#this stupid image has been in my head for like the past week. thank you eve for making a post that gives me an outlet

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 107(138): whatever

[leqonsluv3r]

valentine’s day

—leon finally starts to heal after he meets you in a grocery store, a blurb

masterlist taglist

an: i’ve had this idea in my head since i went to the LANY concert a month ago and heard this song live. i have not been the same person since, this drabble/blurb is dedicated to this song and leon. it’s a lot longer then i intended and i apologize lol

leon wasn’t one to heal easy.

not from his past, not from the missions when he saw more gore and blood then he wanted to. not when he had gagged every time he saw blood from that point foreword.

he was still healing when he walked into a grocery store about four months after his last mission. he was still healing when he grabbed one of those stupid baskets to carry your groceries in through the store.

he grabbed a couple bottles of alcohol, some snacks and some soap. essentials, things he needs. because sleeping without alcohol now is…it’s a lot harder then it used to be. just nightmares and images of bloodshed — he just says fuck it. he gets what he needs, what he wants and he goes up to the front of the store to pay.

what he doesn’t understand, when he sees you for the first time, is why your working in a grocery store of all places. your too beautiful for that, you should be doing something better, something worthy of your time. he doesn’t know a single thing about you yet and he’s willing to draw that conclusion.

you smile kindly at people from behind your register, your voice is kind and sweet. it draws something within him like a magnet, his heart is pounding, he’s going to explode or something. he used to be so good at talking to women but it’s declined as the years have gone by. he’s gotten tired, he just didn’t care like he used to.

he awkwardly sits his basket down on the conveyor belt of the register, you catch his eye and smile a little and it fucking does something to him. he knows he’s screwed beyond relief at that point. he smiles back, or tries to. he’s out of practice on that to, can’t remember the last time he’s smiled.

“this all for you?” you say softly, your eyes scanning over the bottles of alcohol, the snacks and the bottle of soap. he nods and chuckles a little, low and deep, just like his voice. “yeah, that’s all…” he grabs his wallet out of his back pocket of his jeans.

he wish he could say something better, something more positive and just something to grab your attention. he searches his brain as you tell him the total and he hands you the card. but he doesn’t have to say anything, you speak first.

“leon? that’s…you have a nice name.” you say and it snaps him out of his brain, he blinks those devastating blue eyes. ones that were once full of life, he nods. “my mom gave it to me.” he jokes lamely, or at least he thinks it’s lame until he hears your small little giggle.

he feels his heart beat with more confidence and energy now, like his one effort at making you smile is good enough. making you laugh is worth enough. you hand him his card back and put the receipt in the shopping bag, telling him to have a great day. not a nice day like you did with the others, but a great day. like you could tell he needed to hear that.

he walks out of the grocery store with the biggest, stupidest smile on his face. one that he has been a stranger to for months. he has you to thank for that.

the weeks that followed he came back to the grocery store, once maybe sometimes three times a week if he wasn’t sent off on a mission. he almost can’t help himself, he likes talking to you when your there.

you make him feel something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. it’s almost ridiculous, but he can’t help himself, it’s like an addiction. but it doesn’t involve him waking up with a hangover.

he keeps coming, week after week and buying things from the grocery store just to talk to you, just to see your sweet face. just to give him some kind of ray of sunshine that casts his whole body in a warm glow. making his heart beat faster.

but today was different, he was going to ask you out today. he was going to do it, he couldn’t be scared anymore. he couldn’t let you pass by anymore like something rare and just ignore you.

you were something to him. even if you didn’t even know that yet.

he walked up, carrying the same five things he always grabbed. his heart was pounding wildly, he was so out of practice but he just had to get out there and do it. just give himself something, he would hope you would say yes.

he put the items on the conveyor belt and waited until it was his turn, you finished checking out the customer in front of him and then turned to look at him. “hi stranger, haven’t seen you in awhile.” you say with a small frown, it’s adorable, it makes his heart melt.

he chuckles and shakes his head, “didn’t know you missed me.” he muses as he watches you start scanning his stuff. slowly and methodically almost as if you wanted this interaction to last longer too.

you sigh and shake your head, “of course i did, your my favorite customer.” you say with a small smile, and if he wasn’t looking so intently at you, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle blush on your cheeks.

“i better be. goodness knows i give you guys enough business.” he chuckles playfully and flashes you a grin, almost as bright as the sun. he didn’t know where he was willing this confidence from, maybe it’s because he needed you. he needed you to at least attempt to be with him. you were the first light he has had in his life in a long time.

you scan his last item and he realizes it’s now or never, “26.73” you say as you lay out your hand for the card so he can pay. he reaches into his wallet and gives it to you, your fingers brush against each other. he wills himself to do it, to just do it now.

“uhm, i actually…i have a question for you.” he says with a small tremble of his hands, keeping his eyes on you to gauge your reaction behind the register. you look back up at him, swiping his card. “yeah?” you say and he could swear there’s almost hopefulness in your voice.

he swallows all the nerves down and attempts to keep himself calm enough to get this out, he can’t screw this up. he cannot screw you up, he would never forgive himself if he did.

“do you want to go out with me? like on a date?” he says and it’s so weird, the words feel foreign as they slipped from his mouth. usually women used to flock to him, but they didn’t anymore. his confidence with women had slipped right along with him trying to be sober all the time.

you blinked at him, holding onto his card in your small but intricate fingers. you seem to be thinking it over, weighing your options. he feels like the rejection is going to slip out of your lips at any given moment and he’s preparing himself for it.

then eventually, you respond, “i’d love to.”

now, it’s his turn to gawk and blink at you, almost perplexed that you are actually saying yes, accepting him and accepting this date. he can’t help the smile on his face, it’s almost stupid. you hand him the card and his brain goes on autopilot. you hand him the bag of his stuff, he grabs it and goes to walk away.

until, “wait! you forgot your receipt!” you yell behind him, holding up a slip of paper and waving it. he turns around and walks back to the register, his brows furrowed. you never gave him a receipt, he grabs the slip of paper from your fingers. he reads it over with confusion until he sees your number at the bottom, your hand writing and scribbles drawn with a little heart next to it.

he smiles, another genuine one that only you could conjure onto his face. “text me, we can set up a date.” you say to him, nodding towards the receipt. you look just as giddy as he feels inside. he nods, “absolutely. will do.”

he texts you the minute he gets home. and you respond. the texts keep going between you two until you both eventually settle on a date to go out. your both feeling like love-struck teenagers, so entranced with each other it’s almost borderline disgusting.

the week after you set the date passes and neither of you can hardly wait. you both have your reasons for being nervous, you both have that joy when you see each other but it shines in a different way. especially when he picks you up for your guy’s date.

you look stunning. stunning doesn’t even begin to cover it for him. you look like if heaven was a person, like an angel. that’s good enough reason for him to not let his blue eyes break from you all night.

and they don’t, they don’t ever break. not one second, he keeps his gaze on you at dinner, when your both talking and flirting aimlessly with each other. to leon, it feels good to have that someone; even if they don’t know it yet. that lights up their world and just makes it so much better.

he doesn’t break his gaze when you two walk by the lake, showing him all the birds and where they nest when winter comes closer. he admires the way you talk about small things, things that other people wouldn’t normally talk about or care about for that matter. but you took time, every week, to come feed the ducks and birds at this lake.

and he doesn’t break his gaze when he walks you back to your place, low intimate whispers that turn into slow kisses and touches. it doesn’t turn frantic, it just stays slow and gentle. it’s loving and it almost wants to make leon cry, because you care so much, this kiss just proves it.

because for the first time in a long time, you make him feel cared for. you make him feel wanted and it’s so much to him that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

he wants you forever, he wants you as long as you let him have you. and he’s always going to take care of you, just like you’ve unknowingly taken care of him. taken the sadness away from him by just being in his life.

three months later, you and leon were dating.

you guys were the happiest people, it seemed you brought leon back from the edge. he opened up and you learned all you could about him. he got to learn more about you. and you both loved the idea of having that one confidant in each other.

the one you would have when you were sad, scared, angry, frustrated, etc. everything made sense with the two of you together. and you guys found that one piece that was missing within each of you. you guys were happy, leon was smiling a lot more then he usually did.

he didn’t drink his days away anymore, he didn’t come back from missions to an empty apartment and he didn’t have nightmares. it was still there but you dulled the ache, you filled that dark hole inside of him that had been gone for so long.

you made him happier, you made him recognize the man in the mirror again with your love. your love and everything about you made him better. he was better for you.

you had each other to soothe the gaps and ridges of your guys souls that were jagged. you had that thing that he was searching for, that he’d been missing for so long.

he loved you.

and nothing was ever going to change that.

an: i love you guys sm :,) thank you guys for reading my stuff and engaging. i was so worried when i started writing on tumblr that it wasn’t going to take. that no one would like my writing and i was wrong. you guys have given me so much support in liking my fics. it makes me so happy to have that support. it keeps me going. i love you all, i’ll be posting a one shot soon, keep up on my requests. pls reblog if you enjoyed, you guys know the drill. kisses, xx.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @argreion @sqiim (to join the taglist DM me or interact with my link at the beginning)

[jahayla-parker]

do you mind doing a Kaz fic where she has had a crush a month before but is convinced it’s a lost cause bc he talks to inej a lot, but (PLOT TWIST) the reason he talks to inej is because he’s unsure if y/n likes him back? Angst with a happy ending?

-🍁

Lock and Key : Kaz Brekker x Reader

Descr: 4.5k wc, Reader and Kaz have unspoken feelings for each other. But Kaz’s attempts to work through what to do only cause misunderstandings and upsets. Until it all comes out and feelings are finally revealed. Hurt-comfort, angst-fluff.

Warnings: misunderstandings, SoC content. One curse word.

Notes: I’m SOOO sorry this took so long. It got lost in my requests!

Y/n sat on the edge of the roof kicking swinging legs back and forth. She bit into her bottom lip as she tried to keep herself calm; too many thoughts racing through her mind tonight. Needless, futile, stupid, jealous thoughts. She quickly released her lip from her teeth as she felt eyes on her. She scanned the skyline before relenting to who she’d assumed it was from the start and turned to look over her shoulder, “yes?”

Y/n watched as Inej made herself seen and slowly approached. That friendly smile of hers felt taunting in this moment. But y/n pasted one on herself before turning back to face the Ketterdam rooftops.

“Why are you out here this late?” Inej questioned softly as she carefully sat down beside y/n.

Y/n shrugged silently, not looking away from the skyline. She wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. When Inej wanted something, she got that thing. If only she hadn’t happened to want Kaz the way y/n did. But y/n refused to tell Inej that that was what had brought her out here tonight.

“Y/n, come on, everyone can tell you’re upset,” Inej remarked as the gray clouds above them began to drip rain onto the girls.

“I’m fine,” y/n retorted simply, briefly glancing at Inej’s side-profile.

Inej stared at y/n skeptically. “No one chooses to sit on a rooftop this late, in this weather, if they’re fine,” she argued.

“It wasn’t raining until you got here,” y/n pointed out with a shrug. Fitting. Her love life didn’t feel like it was going through a downpour until Inej entered the picture either. How ironic.

“I’m not just talking about tonight, y/n/n,” Inej sighed. “You’ve been distant and… sad.”

Inej had a point. Of course she did. Y/n had spent the last several weeks trying to distance herself from the crows. Well… from Kaz. And Inej. And mostly Kaz and Inej together. Which was occurring more often than not lately. The images from the last month played back in her mind yet again as if to remind her of her misery.

Y/n twirled the shiny coin around in between her pointer and middle finger as she practically bounced her way up the stairs to Kaz’s room, a smile on her face. She’d managed to trick some rich merchant into giving it to and she thought Kaz would love it. Maybe he’d even be proud of her for such an achievement. Although, truthfully she’d simply done it because she wanted him to have it thanks to the hopeless crush she’d developed a few weeks ago. Kaz didn’t date. Kaz didn’t look at anyone that way. Y/n included. But, maybe…

Y/n hummed to herself, knocking briefly on Kaz’s wooden door before letting herself in. She paused promptly upon realizing he wasn’t alone. Inej was here. Y/n swallowed thickly as she shifted her stance a bit. “I… umm.., sorry-,” she mumbled.

Inej stepped away from Kaz with a soft shake of her head as she smiled at y/n. “Hey y/n,” she greeted sweetly. “He’s all yours, I was just leaving,” she told the girl.

Y/n’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as her heart sank over Kaz’s immediate response to Inej’s words. His hand. He was… Kaz had reached out and gripped Inej’s wrist to stop her from leaving. He didn’t do that sorta thing. That wasn’t him. Yet, here he was. Doing that. Touching her. Inej. Y/n couldn’t help but stare at the hold Kaz had on Inej’s wrist. His gloves were on… but still.. he didn’t touch people. He didn’t react like that. So instinctual that he’d physically stop someone instead of using his words commands. He really didn’t want her to leave. She tore her eyes away from their hands only to find an equally, if not more, painful sight.

Kaz and Inej stood silently, staring at each other, no words exchanged but both wore meaningful expressions.

Y/n felt a lump in her throat as she tried to swallow. This wasn’t happening. She knew the chances of her crush being anything but a crush were slim. Especially given it was on Kaz. But… The one time she held romantic feelings for someone this happened? What’re the odds her crush would get over his trouble being open with people only to fall for someone else? Her hand holding the coin trembled lightly at her side as she analyzed Kaz’s face. He was stern and serious, but instead of his ever-present stoic expression, his eyes seemed to be…. They were almost… pleading. Ouch. She couldn’t make out Inej’s expression fully from this angle. But from what she could see, Inej held a tender gaze and a small but warm smile. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut tightly as if that would somehow make the sight before her disappear. “Umm..,” she cleared her throat, feeling as though she was interrupting… something. Something she wished she wasn’t happening. But it was. “I, sorry,” she repeated as she slowly opened her eyes. They finally stopped touching and were both now facing her. “I didn’t mean to…,” y/n shook her head, unable to say the words. “Anyways, I umm…,” she mumbled.

“Y/n,” Kaz spoke, his stoic expression back in place. “Out with it,” he instructed.

Hearing his gruff voice say her name in a moment like this hurt. But not as much as him ordering her to get on with it did. He didn’t want her here. She’d interrupted his time… his moment… with Inej. Inej was who he wanted to be speaking with, who he wanted to have present in the room now. Not y/n. “Right,” y/n creaked. “I just, I thought you might want this,” she explained, walking over to his desk. The coin clanged against the table top as she placed it down.

“Where..? Where did you g-,” Kaz began to ask as y/n stepped back from the desk.

“I made a deal with a merchant,” y/n shrugged, pretending it was nothing. In truth, it wasn’t nothing. It had taken her a week and a half to arrange and wasn’t the safest plan. But now… now it truly didn’t matter. In the end, maybe it was nothing.

Kaz scrutinized the rare coin from a distance, not having moved from the spot he was in when y/n first entered. As he looked up from his desk, he found she’d made her way to the door. He felt Inej watching him knowingly, but he didn’t know what to say. Why had y/n gotten this coin? And why had she given it to him? Had she done something she was trying to cover up? Or perhaps trying to get ahead of some mistake she might make later? Or…? No.

“It’s really shiny,” Inej commented with an encouraging smile.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Kaz spoke, picking up on Inej’s not-so-subtle hint to talk to y/n.

Y/n nodded, “I know”. She swallowed and turned her gaze away from the soft way Inej was looking at Kaz. “Goodnight”. It was a weird exit, but what else was she supposed to say after that?

