthia Rose.

”Okay so you’ve been lying to us this whole year, and now you’re just gonna flake out? Now you’re just gonna flake out when the worlds is like right after graduation?” Chloe’s voice was straining to speak loud enough without crying.

”Oh my god! Enough about the worlds, I can’t- I am out of here.” Beca turned around to leave, heading straight for the bear trap.

”Oh okay, you’re just gonna leave now? You’re just-“ Chloe was cut off by Beca turning around and shouting.

”We all have to eventually Chloe. Might as well be now.” Beca turned back around and kept walking.

”Beca, the sign!” Emily shouted as Beca was taken into the air by a huge net.

”What the hell!” Beca screeched

...

“Hey guys,” Chloe said, waking in the door and taking off her coat.

”Why aren’t you guys ready?” Chloe questioned, seeing the casual attire the girls were dressed in.

”Why are you wearing that?!” Beca questioned with an accusing tone.

”What-“ Chloe started but was soon cut off by Beca.

”Did you wear that to work?!” Beca screeched, pointing a finger at her original Bellas uniform.

“Yeah, underneath my scrubs,” Chloe said, confidently smoothing out the wrinkles in her blazer.

”Oh, sweetie why?” Beca questioned, her mouth twisted into a confused grimace

“Because it reminds me I was special once,” Chloe said with a sad grin. ”and, you know, the Bellas reunion at the Brooklyn Aquarium”

”That’s tonight?!”

...

“What’s up, pitches!” Amy shouted as she spotted the other Bellas.

”I can’t wait for us to sing together,” Chloe said to the girls as she gave them all hugs.

”Hey Bellas!” Emily said as she walked up with the rest of the new Bellas

”What do you want us to sing tonight?” Chloe started rambling off song names.

”I brought this just in case” Chloe pulled a blue cup out of her bag to which Beca smacked it ferociously out of her hand. Emily watched it clatter to the ground

...

“Will you marry me?” Beca asked from her position on one knee. Chloe was speechless for what seemed like an eternity.

”Beca oh my God, yes!” Chloe squealed and pulled her into a kiss. She slipped the ring onto Chloe’s finger.

”I can’t believe this, Beca. I love you. So much.” Chloe cried as she spoke, still wrapped in Beca’s arms. It was a simple night, just a dinner at home with rose petals everywhere and fancy wine. It wasn’t much but it was perfect. It was home.

...

The wedding was gorgeous. It was on a beach, with red and white thrown around in a messy yet precise manner. Beca’s outfit consisted of a black blazer with a red lining, her bow tie was black and she had a pair of black and red heels on. Chloe had on a knee length dress, the sleeves see through with a floral pattern on them. Aubrey had agreed to be the officiant, so they were completely surrounded by all of their closest friends and family.

“Please be seated. First, I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most happy of days. It’s no accident that each of you are here today, and each of you were invited to be here because you represent someone important in the individual and collective lives of Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale.

“I truly can’t think of a better venue than this beautiful beach for an occasion that I know is not only monumental for the wedded-couple-to-be, but for all of us who are lucky to know and love them as individuals; but even more so as a perfect pairing.

“The most remarkable moment in life is when you meet the person who makes you feel complete. The person who makes the world a beautiful and magical place. The person with whom you share a bond so special that it transcends normal relationships and becomes something so pure and so wonderful, that you can’t imagine spending another day of your life without them. For Chloe, that happened about 9 years ago when she met me and we became best friends. I made it hard on her, of course, being the aca-nazi I am- yes I heard you call me that- I’m looking at you, Amy. But about 6 years ago she met Beca, who is pretty wonderful, too. I didn’t think so in the beginning, but she has indeed grown on me. I know how deeply these two care for and love one another, and I feel privileged to be here today among all of you as a witness of their commitment to a lifetime of love for one another.