—-

Y/n halted in the doorway, unconsciously stumbling backwards a bit. This was getting to be too much. First it was walking in on their moment. Then it was watching Inej go to his office every single night for the past week. But now this? She hadn’t realized she’d moved backwards, away from the scene before her until she felt her back bump into someone. She silently turned around. Nina. She offered her friend and fellow crow an apologetic expression, not having known she was behind her. She watched as Nina noticed the scene that was now behind y/n, her eyes widening with surprise before quickly narrowing in confusion. She couldn’t hear this. Nina loved gossip. She loved Nina. But she couldn’t bear to talk about the potential romance between Kaz and Inej. Before Nina could react further or comment, y/n side stepped her in the narrow hallway and quickly left the safe house. She made her way to the backside of the building and rested her back against the brick wall as her butt slid to the ground. Breathe. It’s fine. She has no claim to him anyways. It was an unrequited crush. Is. Not was. As much as she’d hoped the tortuous observations of the last week would break her crush, they didn’t. They just broke her instead.

—

“Y/n? You have to talk to someone about whatever is-” Inej’s voice pleaded, bringing y/n back to the present moment. A moment where y/n had ventured out of The Crow Club in hopes the cold air would relieve some of the ache in her chest from having witnessed her crush and his crush on what seemed like a date. Except now, to add to her never ending embarrassment and heartbreak, her crush’s crush was now questioning her as to what was troubling her. Saints she really has the worst luck. It hurt even more because she and Inej used to be close. She didn’t want to lose her friend. But every time she saw Inej now, it physically hurt. Hence why she was trying to distance herself from Kaz and her both. Until her heart had time to heal and move on.

Y/n shook her head.

Inej set a soft hand on y/n’s rain-soaked shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything,” she reminded the girl.

“No I can’t!” Y/n cried. Her eyes widened in shock over her outburst and she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, ignoring the fact that due to it being rainy tiny grains from the roof’s shingles had transferred to her hand and were now poking her face.

“What?” Inej frowned. “Why not?” When she didn’t get a response, she sighed. “Please? If I did something wrong I’d like to fix it”.

Y/n felt a few guilty tears escape her eyes. She wiped the grains off her face before she lowered her hand back to the shingles under them. “You didn’t, Inej… I’m sorry,” she whimpered quietly, “you didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Then why can’t you talk to me?” Inej asked.

Y/n sighed. “I’m just… working through something,” she explained vaguely.

Inej nodded, “I’d like to help”.

“Inej… Thank you, truly,” y/n replied. “But, it’s not fair for me to talk to you about this”. Inej hadn’t done this intentionally. It wasn’t fair for y/n to be upset with her. Or to be upset about it at all. But she was.

“So it does involve me,” Inej interpreted. “Y/n, please just tell me, I know your heart, I know you won’t mean any malice with whatever it is…”

Y/n sighed. Maybe this is what it would take. Maybe this would help her accept the way things were. Maybe it would help her finally be able to move on. To have Inej back as a friend. To not have an ache in her chest every time she looked at Kaz. Maybe even to be happy for them finding love together. Oww. That one still stung. Maybe that one would take longer. It wasn’t fair to make Inej feel guilty for this. But perhaps by telling her, maybe Inej would adjust her behaviors so that it wasn’t so in her face. Not that Inej owed her that. And y/n could never dare ask for that. But Inej was caring. Maybe she’d offer to keep her and Kaz’s affairs more secret. At least until y/n moved on.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this… and please don’t tell anyone, especially him…,” y/n pleaded. She felt bad for asking Inej to keep a secret from her… boyfriend? Is that was she and Kaz were now? She shook the question off. “But, I… kinda sorta… may have developed a little bit of a crush on…” she mumbled slowly. “Kaz, and I know how insane that it is. I knew the even before I knew about you two. But now I feel even worse about it,” she rushed out as quickly as possible. “And I’m so sorry Inej! I-”.

“Wait..,” Inej interrupted, resting her palm on y/n’s shoulder. “Why are you apologizing to me for liking Kaz?” She asked.

“Because it’s not fair to you! And I would never act on it now that I know, I swear!” Y/n vowed.

“Now that you know what?” Inej questioned, choosing just one of the many questions she now had.

“Inej,” y/n sighed as she looked her way. “I know about you and Kaz,” she informed her. “And I’m happy for you, really! It’s just that right now-”.

Inej couldn’t help but giggle. “Sorry,” she apologized. “But I couldn’t help it. Y/n, there’s nothing between me and Kaz,” she promised.

Y/n gave Inej a look of frustration. “Inej,” she scolded.

“I swear on every single Saint out there, I have no feelings for Kaz and he has none for me,” Inej spoke softly.

Y/n looked away for a moment, contemplating the last month. “I’ve seen it,” she argued. Maybe they were both too clueless to see it themselves? Was she really now going to have to point out to Inej how Kaz saw her? How he’d unknowingly chosen her over y/n? The universe was cruel.

“What are you-,” Inej began.

“You’re always in his office. He doesn’t let many people do that Inej. Then there’s the way he’s always looking over at you randomly. The way he tended to your wounds after the fight with Marcello. It first dawned on me when I saw the way he reached for your hand to stop you from leaving when I came to give him that damn coin,” y/n rambled, facing the skyline so as to not let Inej see her tears.

Inej closed her eyes as she was hit with guilt. She hadn’t considered how those things looked. Her eyes opened upon hearing y/n try to stifle a sniffle. She promptly stood up and held her hand out for y/n who gazed up at her in confusion. “Trust me, please,” Inej requested.

Kaz’s eyes snapped to the window as y/n and Inej made their way back inside. His eyes scanned y/n’s appearance but stopped upon seeing her red eyes. He turned his gaze to Inej in question as the Wraith looked his way.

Inej sensed the way y/n tensed up beside her. No, No, No. It wasn’t like that. No wonder y/n thought Kaz liked her. He was looking at her a lot lately. But it wasn’t for the reasons y/n thought! She turned to her friend and gripped her hand tightly. She wordlessly made her way to Kaz, dragging the girl with her. She gave Kaz a knowing stare, “now”.

Inej noticed the way Kaz seemed reluctant. Still. After everything she’d tried to do to convince him the past month. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a look. “Kaz, I’m dead serious. You have to tell her,” she commanded in a whispered but sharp tone.

Y/n heard Inej’s whisper and tugged on the hand that was keeping her from fleeing. “Inej?” She asked, uncertain where this was going.

Inej faced y/n with a supportive smile and shook her head. “I promise, it’ll all be made clear”. Her head snapped to the left as she narrowed her eyes at Kaz. “Won’t it Kaz?”

Kaz squinted in confusion. He looked over at y/n, trying to ignore the way her reddened eyes made his chest hurt. “What is it that is unclear?”

Y/n rapidly shook her head as she stared at Inej.

Inej sighed. Y/n didn’t want her to say anything. But it would be in y/n’s best interest if Inej ignored those wishes. “I…,” she began, but stopped. Kaz needed to do this. He needed to be the one to tell her. She worked with him for a month on this. The misunderstandings that were troubling y/n couldn’t be for nothing. “Just…. Tell her. Now,” she ordered, squeezing y/n’s shoulder before quickly leaving. She shut the door behind her and sighed as she silently prayed to her Saints for Kaz to finally tell y/n.

“Kaz?” Y/n asked nervously as she turned back to him after having watched Inej abandon her here.

“I’ve been keeping something from you,” Kaz confessed, his anxious eyes scanning her every move as he tried to read her mind. He watched as she nodded. Did she already know? No. If she did she wouldn’t be standing here. But maybe that’s why she had been crying. No. Inej wouldn’t demand he tell her if she already knew. So why was she nodding? And why had she been crying?

“Sometimes I hate you,” Kaz told her.

“You hate me?”

This wasn’t how Inej had instructed him to tell her when they rehearsed earlier tonight. But if he had to do this now and not on his own time, when he knew for certain how y/n felt, then this was how it was going to go. Not like it would matter anyways. It was likely unrequited.

“Sometimes. You’ve ruined things”.

“I… I… didn’t mean to”.

“That’s just it y/n,” he sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not even fair for me to hate you from time to time over this because you didn’t mean to do any it. You didn’t mean to drive me insane. You didn’t mean to make me break the one vow I made to myself…”

“I don’t…”

“I told myself I’d never let someone in,” Kaz explained. “And then, you….” He groaned. “I don’t know how you did it. And I know you didn’t mean to. So, I know you don’t feel the same. But that doesn’t mean I don’t despise the fact you managed to do this”.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel this way!” Kaz rose his voice.

She squinted. “What are you talking about?” “You’re mad I managed to make you hate me?” she asked, seeking clarification.

“No! Dammit,” Kaz scoffed. “I’m mad you made me feel.”

“Feel what?”

“Everything.”

“Wh…?”

“You made me feel, y/n. In general. But also things I had buried years ago, with the intent to never feel again. You made me feel and I hate it.”

“Are you…? No… You’re not… You’re not actually suggesting you have feelings for me, are you?” Y/n asked in offense. Would he really stoop to this level?

Kaz looked away from her, opting to stare at his windowsill instead.

“If you’re trying to do this to keep your relationship with Inej a secret you don’t have to, I won’t-”.

Kaz choked on his breath. “My what?! …with who?!”

“Kaz”.

“No,” he cut her off as he shook his head and stepped closer. “Is that…” he began. Unlikely. He was probably projecting by thinking it might have something to do with why she’s been distant. Frustration took over as he found his mind to be a mess of crossed wires and chaos. He’d tried to express his feelings to best he can but was still not successful in getting her to understand. He knew she might not feel same way but still, this was annoying. “I’m not trying to con anyone,” he said, voice coming out a bit angry from his disbelief. He’d just confessed his feelings and she was questioning his sincerity and intentions? “If I was trying to hide my… feelings.. would I have just admired that vulnerability to you?” He asked rhetorically.

“But… you…”

“What?”

“The looks”.

“Excuse me?” Kaz sighed. “Full sentences would be great, y/n”.

“I’ve seen the way you are with her,” y/n defended.

“Care to elaborate?” He asked, brow raised.

“First, there was when I came in to give you the-,” she paused as her eyes caught sight of the item in question. He kept it. He hadn’t sold it. And not only did he keep it, he had it on a cushioned pad on his desk. He never kept trinkets on his desk. Focus. “That coin,” she said bringing the conversation back. “I walked in on… Well I don’t really know but, I saw the way you didn’t want her to leave. I clearly interpreted something and you didn’t want me to see it but I could tell you didn’t want her to leave”.

Kaz hummed in understanding. “You did interpret something that night.” He ran his hands over the coin in question for a moment in silence before putting it back down. “And you’re right. You don’t know what it was.” He sighed as he felt his cheeks flush. “I had asked Inej to help me with a project”. When she nodded slowly, he hesitantly continued. “That’s all”.

“It was really important,” y/n recalled, picturing the way he’d actually grabbed for Inej’s wrist.

“It was.” Kaz swallowed. “I tasked her with finding out how you’d feel if I told you…. If we had this conversation,” he corrected.

“What about when you were fixing her cuts from the fight against-”

“Marcello?” Kaz asked for her, knowing he’d only done such a thing once and still felt weird about it. “She’d refused to answer my questions until her wounds were stitched”.

“What questions?”

“Why you seemed to be becoming more distant. If she’d told you despite swearing not to.”

Y/n nodded slowly as she tried to absorb and analyze the information. He noticed? He was worried about that? So much so he attended to Inej’s cuts in order to get the answers to those questions?

“This is what Inej meant by things needing to become clear, isn’t it?” Kaz asked.

Y/n nodded.

Kaz hummed, “anything else?”

“You keep looking over at her randomly.”

Kaz chuckled dryly. So much for the silent check ins being subtle. “It’s not random”.

“Right.. no, I know.. that’s-”.

“I…. I can handle most things on my own, but making conversation, being… friendly.., isn’t my forte.” He sighed. “Inej was also tasked with correcting me if I said or did something that… well.. might have upset you or be taken wrong”.

Y/n blinked slowly at Kaz in surprise. “You-… what?”

“Anything else?” Kaz echoed as he cleared his throat.

“Tonight…”

Kaz groaned. “Ironically, Inej was trying to persuade me into having this exact conversation with you”.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did she want you to have this conversation with me?”

Kaz was silent for a moment. “She claimed she was tired of trying to collect signs that this conversation would go well and threatened that if I didn’t have this conversation soon she’d tell you herself.” He bashfully looked away from her again.

“You… you went and did all of this… because you didn’t know how I’d react?”

Kaz nodded stiffly.

“I … I’m still not sure I understand,” y/n confessed. “And I really don’t want to misinterpret this cause I’ll say something I’ll probably die of embarrassment for saying if I do”. “So…,” she shook her head in confusion. “I know feelings are… new… for you Kaz, but… You’ve both stated you hate me and that you were willing to go through all of this because you needed to know how I’d react to you telling me i made you feel things… but that’s… well, confusing!”

“Sometimes I hate you because I don’t hate you. Because I can’t. I hate that I feel… anything. Because it’s pointless. I hate that I can’t do anything about the way I feel. I hate that I feel I have to tell you this. I hate that nothing will come of this. I hate what this means for you”.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m wretched, y/n. And so is the Barrel,” Kaz said as he shook his head. “If anyone else knew this.. what I’ve been trying to tell you… you’d be in danger”.

“Are you saying that… no… I need you to say it. What is it you’re saying Kaz?”

“Even though unrequited, my feelings for you could be harmful if word got out. So while you might wish to gossip about managing to make the Bastard of the Barrel feel, I don’t advise doing so outside of the crows, or with Jesper either, he’s rather loose lipped and if it gets out to the wrong people you might be in the line of fire and-,” Kaz rambled nervously.

“Kaz stop… you… you like me?”

“Yes,” he answered gruffly. “How many times do I need to say that?”

“Once Kaz. I needed you to say it once,” she sighed. “You said you hated me.”

“Sometimes”.

“Right, sometimes hate me”.

Kaz echoed her sigh. “I don’t actually hate you. Ever. I can’t. I hate that I can’t, but it’s true.”

“So you just… like me? But.., hate that you do?” Y/n questioned. When he nodded silently, she frowned. “Am I really that bad?”

“What?!” Kaz hissed, his sharp gaze snapping over to her.

“Is liking me so horrible?”

“No,” He answered as he moved closer. “Unfortunately it’s not. That’s the problem.”

“Then why do you hate that you like me?”

“I told myself I wouldn’t feel this way. For anyone. Ever.”

“What’s so bad about feeling this way for someone?”

“I told you y/n,” Kaz complained with a sigh. “Nothing can come of it,” he reminded her.

“So… even though you like me. And I….” She took a deep breath, still in disbelief she was going to admit it to his face. “Like you,” she finished. “And all this miscommunication is cleared up, you’re saying that-,”.

“What?” Kaz croaked, eyes locked on her.

“What?”

“What did you just say?”

“The miscommunication is cleared up,” y/n repeated. That wasn’t what he was referring to.

“Before that y/n,” Kaz amended.

“That I like you. I said I like you Kaz”.

It was silent in the room for a painfully long time before he spoke again. When he did, all Kaz said was, “you do..?”

Y/n laughed. “Yes Kaz, that’s why I was upset over you and Inej being-”

“Nothing, we’re nothing,” Kaz interrupted.

“I know,” she smiled, “now”.

Kaz nodded. “You like me,” he whispered.

“I do,” she acknowledged. “And you like me”.

“I do”. He nodded. “But y/n-”.

“No”.

“No?”

“We didn’t just talk through all of this for you to just go back to pretending that we didn’t,” she declared.

“Y/n, if the Dime Lions, or Pekka, or-”.

“I don’t care”

“I do,” Kaz stated sharply.

“I know,” she replied as she moved closer to him. “And I appreciate that. But you know I can defend myself”.

“Yes, but the risks are too-”

“That’s what we do isn’t it?” She asked. Upon seeing the confusion in his eyes, she explained, “we take risks.”

“Not with your life, y/n”.

“I’ve already tried to ignore the way I feel, and it doesn’t work. That’s not living, Kaz”.

“You’d still be alive,” he argued.

“I would be either way, Kaz. It doesn’t have to be so dramatic and black and white”.

When Kaz merely sighed, she shook her head. “If you don’t want to be with me for any other reason, then-”.

“That’s not it,” he nearly growled.

“Then stop resisting. You’re refusing to let yourself live because of the chance something could go wrong. But, that’s life Kaz,” she spoke softly.

“You want this? Knowing the risks?”

“I do.” She nodded. “We can keep it secret if that would make you feel better. I don’t care.”

“It would, but what if it-”

“If it gets out, we deal with it, then. Together. Deal Brekker?”

The edges of Kaz’s lips uncontrollably curled up. “The deal is the deal,” he conceded, already plotting ways to keep this development on lockdown with top level privacy.

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Another celebration ficlet request! The original ask for this one seems to have gotten deleted, and it was sent on anon, so I can't even tag the person who sent it in. 😫

I hope you still see this and enjoy, nonnie! 💖

Heaven's in the backseat

Rated: E

Words: 1,000

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Mob boss Dick Harrington; Mentions of Stommy; Knife play; Dubious consent; Obsessive behavior; Violent thoughts; Car sex; Eddie has anger management issues and Steve is a little slut

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Eddie has just lit his first cigarette of the night when one of the waiters informs him that Mr. Harrington wants him outside. As he grinds the cigarette under his boot, he imagines doing the same thing to Dick’s stupid head. 

Working for a mob boss is so goddamn exhausting. 

A week where Eddie doesn't come close to kicking the proverbial bucket is a good week - especially now that Dick has been taking him along as a bodyguard more and more often. He’s not complaining about that, though. Occupational hazard. 

No, what’s really annoying is the damn black tie affairs. As if squeezing into a fucking suit wasn't enough, the social dynamics of the underworld are mind-numbingly complicated. All of the big mob families are either related or out to kill each other - more often than not both at the same time. It makes events such as this an interesting affair, to say the least. All night long, Eddie has been hovering at the edge of the room while the boss ate and drank and shook hands with other important farts. Always vigilant, always ready to pull his knife from its holster under his suit jacket. And now he can’t even step out for ten minutes to have a fucking smoke? 

The car is parked in the driveway when he arrives. Next to it are the boss himself and a swaying figure with disheveled chestnut hair wearing a rumpled suit. 

Eddie’s blood bubbles and his steps speed up.

“-fucking disgrace,” Harrington says just as he flies down the stairway leading to the car. “You’ll do anything for attention, won’t you?” 

Eddie doesn’t catch the slurred reply, but it must’ve been the wrong one, because Harrington slaps the boy across the face before wrestling him into the backseat. Eddie’s hand is already on the knife when the asshole turns. For a heartbeat, he revels in the temptation of lodging the blade right in the middle of that ugly face, but he reigns himself in. Too much security, too many witnesses. 

“My son is drunk,” Harrington says. “Drive him home.” 

Before Eddie has a chance to reply, he has stalked past him and back into the venue.

*

“What the hell took you so long?” 

Eddie casts a look into the rearview mirror to see the venue disappearing behind them and Steve straightening up in his seat. His voice is still slightly slurred, his eyes a bit unfocused - but he's nowhere near as drunk as he appeared seconds ago. Eddie's mouth tugs into a grin. 

“What, I don't get a thank you for driving you? Where are your manners, little nymph?” 

“Why should I thank you for doing your literal job?” Steve’s mirror image scoffs at him. His bottom lip is pink and a little puffy where his father slapped him. “And don't call me that.” 

“I'm a bodyguard, not a chauffeur,” Eddie says. “There's a difference, y’know?” 

“You're a dog,” Steve drawls. “You do whatever my dad tells you to.” 

Eddie’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. Steve’s mouth curls at the edges, but his eyes stay bored. 

“How about you?” Eddie asks, once he has blinked the crimson shadows from his vision. “What did you do to incur his wrath? Must’ve been pretty bad, if you feigned being so wasted he’d send you home like some misbehaving child.” 

“None of your business, is it?” Steve snaps. Then, after a second or two, the aloof facade slips back on and he shrugs. “He caught me in the bathroom with Hagan.” 

Something slithers low in Eddie’s gut, dangerous and deadly like a coil of venomous snakes. 

“What? That ugly, freckled fuckface? C’mon, you can do better than that.” 

Steve laughs, a sound like the edge of a knife - bright and pretty and sharp-edged. “Why do you care? You don’t own me. What is it to you if Tommy fucking Hagan shoves his cock up my-” 

He doesn’t get any further than that. Eddie pulls over to the side of the road and slams on the brakes. One fluid motion later, he has scaled the middle console and has Steve pinned on the backseat, wrists trapped over his head in a one-handed vice grip. 

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, voice low and lethal. “But this is where you’re wrong, see? You are mine. And one of these days, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.” 

Those pretty eyes go wide as he slides the knife from its holster. The blade gleams, catching what little light there is in the dark car. With one flick of his wrist, he slices away the top button of Steve’s expensive shirt, revealing the long, graceful line of that neck. Steve exhales a shaky breath and his throat bops with it. 

“One of these days,” Eddie murmurs, trailing the tip of the blade over tan skin, leaving just the thinnest of red lines. “I’m gonna kill everyone who ever looked at you or touched you wrong and claim you as mine. Stuff you so full of my cock you forget about everyone else, until the only word you remember is my name. Carve my initials into that pretty skin of yours so nobody ever forgets who you belong to.” 

Steve looks up at him, eyes bright and hazy, and a little whimper falls from his perfect lips. He writhes deliciously in Eddie’s hold, and for a moment, Eddie thinks he’s scared, that he’s gonna plead for mercy. 

But then he slots his leg between Steve’s thighs to hold him in place and he feels it. He looks down at the boy in awed surprise and can’t help the grin that creeps over his face.

When Steve speaks, his voice is hoarse and breathy, but not from fear. 

“Do it, then,” he challenges, rolling his hips and grinding his hard cock against Eddie’s thigh. His lips strain to meet Eddie’s, breath warm and wet against his skin.  “Make me yours.” 

Eddie has never been so happy to obey in his life. 

Part 5

More celebration ficlets

[wolfiesmoon]

Irregular heartbeat

Riddle Rosehearts x gn!reader

We learned about disney in film class this week and my mind was infected by images of twst boys lmaoo this game is a disease

I've had a turbulent week but its finally time for the holidays which means.... more schoolwork because our school doesnt subscribe to mental health

Lately, Riddle has been unfocused in class. This is very much unlike him, and he realises this. For him, being this distracted is like a death sentence to his perfect test scores.

He needs to get to the bottom of this, and quick.

Classes are over for the day and he's returning to his dorm to check up on the rose maze. Soon, it will be time for an unbirthday party and he must make sure everything is progressing smoothly.

Especially the painting of the roses, which was started a little late this time.

Ace and Deuce ended up complaining to you about the workload and since you have nothing to do anyways you decided to join them in painting the roses. Grim opted out of it this time since he "has better things to do".

You hummed to yourself as you painted the first rose on a heart shaped bush by yourself.

"What are you doing here?" a strict voice stopped you in your tracks. You'd recognise that voice anywhere. You probably should have asked if it was fine for you to help out beforehand, but you've helped without his permission before, even if it was on account of a certain first year's stupidity.

"I was bored and Ace and Deuce were complaining, so I decided to join. Don't tell me you're mad about free labour from the good of my own heart?" you added the final spot of paint to the rose, pouting back at him dramatically.

"I am thankful for your help, I don't know why you would make such an accusation." And yet, he still looked pissed off for some reason.

You stepped off from the stepstool, moving closer to him and humming. "Then why do you look like an old grumpy persian cat right now?"

"What- I do not!" he defended himself, cheeks turning a little pink as he crossed his arms.

In reality, he's angry that you're doing more work than you have to. He knows how horrible it is to be overworked a little too well and he wants you to be well rested and happy under every circumstance, not helping out when you really don't need to.

"I'll paint the roses. Don't bother yourself. I am much faster because I can simply transform them with my magic anyways." He moved past you, stepping up on the stepstool (which was unnecessary since he can use magic from a distance).

He doesn't really know why, but he gets the urge to protect you sometimes. Even from a task like painting the roses.

"If you say sooo..." you sat down on the soft grass, watching Riddle paint rose after rose. You have to admit, the slight smile on his face is quite adorable.

You could get used to watching this.

"Hey! Get back here, you stupid weasel!" you heard Ace's voice from somewhere in the rose maze. Weasel...? There's only one weasel you know.

And sure enough, in a few seconds Grim was running past you with a mischevious look on his face and a magical pen in his mouth, which you presume belongs to Ace.

Seems he got bored of "all the better stuff he had to do" and decided to cause trouble for poor Ace again. You got up, trying to grab him but ultimately failed in doing so.

"Wait right there!" Riddle yelled after Grim, attempting to stop him with his magic but he was a moment too late with Grim dissapearing behind a corner.

A few moments after him, Ace came running around the corner. "Where did he go?!" he asked frantically, whipping his head around at all the paths where Grim could have gone.

"That way." you pointed casually, already used to their shenanigans.

Ace quickly ran past you, accidentally moving the stepstool in the process and making Riddle stumble and fall over.

You quickly caught him, softening his fall. Thank god you were standing so close to him.

"Wha..." he whispered, cheeks turning red again. What in the world is this feeling? It feels like his chest is tightening, but it feels... good? Being caught in your arms is strange.

"Are you okay?" you asked, concerned by the look on his face.

"I umm.... I am completely fine." Riddle cleared his throat, straightening up and taking a singular step away from you.

"Are you sure? Because you look pretty shaken up to me." you moved close to him again, inspecting his face up close.

"You must be doing that on purpose." he felt like his heart was about to explode out of his chest. Now that he thinks about it, this feeling is similar to the one he gets during class. The one he can't get rid of for the life of him.

"What do you mean?" you asked innocently. You really want to kiss his red cheeks right now, but with Riddle you never know if they're red from anger or... something else. You don't want to take any chances, but it's hard to hold back around him sometimes.

"Nevermind. Just do something about those two!" he huffed, turning his head away, face now completely red.

Oops, looks like you ended up painting the housewarden red instead of the roses.

[lowkeychenle]

You're Not Sorry [ZCL]

Content Warnings: This fic deals with infidelity and is very angsty. Please read with caution if infidelity can be a trigger for you.

Description: You and Chenle broke up two weeks ago. The first time he calls you at 3am, you ignore it. Then he calls again. You answer, and you go to him knowing there's nothing he could do to fix what he's broken.

Genre: Angst. All angst. Help. (but also I pride myself on my angst so maybe read it anyway???)

Word Count: 2,218

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (mentions of Mark at the end, mentions of the Dreamies throughout)

Juliet's Masterlist | Ask Me Anything/Requests

You haven’t heard from Chenle in two weeks. At first, you didn’t want to. Not after everything that happened and what he did. You were perfectly fine with never speaking to him again, but now that he’s been silent, you crave his presence even when you shouldn’t.

At the exact end of week two, your vibrating phone wakes you up at three in the morning. Rubbing your eyes, you sit up in bed and grab it. Chenle’s name sits in big letters on your screen, and at first, you’re not sure what to do. Your muscle memory demands you answer him, because it’s obviously important if he’s calling you at 3am, but you don’t want to go down the wrong path. You don’t want to risk forgiving him simply because you’re sad, hurt, and lonely.

Your palms sweat and your heart races as you continue to stare. When it fades to black again, you finally feel like you can breathe. You exhale shakily, suddenly wide awake at the intrusion of him. At that moment, you decide that you’ll answer if he calls a second time. If he does, it must be important. He could be in danger somewhere.

A minute passes. Two. You think you’re in the clear. It was another lame attempt to get you to talk to him, clearly. None of that matters. You can’t trust him anymore, no matter how much he insists he made a mistake.

3:03am comes around and your phone vibrates again. You grab it faster than you care to admit.

“What?” you snap.

He doesn’t say anything yet. You hear him breathing shakily, but that’s it.

“If you don’t tell me why you’re calling, I’m hanging up.”

“Please don’t.” His voice is fragile, thick. “Please.”

You don’t know where he’s at, but you can imagine. You imagine him in his bed, blinking past tears, staring at his ceiling as he yearns to have you next to him. But you didn’t ruin that image—he did. All of this is his fault.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Did you need something?” you hiss, pushing the words past the lump in your throat. “Or did you call to make things harder for everyone?”

“Yeah,” he inhales sharply. “I…something happened with the car, and I’m just sitting on the side of the road. The managers don’t know I left, and if I call them, I’ll get in so much trouble—”

“Are you just now learning that your actions have consequences, Chenle?” You don’t mean to sound so harsh, because at the end of the day, you still love him. You love him way more than you should and way more than you want to.

“(Y/N), please.” He pauses.

“What about the boys?”

“You know why I can’t call them.”

Oh, right. They’re even more pissed at him than you are.

“It’s okay if you hate me,” he mutters. “It really is. I don’t blame you, but I need you. Don’t make me do this alone.”

Your heart twists so violently in your chest, you swear you feel a rib crack. Chenle, if nothing else, has always been good at making you feel. Whether it’s happiness, heartbreak, or hurt, you feel it.

“Damn it.” You shake your head, throwing your comforter off your lap. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

“Thank you.” The relief in his voice sends another pang through you.

“Don’t get used to it. And don’t you dare ever do something stupid that I have to save you from again. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah. I won’t.”

You hang up on him while cursing under your breath. After all of this, you’re still going to help him?

Of course, you are.

He’s Chenle, and you’re you. Forever intertwined even when it breaks you into pieces to realize that. Soon enough, all that will be left is the one part of you attached to him—your heart. The rest of you will break down, disappear, but somehow, he’ll have your heart in his hand, squeezing it much too tightly for comfort.

Your phone vibrates once to indicate he sent you his location, and you pull on a pair of sweatpants and run a brush through your hair. Before you know it, you’re driving to the literal middle of nowhere at 3:30am to pick up your ex-boyfriend.

You see the familiar black SUV, the one with the blacked out windows and special license plate, and you park your car behind it. Taking one last deep breath, you stare as he climbs out of the driver’s seat.

Even though it’s only truly been a couple weeks, it seems as if it’s been years. Decades. And him looking exactly the same as the man you once knew has you shaking. You’re not sure what to say to him when he sits down in your passenger seat, but his beautiful brown gaze meets yours.

The lights are dim, but it’s enough to see the redness on his cheeks, in his eyes, at the tip of his nose. His jaw quivers at the sight of you, but that’s when the lights fade to black. The new moon isn’t even enough to give him a glimpse of you. Blue LEDs are all that’s left—the quiet glow bouncing off his skin and making him realer. He’s sitting right in front of you, a longing look on his face as if he’s not the one who fucked everything up in the first place.

“What the hell are you doing out at 3 in the morning?” you ask him, driving off.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs, hands fidgeting in his lap.

You spend the majority of the ride in complete silence. The radio is off, and all you hear is him trying to breathe normally. You’re not much better, either. You blink back tears, refusing to let him see how upset you are by all of this. If he loved you, he never would’ve done it in the first place. You have to remember that.

It’s not until you pull into his driveway that he speaks.

“They’re so mad at me.” He looks straight forward, neither of you brave enough to initiate eye contact.

“They should be. Deserve to be, actually. You didn’t just hurt me, you know.” You grip the steering wheel until your knuckles pale, wishing he would get out and go inside.

“I’m mad at them, too.” He wets his lips.

“You’re mad at them for what?” You scoff, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach. “Mad because they caught you in the first place? Or mad because they all agreed to tell me?”

“It’s not any of their business.”