“I think I’ve had the good fortune to meet most of you here today at some point or another, but for those of you whom I haven’t met, my name is Aubrey Posen, and I went to Barden University with both of these lovely ladies here.

“Now, Beca and Chloe have asked that I keep this speech short, classy, and family-friendly, and politely asked me to leave out stories that are unflattering to either of them. So I’ve had to redline stories about previous flings...drugs or alcohol...encounters with the police...but I do feel comfortable saying, “I told you so.” Which is exactly what I said when I learned that their relationship was becoming truly serious.

“As a third-party spectator to their developing love, it was extremely clear that the two of them represent a perfect pairing because each of them complements the other so well. They balance one another, and while each of them are tremendous individuals on their own, together they are even better. And being better together, as a team, a unit, and partners in crime, is what has been many years in the making and ultimately leads us to being here today, witnessing their commitment to one another in front of those they love most.

“I wish I could tell you a single story about Beca and Chloe that summarizes their relationship and how they enrich each other’s lives, and the lives of each of us, but the truth is there isn’t one single event that is a good encapsulation of what they mean to me, to each other, and to all of us. But what I do know is that both of them care deeply and passionately for each other; they protect each other; they make each other laugh and think outside themselves; that time magically seems to both fly and slow down when they’re together. They help each other in ways that are obvious and unnoticed, but always appreciated.

“I also know that it’s not just anyone with whom you can have communication with simply a look, or remember the weirdest names of each other’s Über drivers, or surprise each other with reservations at a restaurant you’ve been eyeing for years, or say “I’m sorry” every time it’s warranted ...eventually. They do that for and with each other.

“But it’s also my personal experiences with Beca and Chloe that highlight the quality of their love. It doesn’t matter if I’m with them in person, or simply in a bizarre group text with them and the Bellas—when I’m engaging with Beca and Chloe, I am always enjoying myself. And I am certain that that’s part of what makes them so special to each of us: how happy and contented we feel when we are with them. And what I wish for them on their wedding day is that their lifetime together as a team is one of complete contentment; full of those moments that they wish would never end, and that they continue to make one another smile and laugh as they make each of us do.

“So, without further ado… Dearly beloved and honored guests, we are gathered together here to join Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale in the union of marriage. This contract is not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully and seriously, and with a deep realization of its obligations and responsibilities. The brides have each prepared vows that they will read now.“

Beca took a deep breath and steadied herself. “Chloe, you were my reason back then, my reason now, my reason every day. You strengthen my weaknesses, bring focus to my dreams. You are why I am living. Without you, I’d survive, but that is all I would be capable of. I wouldn’t be me without you. Here and now I pledge my life to yours, that your dreams become my dreams. No matter where life leads me, I know that as long as you are there, that is where I am meant to be.”

Chloe was crying by the time she had to say her vows. She didn’t even try to wipe them away. “Beca, you have been my best friend, mentor, playmate, confidant, and my greatest challenge. But most importantly, you are the love of my life and you make me happier than I could ever imagine and more loved than I ever thought possible. You have made me a better person, as our love for one another is reflected in the way I live my life. So I am truly blessed to be a part of your life, which as of today becomes our life together.”

Beca had tears streaming down her face by the time Chloe finished. She was so ready for this wonderful life they would make together. Aubrey cleared her throat.

“And now... Beca Mitchell, do you take Chloe Beale to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?“

“I do.”

“And Chloe Beale do you take Beca Mitchell to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?“

“I do.”

“Beca and Chloe will now exchange rings as a symbol of love and commitment to each other. Rings are a precious metal; they are also made precious by you wearing them. Your wedding rings are special; they enhance who you are. They mark the beginning of your long journey together. Your wedding ring is a circle—a symbol of love never ending. It is the seal of the vows you have just taken to love each other without end. Beca, please place the ring on Chloe’s left hand and repeat after me:

“As a sign of my love, that I have chosen you above all else, with this ring, I thee wed.”