“Oh, right, so you’d never tell me. You’d let me continue to love you when you couldn’t be bothered to give me the same?” You’re not sure where your confidence is coming from. This is Chenle—the man you love, and someone you never imagined would put you in a situation like this.

“It was a mistake—”

“It doesn’t matter. It happened. You fucked up. They’re the best people, you know that? You’re pissed because all six of them are better than you. Because none of them would’ve ever stooped to the level you went. And because you hate the idea that someone else is able to comfort me. What did you expect? That they would comfort you?” Your grip tightens somehow, and you finally look at him.

He’s in tears. The liquid running down his cheeks reflects the luminescent blue, and it’s almost enough to make you feel bad for him.

“It wasn’t even once, either. It was twice. You did it twice.” You let out a throaty laugh, knowing this is the furthest thing from funny.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to lose you, ever. We’re supposed to get married and have cute babies that look like you, and—”

“We don’t get to do those things anymore,” you snap, shaking your head.

“Do you hate me?” he whispers. “You should, but I can’t handle the thought of that.”

“Hate you.” You drop your head back on the seat. “I wish I could. I wish I could stop loving you because it hurts so fucking bad. You threw away everything, and for what?”

“I can do better.”

“You don’t get the opportunity.”

“Please. I know I can do this.” His eyes widen and his eyebrows furrow, truly pleading.

“Staying faithful shouldn’t be hard, Chenle.”

“I love you.” His voice doesn’t break. It shatters. “Baby, please.”

“If you love me, you’ll respect my decision. You’ll just leave.” You close your eyes, and a tear runs down your cheek.

He, instinctively, you assume, reaches up and swipes his thumb across your skin. “Life wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Consequences,” you repeat. “Your actions have consequences.”

Regardless of what you should or shouldn’t do, you lean into his touch. Into the warmth his skin provides that you’re scared you’ll never feel from someone else ever again.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I did, and you shouldn’t either. But please know I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

“Chenle,” you murmur.

“Yes?”

“Don’t call me anymore.” You gulp. “I won’t answer.”

You see the hurt play out on his face, but you know it’s only a fraction of what he put you through.

When he opens the door, the frigid air replaces him. A shiver runs through you, but you’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from the way it feels like your heart and soul are being ripped to shreds for a second time.

You thought he was the one. You thought he was perfect for you. Perfect in general.

You thought you didn’t deserve him, and it’s a damn shame that it took until now for you to realize it’s the other way around.

He stands in the driveway, illuminated by your headlights until you’re pulling away and driving off down the street. You watch him through your rearview mirror, holding your breath as he gets smaller and smaller.

As soon as he’s gone from your sight, a sob cracks open your chest. You scream and cry for all the things you lost, and you don’t even know where to go from here. You’re barely a mile away from Chenle’s when your phone starts ringing again.

Your chest still shakes from the pain, but you answer Mark’s call.

“Yeah?” You sniffle, aggressively wiping your eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asks quickly, voice laced with worry. “I swear, I was dead asleep and then I just…I woke up. And then I saw your location at Chenle’s, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m okay. He was stranded and called me for a ride home.”

Mark sighs. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). You should’ve called one of us.”

“I know.” You run your fingers through your hair. “I’ll be fine. I just need to go back to sleep.”

“Do you want to come here?” he offers. “You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be.”

You contemplate for a moment. When the boys sat you down to tell you what Chenle had done, Mark was the one who made sure you got home alright. He stayed with you for that one night to make sure Chenle didn’t show up after you broke things off.

“Can I do that?” you whisper, afraid your voice will break if you speak any louder.

“Of course,” he says. You hear him shuffle around in the background, presumably getting out of bed.

“Thank you,” you say, relieved. “It’s literally taking all of my strength not to turn around and go back to him.”

“Doesn’t matter what he thinks, you’re a part of us now, okay? We take care of our own,” Mark replies. “Just get here safe.”

You say your goodbyes and hang up, switching directions to find Mark and Haechan’s apartment. When you park your car in the lot, it takes a few minutes to work up the courage to get out.

And then you’re standing in front of the building, looking up to the fifth floor where you know they’re at. The air is so frigid, you can see your breath clouding around you. It sinks into your skin, into your bones, but for some reason, it’s the first time tonight that you feel you can breathe. As the chill sets in, so does reality. So does the truth.

A man who loves you won’t do the things Chenle did. He wouldn’t be defensive if his friends told you about it, and he certainly wouldn’t be calling you at 3am, crying and begging for help.

You inhale deeply, tasting the freezing cold as if it’s palpable.

It’s not going to be easy. In fact, it’ll probably be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but this was the last straw. You don’t want to be in pain. Or feel unloved. You know you deserve more than that.

You promise yourself at that very moment that you’ll never allow yourself to go back.

You’re going to get over Zhong Chenle, even if it tears you to shreds in the process.

It can’t be worse than what he’s already done.

[nocturnalghoul]

Mushy May Day 8: First Time

Had a lot of thoughts about small dick Mountain being self-conscious about being intimate with some of the others cause everyone expects the big tall earth ghoul to have a giant dick, when in reality its pretty average, and it manifested into this. Zephyr helps the poor lad work past some of that during their first time together.

Hi @forlorn-crows remember when I said a random chunk of stuff about small dick Mounty in ya DMs like a week and a half ago? It’s a mushy may now :D (also thank you once again for organizing the whole Mushy May calendar!)

I'm forcing myself to try and keep my mushy may stuff short as a challenge to myself, but I’m (hopefully) going to be making this a proper full length explicit fic later on.

words: 1200

Rating: M (most of the actual sex itself is sort of skipped over but obviously there is still a lot of discussion and reference to it so just to be safe)

Read below the cut or on AO3 here

Of course Zephyr hears the rumors around the abbey, but they also know better than to listen to the gossip the siblings spread around. They love to snicker amongst themselves about the reportedly impressive package that the new gigantic earth ghoul was packing, saying that he was so reluctant to sleep with the siblings because he didn’t want to hurt them and other rather provocative images. 

It was interesting though, the few sisters who actually had a previous intimate encounter with Mountain seemed to always politely keep their mouths shut, keeping up an attitude that it’s nobody's business. He was rather shy with the ghouls too now that they thought about it, so the siblings stupid reasons had to be incorrect. 

No, Zephyr finally realizes, the other ghoul must be self-conscious about something for a yet to be revealed reason. It wasn’t a large concern though, with the way the two ghouls kept circling around one another it was only a matter of time before they would get to find out all for themself. There truly was no rush, they have always been a rather easy going ghoul, allowing life to carry them whichever way the wind may blow. They would never want to rush the earth ghoul in general, but especially into something he obviously has some apprehension about.

Only a week after that thought, it appears that the moment has arrived. After sneaky quick little make-out sessions all throughout the day whenever they would run into each other, Mountain finally invites the air ghoul to meet up in his chambers later that night after dinner. Zephyr can’t help the way his face quirks up into a small smile, his patience having finally proved worth it. 

Zephyr knocks on the door and laughs at the small surprised squeak he hears Mountain let out before he calls for them to come in. They feel the way their eyebrows shoot up when met with the already mostly naked earth ghoul and quickly step inside, taking care to lock the door. 

“I’m not running late, was I? Or are you just that excited, darling” Zephyr teases, moving to run a comforting hand along the already flustered earth ghoul’s arm. 

“More nervous than anything, and I didn’t want to have to spend time in my head about things while taking off unnecessary layers” Mountain spits out, looking intently at the floor. 

Zephyr places one hand on the earth ghoul’s chin, pressing lightly to encourage eye contact. “Mount, if you don’t want to-”

“No!” he interupts, a flash of worry coming across his face before looking up at the ceiling and chewing his lip.

“No what, little jade. No you don’t want to continue, or no you want to proceed?” Zephyr attempts to say as gently as possible, allowing their hand to slip upward, fingers combing through Mountain’s soft hair while they wait for him to figure out his answer. 

“I really do want to do this. I have for a while, I just… I don’t want you to be disappointed is all” 

“Nothing about you could ever disappoint me, Mountain. How about we start slow since you seem so worried.”

“Y-yeah, that sounds fine. It's not really that, it’s just- I know you have probably heard what all the siblings say and it’s not really true. I get why they assume that but it puts some pressure on me to bring something I don’t have, you know? It makes the first time with somebody feel like I’m going to let them down.” 

Zephyr has to stop themselves from immediately telling the other ghoul that his concerns are silly. To them, the alleged size of the earth ghouls dick was an irrelevant factor, but clearly this was the source of insecurity that had been causing Mountain to be distant when it came to intimacy with the other ghouls. While silly to Zephyr, that was not something that would make Mountain feel better. 

“I can tell that this is something that has been worrying you, little jade.” Zephyr starts softly after a moment's consideration. “All that matters to me is being here with you. I understand your trepidation, but please be assured that the drivel the siblings love to spout about the alleged size of your dick is far from the reason for my being here.”

They watch the way Mountain lets out a long breath, finally relaxing into the soft touches Zephyr has been supplying this entire time. 

“I know that I just-... I-... thank you for saying it I guess, Zeph” Mountain manages to mutter out. He seems to be letting go of some of that apprehension, but Zephyr can see the way his fangs dig into his bottom lip anxiously. 

“How about this, you finish undressing, and then lay down and let me take care of you okay? Let me put all those fears to rest.” 

Mountain nods quickly then takes a moment to fiddle with the band of his pants before removing them and laying back on the bed as requested. Zephyr does his best not to immediately look at the earth ghouls cock but with all the fuss about it they don’t manage to hold out long. It’s a little skinny, and overall rather average sized. He understands why everyone expects the earth ghoul to be equipped with something larger, but this is almost nicer, manageable.

The air ghoul quickly joins him, grabbing Mountain’s face in their hands softly, taking a moment to stroke their thumbs over his cheeks. They begin by kissing him on the nose before letting go and slowly working their way down whispering little praises into Mountain’s skin. 

Zephyr hums contently as he watches the other’s cock begin to fill out and harden as they continue their lazy path downwards, sucking beautiful little spots of color trailing across his sternum and down his chest. They can feel the way Mountain’s muscles jump beneath the skin everywhere they go and the deep rumble reverberating through his chest with each loud moan they manage to elicit from him. 

“Zeph, please” Mountain manages to choke out, and the air ghoul decides that the poor guy's cock has gone ignored long enough. 

“So lovely” the air ghoul whispers into the hollow of Mountain’s hip before shifting his attention like Mountain so sweetly asked. 

“Look at this beautiful sprouting sapling growing just for me, little jade. So perfect” Zephyr lilts. Mountain lets out an adorably strangled noise at the words. 

“Zeph, I need-” he attempts to begin, but Zephyr watches as the words slip away as they begin to mouth at his cock. 

The two hastily allow themselves to get lost in the whole affair, the earlier plan to start slowly and focus on Mountain mutually abandoned completely as they rapidly begin to paw at each other with incessant need. 

Afterwards as the two lay side by side fully exhausted, Zephyr is left somewhat speechless. “Unholy lord below do you know how to use that thing” are the only words that manage to slip out of his racing mind, the both of them bursting into uncontrollable fits of laughter at the outburst. 

Yeah, Zephyr thinks to himself, Mountain had nothing to be worried about.

[blooming-violets]

Sorry this is gonna be a bit of a rant since it’s something I’ve had strong feelings about since joining the AG/TASM fanfic part of the internet, and you’ve provided me a great opportunity to talk about it.

As a trans person, I am BEGGING fanfic writers to stop writing Marauders stuff. I’ve seen so many people defend it with “separate art from the artist” but like it or not they are still supporting JKR. Separating art from the artist only really works when the artist can’t profit from it. She has done SO MUCH harm to trans people and particularly trans youth in the UK and it’s so fucking disheartening and gives me such an ick when I see TASM writers also write for Marauders because it truly comes across as “I love and support the trans community except when it comes to this because I like it.”.

Even if you ignore the transphobia and holocaust denial (YES IM SERIOUS, she’s denied parts of the holocaust at LEAST twice and she literally did it a second time the other day), the original writing is so fucking problematic. Things just off the top of my head being;

The goblins being stereotypes of Jewish people

The fucking racism with characters like Cho Chang and Kingsley Shacklebolt

The last Fantastic Beasts movie’s plot literally being trying to make WW2 and the holocaust happen

This point needs to be taken with a grain of salt since this was some bullshit Joanne said after the books came out, but werewolves in the universe being meant to represent people with aids. Which is so fucking awful considering one of the two werewolves was attacked by the other as a CHILD

The most ironic part of this is that if Andrew is truly the person he presents himself as, he would probably fucking despise being associated with HP, even if it is just a fancast. But yeah all this to say fuck JKR, fuck Marauders fans but also thank you so much Katie for that last anon answer because I genuinely don’t see that enough in this corner of the internet.

Even Daniel Radcliffe, Harry Potter himself, has spoken out against her and continues to loudly support the LGBTQ+ communities. When your own beloved Harry doesn't even want to stand by your side, you should know you fucked up. Sadly, she does not, and instead leans harder into her bigotry and hatred.

I've always been someone who is very loud and opinionated when I see things that I disagree with, which I know can rub some people the wrong way, but fuck it. I don't like to whisper about my issues on the sidelines, I like to confront the problem head on by being very clear about where I stand and how I feel. I'm not gonna sit around and let someone align me with JKR just because I'm writing a stupid werewolf and Peter Parker fic that exactly 5 people are reading lol. It's not even a popular fic like get out of my asks jfc. Esp when I can tell this person has not read a single sentence of my story and is completely basing their judgements on my header image of AG's face next to a wolf gif.

In this past week I have seen both a Steven Harrington werewolf au and a Daredevil werewolf au cross my dash. Do we think they're getting called out for supporting HP?? No. Because their actors weren't "fan casted" as something years ago. Fan casts don't even mean anything! There was never a movie about them. AG was never casted or played this role. It's literally nothing but a bunch of fans agreeing that they like his look for a fictional character.

Anyway, I'm also ranting back at you haha. You can rant to me anytime. I love a good rant and I agree with you 100%.

Werewolves were not created by JKR. Andrew Garfield has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Don't make make snap judgments about a person's character based on a picture you saw. Support your trans community. Don't be dick.

And, if they actually read my werewolf au, they would see that it's literally about learning to overcome your own hatred and biases of people different from you and learning to love those you were taught to hate. Crazy concept, I know! 🙄😉

[pinkcherryblossomangel]

Away from myself

A follow up to AWAY FROM HOME

Bang Chan x reader

- it's eight months after the last chapter

- it's seven months since Y/N saw some nasty responses to rumours

- it's six months since she started spiralling

- five months since she stopped replying to his text

- four months since she stopped reading them

- three months since he stopped messaging

- two months since she stopped sleeping properly

- one day till she has to see him again.

STARING

Bang Chan

Han

Changbin

Y/N

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

TRIGGER WARNINGS

Depression

NSFW

Negative body image

Anxiety

Self-hatred

General poor mental health

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

His hand reaches up, grabbing mine out of his hair. Our finger interlock as he continues to explore.

My breath hitches at every change in direction.

The vibration of his giggles adding to the build up.

I glance down and see the smirk in his eyes.

The intense connection pushing me towards ~

I lurch awake. Panting, as sweat trickles down my back and forehead.

That didn't happen...

I wanted it more than anything, but that didn't happen.

I tear away my duvet and head to the bathroom. Walking down the dark hallway I know better than the back of my hand. It's been six months since I last spoke to Chris. And 3 months since he stopped trying to contact me.

Why do I always do this?

I always ruin everything good.

The cold water on my hands grounds me. The sensation reminding that this is what is real. The girl in the mirror is me. She is here. I am here.

"You okay sweetheart" my mums voice adds to the dawn birds song.

"Yeah just.."

"A bad dream?" She asks standing in the doorway. How do I answer this? Cause no. It wasn't a bad dream. It was an incredible one. One that reminded me of how utterly stupid I am.

"Yeah".

"Come here!" My mums embrace envelopes me in comfort. "Remember those bad dreams aren't really my love." I know that's the problem "and if they were I'd fight them off for you". She pinches my cheek like she did when I was a baby.

How can someone so full of love have made me?

"Now get back to sleep. Big day tomorrow!" Her excitement making me feel guilty for my lack.

"Do I have to go?!" I almost plead. She brushes my hair from my face.

"Y/N... my love yes. Yes you have to go! In two days time we will be in London. On a red carpet, at the premiere of your first every big film." The pride radiates off her. "My little girl" her eyes start to well, my follow in response. "Look at you living your dream! Being my little star!"

"I'm taller than you" I laugh between sobs.

"You'll always be my little girl." She switches in to PA mode, "Now go to bed, the train to London is at 9. And you have a call with your manager at 8."

"Love you mum"

"Love you too." She hugs me again "now move I need the toilet!"

************************************

I beat my alarm by five minutes. My dad always said to set it 20 minutes before the scheduled arrival, so when you fall asleep, you don't miss your stop.

I guess he had some good advice after all.

My phones buzzes but it's not the alarm.

It's him.

It's Chris.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckity.

Fuck.

I can't ignore him, tomorrow evening we'll be sat next to each other at the screening. Maybe I can ask Han to swap seats. Or is that too harsh? I just know that if his thigh touches mine...

Y/N, no. You can't do this. He deserves way better than you. Someone who could love him so much more than you can. You'll burden him. I love him too much to do that.

I'll check his message at the hotel. I pull my head phones and press shuffle.

Not now...

I haven't listen to them in months and now! The god damn universe hates me.

This will do. My eyes settle on the countryside flying past.

I need to be brave.

************************************

I thank the receptionist as she hands me the PR plan for the next two weeks.

First the London premiere, then to the La premiere and lastly off to Seoul for the Asian premiere. The 3racha soundtrack is highly anticipated there, so much so they changed to an even bigger venue than la.

From what I heard it will be worth the wait. Chan would come over to my room every night after filming to show me what they'd come up with. Each snippet better than the last.

Each night ending in a passionate embrace.

No.

Stop it.

I close my eyes as if that will make the images erase from my mind.

Shit his text. I can't just ignore it. Why am I hyping myself up to read a text? What is wrong with me. Jesus.

I chuck my phone on the couch next to the TV. What am I gonna say.

I'm sorry Chris, I didn't message you for 6 months because I saw one tweet about us being friends and how I'm a fat piece of shit and I started to spiral and haven't been able to look at any thing to do with stray kids since then!

Or maybe

I'm sorry Chris that I somehow tricked you into liking me in anyway possible, we should just pretend nothing ever happened between us. Pretend that everytime something good happens, it isn't immediately ruined because I can't tell him. And then i wallow in my own stupid self-pity.

Christ... he really dodged a bullet

Flopping down on the bed, i open the manila envelope to see who I'm paired with for the interviews. I'm guessing it'll be with Jack, my on screen boyfriend. Haven't spoken to him since we stopped filming. So that's another awkward re-meeting tomorrow.

But it's not Jack's name there. Or jenna or tash. No it's non of my fellow actors. It's the boys of 3racha.

I immediately dial my manager.

"Hey Julie, I just got my PR plan. It says I'm doing the press bracket with 3racha? I thought I'd be doing it with Jack? Or another actor?"

"Oh yes! I forgot to say this morning! Since there's been such buzz around the soundtrack, Ryan thought it'd be a great idea to have them in the interviews. And he said you got along so well he'd thought you enjoy it!" Of course he did. "Is everything good? Do you want me to ask if they can change it?"

"No its okay, I was just a bit surprised is all" I can't kick up a fuss. I don't want any drama. "I'll see you tomorrow Julie!

" Remember, your interviews start at 9 am. I'll be there at 11. And then 7pm it's the red carpet and at 9pm it's the screening."

"I know," I say, trying to emphasise how many times I've been over the plan. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you"

"Thank you Y/N! Now have a nice dinner and treat your mum to something nice!"

"Don't worry I will". I hang up.

I need to text chan back.

I am not ready.

Someone knocks at the door. I open it and he's there.

Christopher is there in front of me.

I can't control myself. I burst into tears.

"I guess we're hotel neighbours again" he smiles sadly.

[ama-the-weeb]

HONGICE WEEK DAY 2!!! Prompts: Modern Day Nationverse / Historical. I went for Nationverse because I had a more solid idea for it. Fic under cut! (@hongiceweek)

If there was one thing nearly all nations could agree upon, it would be that the meetings are absolutely boring. Well, that’s what Hong Kong thinks, anyway. The past few minutes of this world meeting have just been constant droning on and on about something he honestly couldn’t care less about.

Hiding his phone under the table, Hong Kong scrolls through various social media sites. Anything to give him some relief from the utterly boring meeting. Suddenly, a notification appears: a text message from Iceland.

“I can see you scrolling from here,” it says. Hong Kong holds his breath to restrain a laugh. 

“Yeah, I am, this meeting is hella boring.” Hong texts back a reply.

“Set off a distraction if you can, then we can ditch this stupid meeting,” Iceland suggests via text.

“Great idea,” Hong Kong texts back. 

For a few moments, he sits there, plotting to himself. How will he go about derailing the meeting so bad that he can easily sneak out without getting noticed? He looks around. France is a few seats in front of him. France is dramatic, isn’t he? Say, if Hong Kong threw an eraser or something at him, he would freak out, wouldn’t he?

It’s a good plan, but Hong Kong doesn’t have anything to throw… Until he looks over to the person sitting next to him. China has a tiny eraser sitting just within grabbing range. Hong quickly looks at China; he is spacing the hell out. 

As fast as he possibly can, Hong Kong grabs the eraser and throws it at France as subtly as he possibly can. The reaction is immediate as the eraser strikes France in the head. He gasps dramatically and starts yelling something in French before turning around and yelling at the poor nation who was directly behind him. The situation furtherly escalates due to the poor nation in question being none other than Italy Romano.

The on-going screaming match is a big enough distraction that Hong Kong finds that opening he needs to sneak out. Finally, he leaves the Meeting Hall of Boredom and comes face to face with Iceland, his best friend and crush. 

“Good one,” Iceland congratulates him, the smallest of smiles on his gorgeous and pale face.

“Thanks,” Hong Kong replies. “Now let’s get the hell outta here!”

With a nod, Iceland takes Hong Kong’s hand and they make their way out of the building. Hong Kong swears to himself to cherish this moment.

“So, where do you want to go?” Iceland asks as they walk down the sidewalk.

“I dunno,” Hong Kong mumbles.

Iceland sighs and awkwardly lets go of Hong Kong’s hand, his face flushing a light pink color. 

“I’m gonna check my phone and see if there’s anywhere cool nearby,” Hong Kong comments, pulling out his phone and ignoring the several text messages from his old man China. 

“Find anything?” Iceland asks after a few moments of silence. 

“There’s a park nearby, we can go and enjoy the nice weather there.”

“That sounds nice.” Iceland smiles, and Hong Kong makes an effort to burn the image into his memory.

The two of them then make their way to that park, Hong Kong guiding them and noting every turn they have to take to get there. They chat about nothing particularly important and make fun of the funny things they picked out from the boring meeting. They eventually get to the park after about 10 minutes, but it doesn’t feel like it.

“And here we are,” Hong Kong says, dragging Iceland with him into this beautiful park. 

“Wow.” Iceland sighs. “It’s really pretty.”

Hong Kong has to stop himself from saying “Just like you.”

The both of them find a nice bench to sit on. They chat and simply enjoy each other’s company.

“I’m glad we ditched the meeting together,” Iceland comments.

“Me too,” Hong Kong replies.

Their time together is interrupted by the sound of Iceland’s phone going off. He picks it up and visibly winces. After a couple of moments, he hangs up and sets his phone down. 

“That was Nore,” Iceland mumbles. “He’s mad because I vanished. We should head back now.”

“Yeah,” Hong Kong mumbles back, not wanting this moment to end just yet. “Wanna hang out more after the meeting?”

“Yeah,” Iceland answers. “I would love that.”

[babypinkhearts]

mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness.

pairing: fushiguro megumi + fem!reader

summary: you love him. so you let him torture you further.

warnings: angst! megumi is complicated (what’s new), but comfort!!! the sweetest of sweet things. mentions of being emotionally unavailable.

a/n: inspired by the song “woman” by john lennon. one of my favorites, i definitely recommend you go listen :) i have been writing my heart out these past few weeks, i feel like it’s my biggest hyperfixation at the moment. thank you for all the love recently <3 i am so happy.

two knocks will do it.

or a third. megumi’s hand stills.

his eyes scan the scenery. the outdoor mat he recognizes too well on the floor, decorated with images of small woodland creatures. the hummingbirds gather around the greeting words in minimalistic font.

he finds it less welcoming than anything, his teeth chewing the inside of his cheek.

this was a stupid idea.

the sound of rustling comes from the other side of the door, and his careful eyes observe. he hears a click. the door opens, barely, and he’s able to briefly see your wide eyes.

megumi sticks his foot in the gap before you have a chance to slam it shut.

“what the fuck.” you deadpan, eyes now locked on the floor where megumi was now trespassing. the audacity. “dude, take a hint.”

fifty missed calls, all intentional. messages that haven’t even been opened clog your phone, and you had planned to keep it that way for much longer. yet megumi only straightens a little more, and stares.

“let me in.” he responds, gaze unrelenting. and sure, this wasn’t the reaction he wanted, but you seemed less upset than he imagined you’d be. “please.”

megumi kept that same stoic look on his face, despite his stomach feeling like it was being twisted in two — all anxious and troubling. his pride hurt. he wondered if he would have to start begging on his knees for your forgiveness, or maybe kiss your hands and write the most obnoxiously long love letter ever created. admittedly, for you, he’d let himself with no hesitation. how weak he had become.

narrowing your eyes at him, you give a few futile attempts to close the door, growing increasingly frustrated as he continues standing, relentless. he simply refused to budge.

megumi watches as your eyes instinctively shut tightly in annoyance, and he tests his luck, leaning just the tiniest further in.

“megumi—“ you sigh, running a hand down your face, exasperated. and there’s some hope megumi hears in your voice. you shut him down immediately, though, and shake your head without a second thought. “no. leave me alone.”

a part of you wants to add in — ‘like you have been’ — but you swallow the bitter sentence.

don’t fall in love with boys who don’t know how to love.

or, more importantly, don’t fall in love with boys who can’t love back.

it’s a treacherous battle, you’ve learned. megumi has always been abrasive, and those moments where empathy shines through have (without failure) been blocked by gloomy clouds before it’s able to reach you. he’s pretty in theory, but uncovering him has it’s ugly bits. he’s aware.

for a serene, peaceful moment, you think that megumi listens to you. he slowly turns to his side, and you expect him to walk down the patio steps and go back home.

but he stands there for a little too long, his foot still nudged in the crack stupidly made by your naivety. every rational (and ethical) thought seems to leave his mind as he finds himself forcing your door wide open.

“oh my god—” you exclaim, hands thrown in the air, mouth open in disbelief. you’ve backed up from the door, brows furrowed. “megumi, seriously, what the fuck!?”

dumbfounded, you watch as he simply lets himself inside, leaning back against the door to shut it. the ‘click!’ is audible with the deathly silence.

“it was cold.” is all he says, before swallowing thickly. “and i need you to stop ignoring me.”

yeah, he wished he had a better approach.

megumi was normally calculated and a lot more thoughtful. he’d weigh in pros and cons, analyzing everything to it’s minute detail. you were probably the only factor that could lead him into spontaneity.

you laugh a little. it’s a sound that comes out bitter, and lacks any real amusement. bewilderment, really. you can feel some ice crack, and megumi stills.

“what the fuck.” you repeat, quietly now. and it’s clear that you’re seething — all the animosity is clear on your face. this wasn’t like megumi at all. he was always patient, and he usually understood boundaries. enforced them, even.

you momentarily glance at him. he’s pleading with his eyes.

“please.”

megumi’s cheeks are flushed, he can feel it. the color comes from the freezing weather outside, and the sudden embarrassment that clouds his head. the realization of his actions, how he forced his way in. his eyes grow wide, alarmed and seemingly more sensible. he hastily turns to you, saying, “i’ll go back outside, i’m sorry, i just really need to —“

“you’re already inside.”

your hostility had yet to dissipate, and if you could think clearly enough, you’d be able to feel the burning sensation of your nails digging into your palms. this felt like a bad dream. but the desperation in his voice is almost unbearable to listen to, and there is the glimmer of the north star guiding you, naturally searching the idiot in front of you. like it always does. “whatever you say better be worth it.”

it’s mature, your resolve. let him talk, and then he can leave peacefully.

but, what did he want? closure? because you never got that. and you weren’t sure if you wanted it. it’s why your phone idly sits on your bedside table, constantly on do not disturb. for the mere purpose of avoiding him. and everything, really.

you come to a cruel realization that megumi would probably be the only person benefiting this sudden appearance. he could leave, and you’d still be left quite broken. mangled, at this point. no room for repair.

but you love him. so you let him torture you further.

megumi nods feverishly at your response, visibly relieved. “okay, okay, just give me a second.”

he looks small against the door. cowering into himself, fidgeting.

you raise a brow, tilting your head. “for what?”

yes, megumi had come all this way to see you without a single plan in mind.

spontaneity.

“i’m nervous.” megumi quickly replies, and while it isn’t a lie in the slightest, it isn’t the answer to your question. he doesn’t know how to say what he wants to tell you. he’s bad with words, bad with communicating, bad with you.

your hand impatiently beckons him, urging to spill whatever he seems so bothered by. “it’s okay. just get it over with.”

you make it sound too easy. it’s not that easy.

megumi’s hesitance is almost awkward, and you find an excuse to look around at everything in the room but him. your head hurt. every part of you was overwhelmed, the presence of your ex-boyfriend too unbearable to keep an unbothered act.

he looks the same, maybe a little more restless. you hope he had been sleeping well. two months without him, and yet you can’t seem to notice too much of a difference. the familiarity is comforting, in some weird, twisted way.

but, why come now? all the texts, the phone calls — all in one singular day.

bad things only start appearing once the past issues are nearly faded. salt rubbed into a healing wound.

you try to be optimistic and convince yourself that he doesn’t know how much he’s hurting you by being near you, but you know megumi. it’s not unlike him to be selfish. he’d already shown you that.

“megumi, it’s late. just—“

“i want you.”

and heat rises to your face, warm enough to mistake as a fever. every word is caught on your tongue, and it feels like the world caves in for a moment.

now, the anger returns. stronger than ever.

you hold so much resentment. it’s unhealthy for a person to feel what you have within the past two months. bitter, betrayed, and yet helplessly enamored. but now, you’re frustratingly confused. it makes you want to rip your hair out. why couldn’t this be normal? it’s barbaric, the way that agony doesn’t have a limit. you suppose you’ll stay with the ache forever.

“you-“ and your breath is shaking, eyes a little blurry in fury. you want the ground below you to split in half and swallow you whole. for the world to naturally end, mimicking the feeling in you that it already has. “fuck you, megumi.”

you’re scolding yourself, mentally screaming, because your chest stings as you watch him silently bow his head.

he’s not allowed to feel shitty. he ended things, and now he has the audacity to act hurt. as if two whole months haven’t passed by, and he isn’t here to remind you (cruelly, in person) how much heartbreak you’ve had to endure.