Beca repeated at all the right times, allowing herself to cry freely.

“And Chloe, please place the ring on Beca’s left hand and repeat after me:

“As a sign of my love that I have chosen you above all else, with this ring, I thee wed.“

Chloe said as she was told.

”To make your relationship work will take love. Continue to date each other. Take time to show each other that your love and marriage grows stronger with time. It will take trust to know that in your hearts, you truly want what is best for each other. It will take dedication to stay open to one another—and to learn and grow together. It will take loyalty to go forward together, without knowing exactly what the future brings. And it will take commitment to hold true to the journey you have both pledged today.

“Now by the power vested in me by the state of California, it is my honor and delight to declare you married. Go forth and live each day to the fullest. You may seal this declaration with a kiss.“

Beca pulled Chloe into a passionate kiss, blocking out all other senses other than the feeling of Mrs. Beale-Mitchell’s lips against her own. At that moment, nothing else mattered.

...

”I’m pregnant” Chloe blurted out one day while on a picnic with Beca. Beca whipped her head around to face her and met the glistening eyes of the love of her life.

”It worked?!” Beca exclaimed and pulled Chloe into a huge hug. Chloe had insisted on carrying the baby. She wanted to carry all of them. She always wanted to be a mother. Beca ran over to the edge of the cliff and took in a deep breath.

”I’m gonna be a daddy!” Beca shouted at the top of her lungs into the air. The city was below, the lights glinting off of windows of buildings. Chloe chuckled at Beca’s antics.

”You’re gonna be the best daddy ever.” Chloe told Beca confidently and she grinned.

”I can’t believe this, baby. We’re gonna have a kid. I’m so happy.” Beca peppered Chloe’s face with kisses and they stayed in each other's arms for as long as possible before they had to go back home

...

“You got this baby, just push. He’s almost here. You’re doing amazing, honey” Beca said in a gentle voice. Her wife wasn’t being so gentle on her hand, but she felt the need to soothe her. The cries of a newborn baby boy were like music to her ears.

”He looks just like you, Chloe.” Beca looked at the boy and smiled. He was just like a mini Chloe.

”What’re you gonna name him?” Sheila called from the corner of the room. She and Beca had become closer since college. She had no ill will towards her or Warren.

”Jacob Warren Beale-Mitchell,” Chloe said and looked at Beca’s father with a smile. He sputtered and smiled even wider at the name choice.

”My Jakey” Beca cooed at the baby

...

”Becs, guess what?” Chloe said one day at dinner.

”I’m pregnant” Beca’s fork stopped between her mouth and the plate.

”R-really? It worked again?” Beca asked with a smile.

”Yeah, it did. We’re gonna have another baby”

...

”Chloe, I’m gonna take Jake to work today, he wants to watch me work and meet my clients” Beca said as she grabbed an apple from the counter.

”Alright honey, be careful driving.” Chloe kissed Beca chastely before pulling away and resting her forehead against Beca’s. Beca placed her hands on Chloe’s pregnant belly and kissed it. “Bye baby girl” Beca whispered to the growing baby in her wife’s abdomen.

”I always am. I love you.”

“Love you too, babe”

"Alright kiddo, let’s blow this popsicle stand” Jacob laughed at his mother, a boisterous, carefree sound.

”Love you Jacob,” Chloe said and kissed his cheek.

”Love you too, Mom,” He said and hugged her goodbye.

...

Chloe’s life had been filled with hardships, but she also had love, companionship, and a wonderful group of ladies that were there for her always.

Chloe passed away in her sleep that evening. The last thing she saw before the world faded to black was a vivid mental image of her wife smiling back at her.

“Welcome home, Chloe.”

[thejudgingtrash]

I'm not going to deny myself the right of being a basic bitch and ask Percy and Annabeth for the super cool character headcanon meme

TOh boy. Let’s do this!