“why are you here?” your voice sounds so little, all bite manifested into exhaustion. because it’s taking everything in you to stand up straight. to not have your legs give out, and let him have you again. “why are you doing this?”

you’re blunt because you can’t drag it out for much longer. maybe you did need closure. you would like to think you deserved it.

megumi stiffens, and his hands instinctively find themselves in his pockets. it’s a habit you are well aware of, a part of you expecting waiting for it to happen. you know him like a book.

“…because i love you.”

he says it simply, as if it’s the answer to everything. the casualty of it makes you want to cry.

but you can’t remember him ever saying that before. and maybe that’s why your skin is suddenly wet, glistening with reminders of just how strongly you felt for this boy.

he awaits an answer, quietly. staring like he’s afraid he’s made the worst decision possible. it’s genuine, every word is more meaningful than you know, and he prays you know it.

but your head bows low, and you think he might be some form of evil.

“you’re being mean, megumi.”

and megumi knows he is. but the desire of you is too strong for him to handle. truthfully, he’s never doubted the intensity of what he feels for you. megumi is complicated, though.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” he mumbles, and it takes him all the willpower in the world to blink away his own emotions. because he’s not the one that should be hurting. “i’m sorry for all of it.”

after you’re accustomed, it’s hard to get rid of something. megumi doesn’t think he could live without you. it was a mistake to believe he could. endless weeks of just staring at remainders of you everywhere. walking by the aquarium where you had your first date, eyes never missing the shampoo you used to buy at the store. he still has a few shirts with the faint fragrance of your perfume. he can’t bring himself to wash them.

“i miss you.” his voice is strained, and he hopes again that you believe him. “you deserve everything, and i want to give you that.”

your arms are hugging your sides, and you’re painstakingly aware of the slow steps megumi has began to take towards you. they’re wary, but you know you don’t have the strength to step back.

“i love you.” he repeats, and you close your eyes tightly.

again, megumi is normally calculated. and thoughtful. his rashness settles, and he watches you carefully. you don’t stop him. a hand raises, and he wipes your tear-stained cheek, all warm with frustration and emotion. the touch is soft, and you really can’t remember him ever being this careful. his guard is down, his eyes are watering, and you can feel his hand shaking. vulnerability in megumi, as rare as it comes.

he always had trouble expressing his thoughts with you. you can’t blame him, because you know his past hasn’t been ideal. you always hated seeing him suffer in silence. nonetheless, you were patient. so sickeningly patient it made megumi’s stomach do flips.

it’s his biggest regret, telling you to leave him. all you ever tried to do was help.

“i thought,” he brings his head towards you, gently resting his forehead on yours. his hair tickles your face. you shiver. “i thought it’d be smart to end us. i never want to see you sad.”

megumi knows it was a double-edged sword. he ended up hurting you anyway, and himself in the process. too weak to overcome the natural human emotion that is love.

“i’m stupid, aren’t i?” and he chuckles, a regretful smile on his face. a few tears fall. “i’m so, so stupid.” he takes in a sharp breath.

he knew your breakup was a mistake the second he had watched your face fall. he was certain when you had walked out the door. you tend to realize just how great you had it after it’s already gone.

and you’re very forgiving. too good to him, megumi thinks, because he feels you nod against him.

“so stupid.” you affirm.

communication is something you can never hold against megumi. he struggles with it, and it’s why you’re so lenient. this, to see you, pour his heart out, and tell you he loves you, is him trying. him trying so incredibly hard.

you feel his body start to shake, and you wordlessly go back to your natural instinct, brushing his hair aside to place a tender kiss on his forehead.

“i love you, megumi.”

it’s an easy admission. you’ve expressed it dozens of times, and finally, those words can be heard back. this time, it’s muffled through your hair as he buries himself into your very being. the saying is repeated endlessly, and his grip tightens.

i love you.

it’s stability, and it’s delightful.

[captainswanapproved]

The Serpent's Conquest-Chapter 4

Summary:

Princess Jasmine has always been a thorn in Jafar’s side, but as her sixteenth birthday approaches, he begins to see her as an object of desire. The thought of possessing her is eminently satisfying, but even more delicious is forcing her to choose him. Jafar forms a plan to seduce the princess and seize the throne for himself, knowing with certainty that he will be victorious.

Notes:

Hi everyone. So I have a confession to make, the plans for this fic have been nearly blown to pieces. But, on the bright side, you will get more chapters. I have a vague idea of where I want to end it, but I'm also following the muse, and allowing the story to take shape on its own. With that said, I am going to continuously update the tags. You'll find that now I've added Jasmine/OC and Jasmine/Aladdin. It's a necessary evil. This chapter is certainly more rated M, and if my suspicions are correct, next chapter, things will get significantly darker and more worthy of the trigger warnings. It will also mark the end of Act 1 of this story. I hope you all will bear with me and enjoy the ride.

A03, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Strong, narrow fingers moved across the planes of Jasmine’s body. A thumb tweaked the tip of her breast, making her moan in satisfaction. The other hand made a slow yet exhilarating journey to the core of her being. She knew she was slick and ready, but ready for what she could not say.

Then two of his fingers pushed into her warm depths, curling sinfully, bringing her to the brink of some unfamiliar precipice. Lips molded against hers, swallowing her virginal mewling.

Her lover increased the pace and she arched herself to meet the tips of the skillful fingers. Heat built up inside of her, and she longed for a release from the burning. She dug her fingernails into the strong body above her, breaking the skin.

“So close,” Jasmine nearly whined, but close to what?

And then her pleasure crested, her release breaking over her heated body like a wave. She cried out a name, one she had only ever said with irritation or anger. Now it was like a benediction.

“Yes, my desert bloom, come apart for me. Soon enough I will take you as my own.” The voice was familiar, sinful, and deep.

Jasmine was desperate to know what would come next, but before she could find out—

Pounding broke the silence of Jasmine’s bedchamber. Someone was banging on her door.

“Princess! It is late. Prince Khaled will be here soon. You must look your best.”

“Go away,” Jasmine murmured sleepily, wishing to return to her dream.

“Princess!”

The desperation in her handmaiden’s voice finally fully roused her. “Enter, Dalia,” Jasmine called.

Her loyal handmaiden swung open the chamber door with great relief. “Princess, thank goodness. It is unlike you to sleep so late. We have little time to waste.”

Dalia bustled across the room to the wardrobe and withdrew a sky blue gown, decorated with gold and silver embroidery.

Jasmine reluctantly rose from her bed and allowed Dalia to strip away her sleepwear in favor of the gown.

“Princess, are you well? You seem flushed, and you were making noises in your sleep.”

“I was?” Jasmine asked, recalling the private images that had filled her dreams,

“You were. You can always confide in me. Has one of the suitors finally succeeded in catching your eye?” Dalia assessed her with womanly frankness, as if she was fully aware of the nature of Jasmine’s dreams.

“Of course not,” Jasmine sputtered. Rather, someone else had been haunting her dreams incessantly since her birthday, but in the past two weeks, the dreams had taken a more sensual turn, filling her head with the most shameful desires. Why in Allah’s name had her traitorous mind latched onto the Grand Vizier of all people?

She remembered his heated kiss in the alcove after the first council meeting she had been fortunate enough to attend.

I have no wish to have a stupid, uninformed girl for my wife and queen.

His words had haunted her for the past fourteen days. If that was truly Jafar’s scheme, then she would have to select a suitor before the snake could manage to manipulate her father into changing the law.

For she would never willingly walk down the aisle to meet Jafar. She could not wed a man she despised, even if his touch ignited something primal and powerful within her.

She was sure she could find a prince who could stir a similar feeling. And then she could publicly oust her father’s most trusted advisor.

“Princess,” Dalia said. “Why do you look so wretched? Has it truly been so awful, to meet princes from all over the Arabian kingdoms, to be courted and flattered?”

“They only flatter me because they want the throne. None of the suitors I have met thus far have cared for any aspect of me as a person. Not my mind, or my wit, or any other admirable trait instilled in me by my noble parents. All they see is a crown, and a vessel for their future sons.”

Dalia’s features softened with sympathy as she continued to style Jasmine’s voluminous tresses. “You will find someone deserving of you, Princess. You only have to keep an open mind and heart.”

“I will have to satisfy myself with an open book today, and pray that Prince Khaled is enlightened enough to believe that women should be allowed to improve themselves through the written word.” Though Jasmine did not hold out hope.

When Jasmine was deemed suitable to meet the prince, she grabbed one of the ancient tomes Jafar had sent to her mother’s study. Jasmine went to wait in the garden, where she always met with her suitors. She had insisted to her father that if she must meet with all the nobles in Arabia, she would do so in the place where she felt most at ease.

Jasmine perched at the edge of the fountain and opened the book. It was a history of the Sultans of Agrabah, detailing their trials and victories. She found it to be a stimulating and challenging read, so much so that she was tempted to thank Jafar, but she would not risk it. Once again, she had gone back to avoiding him.

This had been impossible to do during the three council meetings she had attended, as Jafar sat to her right. She had been wise enough to refrain from speaking, and therefore had spared herself from being pulled into curtained alcoves and scolded. . . among other things.

Jasmine spent the meetings trying to study each of the men of her father’s council, to discern their motives and loyalties. Admittedly she had yet to make much progress. The Minister of Finance still irked her. The Minister of Agriculture was a man of science and logic. The Minister of War was eager to spill the blood of Agrabah’s enemies. As for the others, she could not be certain. It would take more time to understand the royal council.

More often than not, Jasmine admired the commanding way Jafar led the council meetings, even when her father deigned to be present. As much as she hated to extend any compliment to the bastard, she had to admit that Jafar was a born statesman. Which shouldn’t have surprised her, knowing what she did of his background.

Jafar had been born in the slums of Agrabah. His staggering intellect at the age of ten had gained him a spot in the Arabian Royal Academy. Oh, how Jasmine used to long to attend that noble institution, to be taught the art of diplomacy.

But alas, she was a woman, and would only ever be the wife of a ruler, not a ruler in her own right.

Jafar had graduated top of his class at age twenty, serving on the councils of foreign sultans before he had finally made his way back to Agrabah fifteen years ago. He had risen to Grand Vizier quickly, favored by her father, and even by her mother, attaining the noble office after a mere three years of service. Jafar had been, at the age of twenty-eight, the youngest Grand Vizier appointed in the history of Agrabah. He had held the position ever since, and admittedly, it suited him well. Though now Jasmine knew Jafar had higher aspirations, and he meant to achieve them through her.

But she would never allow that to happen. No matter how capable Jafar was, he was still ruthless and vicious. If she were ever fool enough to put her faith in him, she would suffer the consequences.

Better to be rid of him when she became queen. The only sure way to dispose of a snake was to chop off its head.

And if a traitorous voice whispered that no other man could elicit such passion within her, she ignored it. Better to rule with a clear head and a manageable husband, rather than to risk playing with fire, only to be immolated later.

___________

Jafar was eminently satisfied with his progress in the past two weeks. Jasmine been impressively docile and attentive during the council meetings. He had spied her on several occasions with her nose in the ancient tomes he had provided her with; they were books of history, politics, and philosophy.

But by far the best indication of his success in regards to Jasmine, were the delicious noises of satisfaction she made as he dreamed of him. He could not help but conceal himself and wait by her chamber door each night, using his magic to listen to the happenings within. He heard as she moaned, and panted, and best of all, cried his name. He was certain that after a few more weeks of this delightful torment that she would come to him to seek satisfaction, and he, gentleman that he was, would give into her every amorous whim. It never occurred to him that he was getting ahead of himself.

It was not as though he could conduct his seduction of the princess as freely as he would have wished. The palace guards were loyal to him. He paid them in what truly mattered, gold. The Sultan only treated them with kindness, and as such, Jafar was ultimately in control of the palace guards. They would not reveal his dealings with the princess if they caught them in a compromising position. And Jasmine herself, for whatever reason, had not confided in her father about their heated encounter in the alcove.

It was yet another indication that in time, Jasmine would willingly agree to be his queen. He could wait for her hatred to fade, for her desire for him to peak. He was a patient man, and the jewel of Agrabah and the throne that accompanied her was well worth the waiting. But Jafar disliked having only one plan. He needed a Plan B, should his seduction not prove to be successful by the appointed time.

And so, Jafar returned to a quest he had long since abandoned. A quest for a magical lamp.

_______________

Prince Khaled of Potamia was unique among Jasmine’s suitors thus far, in that he arrived on an elegant chestnut stallion flanked by a small retinue.

He did not throw himself at her feet and insist that she was the most wonderous jewel in all of Arabia.

Instead, he bowed low over her hand and asked if she would honor him by showing him the palace gardens.

Jasmine was stunned, and nodded dumbly in acceptance. His hand was large and warm and he tucked her smaller hand in the crook of his arm and drew her to his side.

Rajah followed them as they weaved between trees and bushes and fountains. Every square foot of the garden had been immaculately and elegantly designed by Jasmine’s mother.

She found herself shyly admitting this to Khaled.

Prince Khaled gave her a sad smile. “She must have been a remarkable person to create such beauty. I am sorry that you lost her. I, too, know what it is like to have lost a mother. The pain never quite leaves you, does it?”

Jasmine shook her head, slightly awed by his sincerity. “I am sorry that you have suffered so, Prince Khaled. I would not wish such pain upon my worst enemy.”

“It is my hope, Princess, that we will be far from enemies, but let us begin with friendship.” Khaled flashed her a charming smile and Jasmine’s heart fluttered ever so slightly.

When they returned to the fountain, Prince Khaled saw the book Jasmine had been reading before his introduction. “You like to read?”

“I love to read,” Jasmine said, admittedly her love of the activity was rather nascent, but true nonetheless.

“I am impressed. Most princesses I’ve med are content to embroider, play an instrument, dance, and practice perfect etiquette. I look forward to knowing you better.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Jasmine said.

They parted, somewhat reluctantly, so that they could both prepare for dinner. Jasmine hummed to herself as she walked back to her chambers. Today had not been a disaster after all. Perhaps Dalia had been correct when she told Jasmine to approach meeting suitors with an open heart. If Khaled continued to impress her, he would certainly be a prospect for her future husband and sultan.

And if a minuscule part of her whispered that the position was already occupied, the larger more rational part insisted that with a prince like Khaled at her side, she might have a chance at exacting her own influence over the kingdom, and she would most certainly thwart any schemes the Grand Vizier had.

________

The fool was touching what belonged to him. Jafar scowled into his wine goblet.

Jasmine’s laughter floated through the air. Jafar wanted to punish her for daring to play the coquette to one of her suitors.

It was true that Jafar had no legitimate claim upon Jasmine, but he knew, he knew, with every fiber of his being that she was meant to be his wife and queen. He had always been a possessive, jealous, and covetous man. If this nonsense continued, and the foolish prince became a legitimate rival, Jafar would have to dispose of him.

“Jafar, are you quite well?” The Sultan asked, tearing his eyes away from his smiling daughter.

Jafar kept his voice calm. “I am perfectly well, your highness. I am only suspicious of our guest.”

The Sultan raised a feathery brow. “Of Prince Khaled?” The Sultan kept his voice low, but Jafar doubted that either of the infatuated twits were paying them any mind. Jafar would take delight in punishing Jasmine as well, when the time came.

“He is a perfectly amiable and charming young man. He will be with us for a fortnight, longer if Jasmine consents to it.”

Jafar resisted the urge to scowl as Jasmine’s laughter rang through the room again. She was being an insipid little girl and he longed to throttle her. He would be sure to fill her dreams with possessive fantasies tonight. Then perhaps she would not dare to smile at the foolish prince of Potamia.

____________

Chains. Metal against stone. Terror. Punishment.

But for what, Jasmine did not know.

She was swathed in red, her abdomen bare, her chest barely covered. Cool metal rested on her right upper arm, ruby eyes glinted from the carving of a cobra.

Jasmine shivered hard, causing the chains at her wrists to vibrate.