First of all, our beloved Perseus Jackson:

Songs he has on his phones are Mr. Brightside by The Killers, Deja Vu by Beyoncé, Tired of Being Alone by Al Green and I Feel Love by Donna Summer. Fuck it. Everything Donna Summer has ever released (I know that Percy is a “rock guy” in canon, but let me ignore that lol. Or rather say that I’m not limiting it to white people rock. In my head he’s also a huge jazzer, funk, disco, hip-hop/rap, r&b/soul and even pop guy)

He falls asleep at the beach and bodies of water. C’mon. Like he’s trying to teach a kid how to surf, feels a wave hit him and his body is like: YUP LET’S SLEEP!

Percy crushes his rounds at DnD

He uses 💀 instead of the laughing emoji

Percy is the type of groggy guy. You need to repeat yourself a few times so that he gets the memo

He is a hot cocoa guy and he’s not ashamed of it. He goes the full nine yards with marshmallows, cookies and whipping cream. Could prepare that shit 24/7 regardless of season, day, hour. Whatever

Percy is the type of guy that needs movement whenever he’s upset. He walks, he speeds around in his apartment, he just doesn’t sit still until he’s collected himself for a little bit

He wanted to be a zookeeper as a kid. Now he wouldn’t mind being the trophy husband that tends the kids at home lol

He is a cloud-free kinda guy. It doesn’t have to be incredibly sunny. Just the cerulean sky and him united

He has a bass voice and can hit lower notes without any issues and can support into higher notes and hits a nice falsetto from times to times. But lower notes are his thing. Also has a perfect pitch. Because I say so. Yes.

He doodles dolphins that give the middle finger lol

And now: Annabeth Chase

Songs she listens to are Venus by Banamarama, Forever and Always by Taylor Swift, Cruise by Florida Georgia Line feat. Nelly and Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! by ABBA (I think she listens to a lot of soft country and 70s/80s classics, preferably disco. But also Indie Dance)

She always falls asleep at her desk preferably when she actually has to study. The bedroom is an entire mess, the bed is the place where she eats, so the desk it the sorta the only chaos free zone. Well.

Annabeth destroys it with the Sims. Of course, the Sims isn’t competitive but have you seen those videos with people creating mansions, luxury apartment complexes, etc. with or without CC? Creating hyperrealistic looking Sims with all sorts of downloads? Yeah. She would be one of those people. Twelve hours just to decorate the smallest bathroom in a house, but it would look BOMB

😊 because she isn’t able to read emotions through messages well and uses just uses this to answer to stuff where she doesn't know whether the other person was being sarcastic or not (happens to me all the time lol. People, use emojis please. It makes it easier.). And also uses that thing passive aggressively. Aka she sounds pressed 24/7

Annabeth snaps at your sorry ass should she have not gotten her eight hours of sleep and apologizes a day later when she’s realized her mistake

Annabeth drinks black coffee in the mornings but green tea in the evening

Should she be in a slump, she’d hit Pinterest and browse for hours until she forgets what upset her in the first place

Annabeth wanted to become an architect since forever. And well, now she’s still at it and studying to be one

Annabeth is the either sunny day and I’m having outside activities or it’s gray and rainy and I’m inside covered in a large blanket and snuggling Percy kinda gal

She has a soprano voice but cracks at really high notes. Nice support in the mid-range registers. Forget lower notes. Can hold a few tunes but would need to polish her abilities with a teacher in the longterm. But the melodies she hums sound truly beautiful

Annabeth is the type of drawing a huge mandala & zentangle person. She’s totally up in that aesthetic. She also bullet journals and knows hand lettering and combines both of those things for the prettiest pages. But only if she really sits down and takes her time. Apart from that her writing looks like shit.

Send me a character for the super cool headcanon meme!

[honestlyfrance]

hug infinitely

pairing: sam/bucky

square filled: eyelid kissing/big protective hug ( for the kisses bingo held by @bingokisses​ !)

warnings: angst (kinda), swearing from narrator

summary: Bucky is a caring person who wants to keep a reckless man named Sam in his arms forever. 

a/n: or just me being poetic about one hug in 1.5k words :) it’s the first fic i’ve done in a long time so yay for writing this all less than 24 hours! enjoy and leave some feedback <3

my masterlist | find this on AO3

It’s only a fact that you can’t protect who you love from every little inconvenient thing. You can’t fix every crack in the world just so you could breathe easy thinking your love wouldn’t trip. You also can’t make the sun go away so your love can’t get a sunburn on your nice little beach date. It’s miserable thinking that the world just has it’s ways to hurt your love, but that’s reality, and to have it bother you so much, it’s only a tragedy in three acts.

Bucky Barnes was a protective person at heart, it’s just in his nature to be so. He cared about a lot of things too, and it ranges from friends to family, even pets to strangers. There’s one person though that sends his heart racing every time, but not out of love, but rather out of worry, yet it would be a lie if Bucky says he doesn’t love him.

Enter Sam Wilson, the one person Bucky thought could match Steve Rogers’s reckless behavior and constant belief that his body is immortal and is probably Superman. What irks Bucky though was that, unlike Steve who is probably immortal due to the serum, Sam was human to the bone. The man’s veins pump with unaltered blood and his hair grows at a normal rate. His metabolism isn’t fucked up and his teeth grind in a nervous tick. Sam Wilson is so human that he does backflips off of balconies just because someone bet him to do so. He’s fucking unhinged at some points and he’s immobile late at night and God, Bucky just fucking adores this human so much despite his blood pressure going through the roof.

Bucky Barnes worries for this man so much that he would publicly punch the hospital wall and set his forehead against it like some widow in a Noir film who just found out her husband died. He will not even look at anyone’s eyes as long as they were Sam’s open and lively ones, no! It’s only when another team member pokes at his reaction will he try to regain his demeanor.

Sam Wilson just makes Bucky Barnes weak.

It’s just their normal.

There are days where Sam Wilson gets called for a last-minute mission, one that is only more dangerous than the last one, and he has to personally ring up Bucky saying, “No, no, I’m fine. I don’t need you to come with me. Just get yourself comfy in bed and wait for me. We’ll go to the movies and see what’s new once I’m done.” and that’s the only thing that could keep the man sane for a while.

It’s not that Bucky was helpless when Sam wasn’t around — he’s completely fine even! he has his agendas outside of the man, too! — it’s just that the mere idea of Sam Wilson being bedridden due to broken bones, internal bleeding, a coma, or anything of the sorts just scares him… the mere idea that Sam Wilson is easily broken, fragile even, a kind of fragile Bucky isn’t familiar with anymore… It hurts Bucky to even think that they’re two different kinds of glass.

Oh, but his heart yearns so much for the time when he could scrape his knee and feel so bad for it. When was the last time Bucky was worried that he could get killed by the wrong rusty nail? Humans are too fragile, he thinks, and they only get more fragile as they grow old.

Bucky yearns for the time when he too was human to the bone.

And that’s why Bucky holds Sam a little longer than the last time.

This was why Bucky runs his fingers through Sam’s hair slower than usual, cascading his hand up and down the nape of his neck just so Sam could feel warm somehow. This was why Bucky sets his chin on Sam’s shoulder and inhales the scent of burnt fabric and gunfire, wanting to breathe it all away so Sam could feel clean of war. This was why Bucky grabs Sam by the waist first when hugging because he didn’t want to let go of what makes Sam his lover, forever wanting their atoms to intertwine with each other and become everlasting, even if it was just for a little while.