The dungeon door creaked open, and Jasmine swallowed hard as Jafar entered. His dark eyes glimmered with menace, and his grip on her chin was bruising.  

“You are mine,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Say it.”

“No,” Jasmine said.

The sound of flesh against flesh echoed in the room. Her cheek burned. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

His hands were on her neck now.

“Say it.”

“No.” Jasmine tried to fight back, but the grip tightened on her throat and she gasped for air.

Her harem pants were yanked down. Jafar forced her thighs apart. An unwelcome intrusion accompanied by pain.

“Say it. Say that you belong to me.”

“Never,” Jasmine sneered.

A third finger was added. The pace rough and punishing. The other hand gripped her thigh tightly, enough to bruise. “Say it.”

Jasmine could not protest, for a wave of pleasure rocked through her. And then he was pushing inside her, his hands moving to the sides of her head, caging her to him.

Jasmine wrapped her legs around his hips, her hips rising to meet his stroke for stroke. The heavy chains hit the stone wall over and over again. It was the most exquisite pain she had ever experienced, and though she knew she would scarcely be able to walk the next day, she didn’t want it to ever stop.  

“Say that you’re mine. That no other man will ever claim you.”

“No,” Jasmine protested, for she could still not submit. It would not be right.

Jasmine’s cries were swallowed by an intoxicating kiss. Pain. Her mouth filled with blood, her lip split by this kiss of the viper. She dug her nails into his back, intent upon drawing blood as well.

And then, he was spilling his seed into her. Jafar shuddered and clung to her. His voice was hard and dangerous as he whispered in her ear. “You are mine. You will never allow another man to claim you. If you do, you will suffer for your disloyalty. Now say it.”

“I am yours,” Jasmine said before she could stop herself, hating herself for breaking. The chains melted away. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and his lips claimed hers with ferocity..

A familiar voice--her own?-- pierced the haze of her dream. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Fight him. Or die trying.

“Jafar, no!” Jasmine cried, her eyes flying open. Her body was thrumming with arousal, demanding release.

She felt disgusting. This had gone far enough.

She would marry Prince Khaled at the end of his sojourn, if only to rid herself of Jafar and his maddening grip on her dreams.

The dream would not come to fruition. She was safe. She had to be. After all, Jafar was her father’s most trusted advisor. He would never dare harm her for fear of losing his head.

But Jasmine was too inexperienced to know how desire could corrupt and darken a man’s heart. She was too blind to realize that her choices could have painful and deadly consequences.

__________

The snake staff shattered into thousands of tiny pieces.

Jafar stared at the ground in disbelief. Perhaps he had gone too far, but his jealousy had been potent fuel for his magic. Jasmine was stronger than he ever would have imagined to resist its pull.

Her strength of will would have deterred a lesser man. But it only made Jafar more desperate to break her, to possess her. To win.

The games were over. The stakes now higher than ever.

[galaxystar17]

Okey. Well I don't usually write propaganda unless im hella invested in the ship (also its my first time writing such so bear with me🙈). And as you can see I AM HELLA INVESTED for once lmao This may be long and there might be some slight spoilers ahead. Thanks to anyone who will read this🫶

Yeah honestly at first I was surprised around a year ago while searching through the a3 rarepairs week tag on ao3. I remember finding like a few juligawa fics back then and being like 'wait a minute— july has ships?!'​ quickly followed by 'wait thats a thing now? Well okay lets see how the dynamic looks like'. I didnt expect them to grow on me so much that I would consider creating a fic for them but here I am.

So here I will give you some reasons that perhaps may show you why theyre worth giving a chance:

->the dynamic. The famous celebrity manager and a secret agent. It already spells chaos, doesnt it? One of them is a very nice guy, responsible, hardworking and always out there to help not only the kid that hes managing (Tenma) but also others. BUT that doesnt mean hes naïve or that he didnt experience anything. AND theres the secret agent dude. Mysterious, hella distrustful and blindly believing in the organization as his life purpose. The guy that will not step away from anything to complete his mission. Yet theres also an additional side to him. The side that hates the idea of any family whether by blood or a found one. July finds it pointless, meaningless, stupid and a waste of time. Why? Because he probably was horribly treated by his own (if he had one) and that made him believe that real family cant survive and the ties will break off anyways at some point. This is what he tried to prove to august as well. That idiot that was stubborn in his eyes, that traitor that chose a found family over the organizations values. Their shared values.

Then you may ask OKAY SO WHAT DOES THE DYNAMIC BRING ACTUALLY?

-> imho what the dynamic and situations they could find themselves in can bring would be some development. But not only feelings wise. Like yeah that too but besides that what i want to highlight is character development - specifically july's as I think he could actually learn more from igawa than vice versa.

For instance, as he would spend more and more time with our lovely manager and sometimes take care of/help Tenma he starts to actually look at the concept of a family differently. Slowly starts to realize what august meant back then with the whole found family thing. And most importantly that it wasnt useless, it wasnt stupid. That August, in the end, was actually right. Just July was too blinded by revenge for 'betrayal' that he couldnt see anything else.

-> redemption arc (of sorts) - i feel like after realizing his mistake in killing august without thinking it through and a good reason plus when he would finally get the whole family thing, July could regret his past actions. I mean I doubt he would quit his job, but at least I had this image in my head of gekka making peace with each other more or less, July apologizing to Chikage and Hisoka for the shit he put them through. And most importantly to August for killing him. Also had this image where all three of them sat down on a bench in mankai dorms and talked to/about august together. 😭

-> found family - Those two looking out for tenma like some two dads with a kid that theyre raising. Also the family would help july trust a bit more, would show him that he can rely on someone else and not always be alone. That families can stay strong through various hardships, if you try to keep up those bonds. He would see that there are people that truly care and love him regardless of what happened and welcome him with open arms as well as support him in his decisions. He could learn other ways to live than murder, spying and violence. He could grow as a person, become a better version of himself.

-> Angst material - im personally writing them a happy ending, but there has been quite a few of juligawa angsty fics which explore an interesting theme which is july's internal conflict of 'should i stay and possibly endanger them or should i leave to keep them safe?'. The latter option is what he chooses which does create angst as he mostly didnt explain anything about himself or whys he leaving and what has changed between him and Igawa. Sooo for all the angst lovers out there, theres some stuff for you :)

-> also the internal conflict of either choosing his beloved job or his found family is interesting to read about as well as the doubt he could have about if he can be accepted, if he truly deserves Igawa's love. If he truly deserves a family after he himself ruined one. THE ANGST YET AGAIN

-> beside the family thing, his feelings towards the manager would also play a role. I mean, maybe its just me but who doesnt like to see the cunning character one day realizing 'hey wtf i have feelings?!​ More importantly for him?' Those feelings specifically wouldnt allow him to leave Igawa and Tenma so easily as he planned. He got attached - something he knew he shouldnt have done, but it was already too late.

Sorry for the rambling. Im quite passionate about those two as you can see. Hope I convinced you at least a bit why they are actually worth checking out and voting for.

Round 1, Bracket 1, Side A, Eight poll

Art of Juligawa by @ryukogo

Ichie Otonashi and Fumi Yumeoji [Ichifumi], Revue Starlight ReLIVE vs July and Igawa [Juligawa], A3! Act Addict Actors

Story of Ichifumi by @insertbrowsinghere

This goes back to, specifically, May 16th of 2022. I was trying to get into the Revue Starlight mobile game, since there was apparently a lot of my other favorite ship from the franchise, Junnana, in it. The problem was that I was having the problem I always have with new games of its nature, that being difficulty getting attached to the new characters. So, I decided to look through their descriptions on the loading screen during a big update. Two characters caught my eye, those characters being the character Michiru, and, more importantly, Ichie.

I posted that I think she was going to take over my brain (I was right) and a pal of mine mentioned that she and Fumi were a little gay together. I responded that I hadn't seen them together and was awaiting to see them, but I didn't expect to love them together. I just expected to know that they existed. I was so very wrong and as I am currently gazing at the exact moment I learned of them as a couple while looking for the exact moment I fell in love with them, I can only laugh at old me.

Suddenly they were hitting all my ship dynamics and Ichie became a primary reason as to why Fumi is even in the main cast. Surely, though, they wouldn't grow on me that much, I thought. They were silly together, but there was only so much depth there, right? Not anything that would soon rot my brain, anyways. Boom, Ichie reassuring Fumi that she beloved her and Fumi seeking out Ichie when the performance department was shut down. Boom, heavy emotional reliance between the two which transcended their usual dynamic. Boom, the ducking "Selfie-Master's Seminar" memoir. That last one ruined my life so much and by that point, I was in too deep.

I pathetically added them to my bio alongside my other three main ships, turning that trio into a life-ruining quartet. I began hunting for cards with stories centered around them but it couldn't get worse, I told myself. Then came Arcania Arcadia chapter 3/main story chapter 15. This ruined me, and it was all because of the fucking Ichifumi revue. There were other reasons attached, but that revue destroyed me.

The not at all serious reveal that Fumi had been supporting Ichie's streaming silently and secretly. Ichie calling out Fumi on her glamorization of the idea of beauty in death, since she saw it as an excuse. Ichie telling Fumi that she wanted to know more about her. Ichie's wish to see a stage that Fumi alone formed, in a franchise where this kind of thing is just sort of a love confession most of the time. Ichie letting Fumi win out of trust in her and Fumi doubting if she was truly the victor. All the impact this had on Fumi later. I was dying at this point, and then this game decided to beat my corpse down a little more by putting in the later scene where they reflected on their revue, Fumi tried to apologize, Ichie told her not to and they both resolved to move forward together.

Another stab was taken at my corpse with the scene in the final chapter where Ichie finally got to see a stage belonging to Fumi, and got to hold pride in it. I realized then I was in too deep. The characters I originally only expected to ship a little if at all had ruined my life. I could do nothing about it. I still can't and I am still in Ichifumi hell. Help.

Story of Juligawa:

When twitter bots were still active there was this bot called the Cursed Prompt Guy (@a3_promptbot) that randomly generated prompts and characters together. One fateful day, it generated this prompt .

[ CHARACTERS: Tenma Sumeragi, July // PROMPT: Butterfly kiss, Loyalty ]

Ss you may notice there is no slash, meaning it's just the two characters, no ship whatsoever. this is important.

See the thing here is that the character, Tenma Sumeragi, is the son of two world-famous actors. He was a child actor for TV before he decided to choose his own path and become a theater actor (since A3! is about theater boys), being a child actor means he had a manager, right? Enter: Igawa.

I was staring at the prompt, and for an entire moment, I just randomly thought 'now why would July swear loyalty to Tenma Sumeragi?'. This thought was immediately followed by '... hmmm (goes on Twitter/Discord servers) hey guys how old is july/igawa again', and then my friends, indulgently, answered me on both platforms - they were within the age range of each other as respectable adults

And then I just SAT THERE because at that very moment my brain EXPLODED like I was JIMMY NEUTRON because this ship did NOT make sense at all and YET, AND YET EVERYTHING MADE SENSE in my head suddenly for some reason.

See the first doddle I made of them with a caption

And my friends were like 'AYO HOLD ON HOLD ON RYU ARE YOU OKAY' and all I said was smth like 'sometimes things happen' and then about five hours later I published the first fic for them on Ao3. Apparently i wrote the fic at 8-ish PM on the same day I made the first doodle (at 6PM) then finished the fic around 11-ish PM.

And then my friend who is one of my ride-or-dies also published a fic around 12 midnight soon after me. I think the majority of the English-speaking fandom/western fandom who knows us thinks we're kinda crazy. It's okay we just like to indulge.

[sunlightmurdock]

Trouble in Paradise | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Part | Next Part

Synopsis: After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

Warnings: no use of y/n, age gap (rooster is in his mid-30s, reader is in her early 20s), just some angst and plot building in this one guys x

…

Rooster chuckles softly to himself as he opens up the picture that he has just received. He shakes his head as he looks fondly over the image. It’s a picture of you in your living room, surrounded by a group of your friends, all of you grinning at the camera.

It’s someone’s birthday — he can’t remember who. He just finds it ridiculous that you’re dressed up so pretty with that huge boot strapped to your foot. Your crutches aren’t in the picture, since your arms are around two other girls and they’re somewhat supporting your weight.

Be good tonight, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ;) — He texts back. He almost ends it with a gentle love you, forgetting that this isn’t Amy that he’s speaking to.

Oh shit. Amy.

He remembers suddenly that he has her on loud speaker and has been zoned out looking at your pretty face for the past thirty seconds.

“Yeah, I’m here, baby.” He breathes out. Amy’s smile falters on the other end of the line.

“I was just saying — I went to your parents’ graves today, made sure the flowers were fresh and looking good and everything. Talked to your Mom for a while.” Amy explains, settling into their bathtub at home. She has him on loud speaker too. She lifts her hand and looks at her engagement ring.

Rooster smiles. “You did?”

“Yeah. Talked about you mostly,” Amy explains, closing her eyes as she settles into the warm water. “How much I miss you being here with me.”

“I miss you too.” It falls from his lips easier than he would expect it to. He does miss her. He misses the grocery store trips and the home cooked meals and the sitting in the bathtub together after a long day at work.

“There was a really pretty sunset tonight. They would’ve loved it. You would’ve loved it.” He feels bad that she’s been thinking of him so much. Especially when if he’s being honest, she hasn’t crossed his mind much this past week. He loves her. Her misses her. It’ll all go back to normal once he’s home. But while he’s here, he just isn’t thinking straight.

“Thank you,” Bradley says softly, hoping that the guilt in his voice isn’t as obvious to her as it sounds to him. “You didn’t have to—“ He’s interrupted by obnoxiously loud knocking at his door. He ignores it, letting out a heavy sigh, “Sorry, ignore that, it’s just—“

The knocking continues. Bradley lifts his gaze to glare through his door, like that will make the jackass on the other side of it leave him alone.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He sighs softly toward the phone. Amy winces. “I think it’s Jake. I should make sure it’s not an emergency. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, of course. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby. I’ll call you right back.” Bradley ends the call and slides the phone into his pocket as he strides toward the door. Jake almost hits Rooster in the face as the door swings unexpectedly open as he was about to knock again.

“Birdboy,” Jake grins, settling his arms back down by his sides. Rooster notices now that he isn’t alone. Berlin and a couple of the other guys are with him, all out of uniform. “Took you long enough to answer.”

“I was talking to my girl.” Rooster answers defensively.

Jake’s Cheshire Cat smile wides more as he leans in closer so that the other guys around him don’t hear, “Which one?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jake shrugs his stupid broad shoulders and smiles innocently. “But we’re going out for drinks and you’re coming with.”

Rooster’s eyes widen. Then he forces his features to settle again and shakes his head, “Nah, I’m busy. Maybe next time.” He has already started to close the door when Jake plants a palm on it and wedges it open.

“Not getting out of this one, Bradshaw. It’s Berlin’s birthday,” Jake explains, nodding towards their smiling colleague. “You have to come. You owe him a drink.”

Bradley offers an apologetic smile toward Berlin, “Sorry, guys. I promised I’d call her back.”

Jake wedges the door open more, “Call her tomorrow.”

Rooster clenches his jaw, “No.”

But, here he is, an hour later — standing in a bar in downtown Honolulu. He’s holding a pool cue and trying not to sweat through the shirt that he’s wearing. Not because of the heat, either.

He’s a couple of drinks in already. It’s the only way he’s going to get out of tonight alive. He said he would come for one drink, and that was over an hour ago.

Most of the guys are up at the bar doing shots, Rooster and Jake are playing a round of pool. It was Jake’s idea. Rooster still isn’t too keen on the idea of being alone with Hangman right now.

“Hi, Rooster.”