All of these little things make Sam Wilson feel like the only person left in the world, and it’s not a lonely kind of feeling. Being held in Bucky’s arms like this after months of feeling rough hands and doubt in his body and head, it felt like being a bird perched on a telephone wire, looking over the empty road and just feeling the nip of the breeze swift past you. Bucky’s arms around Sam felt like sunshine after stormy seas, and he loves it, drowns in it, feeling his knees grow weak whenever Bucky even moves his hands the slightest to bring him closer. It pains Sam to even feel so warm and calm and just so full of life in such arms.

The little things like Bucky whispering “I miss you” or “I love you, I love you, I missed you so badly” into his ear was enough to make Sam sob, because he truly couldn’t have known anything less before this. It was such a soft epilogue to his melancholic novel that he could practically see it as a best seller, and Bucky didn’t even write it, he was just right there cheering him on and giving him a nice little place to write all of the things Sam’s seen and done in peace that it’s almost impossible to imagine. Bucky has this feeling of home in his arms that when Sam falls into them he just knows that there’s no turning back now — Sam has never felt so small in Bucky’s arms, he never felt the whole world engulf him in such warmth and softness and ugh this hug was just too good to be real.

It’s all Sam ever knows as he buries his head even deeper into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder, feeling light as a feather as the man lifts him, as if his entire body wasn’t enough to hold, Bucky seemed to want Sam’s entire soul in his hands, Sam’s entire breath, Sam’s entire stars, Sam’s entire life, Sam’s entire existence in his hands. Bucky seemed to want Sam Wilson so much as Sam Wilson wanted him and it’s just a perfect scenario, it’s probably just a dream.

And this was why Bucky holds Sam in his arms a little longer than the last time. He wanted Sam to feel what it’s like having the world wrapped around his finger and by God, this amazing man will have that kindness.

Sam felt safe being small and engulfed in Bucky’s hugs. It’s like nothing outside matters and all that ever did matter was the fireplace brewing in their chests, breathing out smoke like chimneys in December, feeding each other warmth until the coals of their houses ran out. Sam felt so fucking safe like this, his mind is all but a grassy field on a plateau overlooking a vast ocean that had waves lapping against the cliff-like touch starved lovers reaching for the sun. Sam felt like he never was that touch starved teen back in his high school years, wanting to succumb to someone’s touch when he’s lost all sense beforehand because Bucky’s breathing into his neck “You’re home. God, you’re home now.” and to think that this isn’t loving is just the coward’s way out of this hug. Damn right Sam is gonna sleep in Bucky’s arms tonight because tonight, Sam is so full of love he forgot what it was like to be empty.

Bucky tries so hard to admit to himself that he does love Sam and his broken bones and whatnot, the only thing stopping him is the heartbreak he’ll receive when one day Sam will be gone, finally realizing that he’s not the Superman everyone thought out to be — not the infinite river of hope and bravery he was meant to be. It sickens Bucky to even think that this Captain America, the Falcon, Samuel Wilson, isn’t infinite. To even think so is the cowardice’s way out of this chokehold.

Maybe if he held Sam long enough, the love that just exudes out of him will heal whatever malice tried to break this incredible man. If Bucky could kiss all of Sam’s worries away, then peace could be a fiery red sunset over the sea. If Bucky loved then Sam could feel loved.

It’s crazy, Bucky knows. Love doesn’t work that way. Love doesn’t heal, it breaks. This is why we have broken hearts in the first place, but oh with the way Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and mumble sweet nothings into his shirt Bucky could now believe that this moment will be the single greatest thing that has ever happened to him.

The only time Bucky felt the need to let go of Sam is when he needs to set a gentle kiss on the man, one on the forehead, one on the nose, and each on the eyelid. He wanted Sam to close his eyes and just feel the softest thing he could offer. Bucky wanted Sam to fall asleep in a nice bed with nice thoughts, perhaps even with a smile that he couldn’t wipe off.

Bucky wants to heal every wound Sam has and kiss the pain goodnight after every mission.

Bucky wants to have Sam in this hug infinitely.

Bucky wants as much as Sam wants him.

And yeah, they’ll have this as long as they could.