Rooster swallows hard as his hand clenches around the pool cue. Jake turns his head and looks at Rooster, lips quirking up into a smirk. Rooster feels that look burning into his side, and he knows that he’s burning red in response. He refuses to meet Jake’s gaze.

That’s the third twenty-something-year-old girl in a slutty dress and heels that’s done that in the past fifteen minutes. After pausing to look her up and down, Jake turns his head and smiles at Rooster expectantly.

“Hi, Rooster.” Jake mimics her voice at Rooster’s side. Rooster feels like he’s about to snap this cue in half. He forces a small smile towards the girl, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Bradley’s entire body flushes. He knows that Jake is keeping count of the girls that have already greeted him personally. His cheeks, ears, his chest and his arms all burn red. He wills his body to stop and pull it together but he’s still flushing red all over.

“Kit.” Rooster greets shortly, giving the girl a brief nod. She smiles at him. Bradley feels a hand on his chest before he’s pushed back out of the way.

“Jake Seresin, Hangman, call me whatever. It’s good to meet you, Kit.” Jake interjects as he steps between Bradley and this girl, sticking out his hand and grabbing hers, shaking it.

She looks him up and down and smiles, then melts into his touch until her chest is resting against his shoulder. Jake glances back at Rooster at this girl’s forwardness.

“Nice to meet you too.” She giggles.

Rooster’s just glad there aren’t mirrors here, because he knows that if he could see how red he is, then he would lose it.

Jake smiles politely at her. She brings a hand up to rest against his chest. Jake could see this girl trying to worm her way into Bradley’s bed, clearly she’s into her navy guys. She’s cute, but something in Jake tells him that this girl isn’t the one.

“So, Kit, how do you know my good friend Rooster, over here?” Jake asks, placing his hand over the top of hers on his chest. She smiles as she looks back across to Rooster, opening her mouth to answer. Then she sees the look on Rooster’s face.

She’s drunk. But she still gets the vibe that this is not a question that Rooster wants her to answer. Kit considers why that may be. She looks back and forth between them.

“Uh —“ Kit’s baffled. From what you’ve told her, Rooster’s not afraid to tell anyone about you. But in this situation, something about the way he’s looking at her tells her that she’s not supposed to mention your name. “Friend of a friend.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. Then he looks back at Rooster. Kit feels like she’s stuck in the middle of a tennis match and that last shot is really making her head spin.

“I’d love to meet this friend.” Jake smiles at her.

Kit smiles almost nervously. She sinks into herself as she retracts her hand from his chest, biting her lip, “Um, well we came ahead. Most of my friends are still finishing their drinks down the street, so… um, I dunno — maybe you’ll run into her later.”

“I sure hope so.” Jake grins at her as he plucks a toothpick from the tin that he keeps in his pocket and places it between his teeth. “You have a good night, sweetheart.”

She blushes and giggles again, “Thanks. You too. Night, Rooster.”

“Night, Kit.” Rooster mumbles dejectedly.

Kit walks back over to her friends, eyes wide. She immediately begins whispering once she reaches them and three sets of eyes land on Jake and Bradley at once.

“Just fess up, man.” Jake chuckles as he pushes off of the wall and lines up to take his turn. Bradley’s brows furrow as Jake sinks two balls at once.

“About what?”

Jake looks up, then smirks. Rooster’s still burning red and there’s a group of girls gossiping about him less than fifteen feet away. Rooster’s just waiting for the ground to swallow him whole. He lifts his beer bottle and takes a drink.

He’s going to finish this one then head home.

Only, once that drink is finished, someone stands up and begins to toast to Berlin. So, Bradley stands with his hands in his pockets, fingers already curled around his keys — waiting for the shitty speech to end.

It’s like a sixth sense that Jake has. He doesn’t know when he developed it or why he has it — it’s one of Chloe’s favourite qualities about him. But Jake can always tell when two people are hooking up. Always. He just knows. After Phoenix had that awkward five minute hook up with the Navy Lawyer back in Lemoore, she had been furious because after all of her efforts to hide it, all it had taken was one look.

She had just looked up from the book she was reading and met his eyes once. For less than two seconds. But when she had turned her attention back to the book, she had looked up and found Jake grinning in intrigue.

So, when the remainder of the group of young girls walk in, Jake knows that his mystery girl is in there somewhere. He just doesn’t know which one. He knows that Bradley has spotted you all coming in because the pilot has stiffened. Rooster’s staring dead ahead like he’s suddenly enthralled in the speech.

Jake isn’t listening to a damn word. He has eyes on Kit. She immediately passes through the group of excited girls and grabs one by the shoulders. The girl that she grabs is on crutches, a thick black boot strapped around her foot. Rooster glances over at Jake and swallows hard.

Kit squeezes your shoulders and tells you something, then points. Jake’s lips quirk up into a smirk around his toothpick as you turn to look for Rooster. Bingo.

“Christ, Bradshaw — Chloe and Amy talk and I’d heard some rumours — but I had no idea you were out here hospitalising girls.” Always crude, Jake says it loud enough to ignite that classic Bradley Bradshaw temper that he loves to see.

None of the other guys pay much attention, but Jake has spoken loud enough that they would have been able to listen in if they wanted.

Rooster rounds on Jake. Those couple of inches in height difference seem more when that huge freak is looming in his face. Still, Jake shows no signs of fear. He grins and nods his head back in your direction,

“She’s damn beautiful. Those legs.”

Jake sees it. That split second that Bradley sees red. It’s enough to prove Jake’s point. Enough that Jake just stands there, waiting patiently for Rooster to come clean.

Rooster composes himself and glances over his shoulder toward the group of girls, “I’ll bet Chloe would love to hear you say that.” He mutters.

“Don’t worry about me and Chloe,” Jake smiles. Bradley seethes. “Besides — what happens on posting stays on posting. Right?”

Jake doesn’t actually think that way, he’s just trying to get under Rooster’s skin. Rooster knows that. Rooster knows that Jake knows. His heart feels like it’s hanging around in the general vicinity of his knees right now.

“What’s your girl’s name?” Jake asks, nodding towards the giggling girl on the other side of the bar. You’re oblivious to their conversation about you. Sure, you plan to go say hi sometime soon. But it’s your friend’s birthday — you’re here with her. And Rooster’s friends are in the middle of something anyway.

Rooster’s glad you haven’t come over. He’s praying that you don’t. That you just stay where you are. That you don’t ruin this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bradley mumbles unconvincingly. Jake wants to punch him. It’s infuriating, watching this idiot scramble to come up with excuses.

“You don’t? — So, that sweet little thing over there, you’ve never met her?”

“No.” Bradley shrugs.

Jake hums and takes a sip from his drink, “So, she’s like — free game then. Right?”

This time Rooster wants to hit Jake. Jake sees that in his eyes. He just wants Rooster to man up and admit it. Admit that what he’s doing is fucked up.

Bradley grits his teeth, then shrugs his shoulders again, calling Hangman’s bluff. There’s no way he would touch her. But, this is Jake.

Jake slams his drink down on the bar and pats Bradley’s shoulder, “Cool. Thanks, Birdboy.” Rooster’s heart leaps up into his throat and falls back into his stomach at once as Jake turns on his heel and heads straight for the group of girls.

He grabs onto the bar, maybe to steady himself or maybe to stop him from grabbing the collar of Jake’s shirt and throwing him onto the floor.

Jake slides into the booth that your group is in, leaning across the table. Rooster watches as Jake shakes your hand. You laugh at something he says, and then lift your gaze to look at him.

You scrunch your brows at him slightly and motion your head for him to come over. Rooster turns and pretends to be more involved in the conversation to his left, acting like he has been listening all along. You frown slightly.

Rooster has to force himself not to keep looking. He manages a little at a time. Maybe thirty second intervals. Then, he looks and Jake is sitting right next to you and he’s holding your necklace, looking right into your eyes and telling you how pretty it looks.

You glance down between his hand and his eyes. You’re right about to turn your head towards Rooster to shook him an ‘are you freaking seeing this?’ type look.

Then, you feel a warm hand wrap around your wrist. You gasp as Jake drops your necklace, letting it fall back against your chest quickly. Rooster pulls you to your feet in the same moment, making you stumble, hitting your boot hard on the floor as you try to steady yourself.

You gasp, grabbing onto his arm and squeezing your eyes shut as you feel tension in the healing ligament that sears up your leg. “Fuck, that hurt.” You whisper, turning towards him and leaning your head against his shoulder.

Jake sits back in the chair, mission accomplished. Confirmation achieved. It doesn’t make him feel good. He feels even worse that you just hurt yourself because of him. He immediately wonders if he needs to tell Chloe this.

“I need to talk to you.” Rooster breathes out. Pants, almost. His eyes are frantic as they roam your features. You scrunch your brows at him and nod, glancing back toward his friend, confused. “Can we just… just come with me. Please.”

You nod.

You’re slower than he is on your crutches, but he waits until you’re both out of view, standing by the bathrooms before he finally turns to look at you again.

“Rooster, what’s going on? — I was just being nice because he’s your friend, I wasn’t-“

Searing guilt. Like heat. Rooster wants to come clean and tell you that this isn’t your fault, that you’ve never done anything wrong or to be ashamed of. That this is all his fault. That he fucked everything up. It hurts to think that all you’re worried about is him being upset with you.

“No, I know, baby,” He breathes out, stopping finally to look at you. “I know. He’s just - he did that to just fuck with me, I’m sorry.”

You’re actually kind of relieved to know that his friend wasn’t actually coming on to you. He is incredibly good looking, but not exactly your type. Very much Kit’s type.

“Rooster,” You push yourself up on your crutches, bracing your weight on them. “You’re freaking me out now. What’s going on?”

He looks down at the crutches pressing uncomfortably into your arms, brows scrunching. He was on crutches once before after a football injury, he knows how exhausting it is to use them. All he can think about is how much of an asshole he’s being for keeping you on your feet.

“Can we just talk about this back at your place? — I can’t do this here.” He rushes the sentence. He’s fidgety, like he can’t bare to spend another second in this place. You squint at him and shake your head.

“No, it’s CJ’s birthday — I want to stay and celebrate with her. We can talk here.” You reach out and press your hand to his chest. He hates seeing the concern on your face. He sighs quietly. You’re right. It’s selfish of him to ask you to leave.

“I’m sorry,” He nods his head and leans in to kiss your forehead. “Jake just… gets under my skin. It’s nothing, really. We can talk tomorrow when I take you for your check up.”

You furrow your brows at him, “Not so fast, Flyboy. You’re acting weird.”

He reaches out and touches your face tenderly. You smile as he presses his chest to yours, pressing your back to the wall behind you. You lift your chin and brush your nose against his.

“I just don’t want to screw this up.” He whispers. Your heart swells. He can practically see it swell as he looks into your eyes. All doe-eyed and trusting, smiling up at him just like that first day on the beach.

He presses harder against you, kissing your lips. You hum contentedly and shake your head, “Don’t worry. I trust you.”

God, that makes it even worse. He kisses you again, then pulls back and wipes the smudged lipgloss from just above your lip.

“I’ll see you in the morning, for your checkup.” Rooster promises. You smile and nod your head. “Be good tonight, stay away from Jake.”

“I can’t promise anything.” You tease him, shooting him a playful wink. He smiles fondly once, kissing your cheek before he leaves you standing there.

You’re confused, admittedly, but you can see how this Jake guy could ruffle someone’s feathers. You don’t know their dynamic, but clearly Jake likes to piss Bradley off. Besides, you can’t pretend that you don’t like that he’s protective.

After all the shit that men have put you through, it’s about time that you’re seeing someone who’s looking out for you.

…

@unordinare

@shawnsthighs

@ycarlii

@alanadetigy

@marvelsvalhalla

@imdeadinsidesiriuslydead

@cherrycola27

@carolfoxs-blog

@thesewordsareallihavetogive

@the-winter-marvel33

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@fangirlofallthings22

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@lizchi

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@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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@ceiling-fann

@mak-32

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@perpetuelledaydreaming

@jakexfmc

@hootylou

@throwinsauce

@currentlybradshaw

@saramaple

[primofate]

Hi!!! I just wanted to start off by saying I LOVE YOUR WORK!! Like they’re amazing 😩💕💕💕 and I wanted to know if it was possible if I could request Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Albedo (and maybe chongyun) saving their S/O who is about to drown and is unconscious? If it’s so much work it’s totally fine! ~ 💕

Thank you anon baby for all the looveeee <3

Headcanon

Warnings: not proofread, mild angst, hints of death but happy ending, drowning

Characters: fem reader x Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Albedo and Chongyun

Scenario: Saving you from drowning

It was just a small miscalculation. Mitachurls were never a big problem, except when they’ve cornered you atop a cliff and there was nothing below except water. Not to mention your leg had been slightly sprained. The image of you stumbling backwards, tripping over your feet and then disappearing below the cliffs had him distracted from the fight.

The waves are strong. It keeps on pushing you down, and your legs are starting to get tired...

Diluc

Is already going to punish himself for the next few weeks for letting this happen.

“Y/N!” he tries to peer over the edge of the cliff still fighting off the Mitachurls.

Realizes that he can’t see your head anywhere on the surface of the water, abandons the fight and dives right off the cliff.

Frantically swims looking for you.

The water is cold and that scares him more.

Finally pulls you out to the beach and uses his vision to warm you up.

“Come on Y/N, don’t do this to me...” checks if you’re breathing.

You’re not. The world around him shatters.

Starts chest compressions on you. Nothing is happening. You aren’t breathing. He feels like he’s also starting to lose his ability to breathe... until you start to sputter water out.

He slumps on the ground relieved and angry at the same time.

You lay on the ground breathing heavily and coughing from time to time while he tries to get his bearings back. 

He’s totally out of it for a while thinking that he had COMPLETELY lost you.

Finally snaps out of it and wraps his arms around you, head buried below the crook of your neck.

“How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? I can’t lose anymore people, Y/N, specially not you. That’ll be the end of me,” 

His vocal confession makes you think you should jump off of cliffs more.

Kaeya

“Shit,” he doesn’t often swear but seeing you disappear down the cliff made him feel like HE was the one falling. He follows right behind, leaping off the cliff without any regards to himself and leaving the mitachurl behind him. 

His priority was you. 

He surfaces from the water and starts to REALLY lose his shit when he can’t find you on the surface or below it.

When he finally does he’s cursing left and right wondering if he took too long.

Drags you with him to the beach, presses his ear to your chest. You’re still breathing, but you’re so freakin cold.

“Princess, let me see those beautiful eyes,” starts CPR on you desperately. It actually works after a few and you’re back to breathing normally.

BIG sigh of relief when it works and immediately picks you up to travel back to Mondstadt. 

Despite insisting that you are okay he is going to take you to see healers. Maybe 3 or 4 just to make sure you are completely fine. 

Steers clear of cliffs for the next couple of days.

Zhongli

Face is blank. Looks calm but is internally unable to function properly. 

The fastest to abandon the fight and jump down the cliff to follow after you with a loud splash. 

Will use mouth to mouth resuscitation. 

When he’s at it for a while and it doesn’t work he’ll start to get teary eyed but still doesn’t say anything.

He starts regretting not spending enough time with you the past few days. You can’t go like this... Not when he had so many regrets. 

The sudden sputter of water from your mouth causes him to actually sigh and close his eyes, trying to mellow down his fast heart beat.

You’re okay. You’re fine. You’re alive. Is the chant he keeps repeating in his head.

“You would have to remain by my side in the next few weeks...”

He meant to say forever but didn’t want to be too clingy.

Albedo

Most likely the calmest of them all, but doesn’t mean he isn’t scared.

When he follows you into the water the cold hits him.

Even if he saves you from drowning you might get hypothermia from the cold. 

Luckily finds you easily through his own calculation of where you landed and his observation of the sea waves.

You’re barely conscious when he gets to you and he shakes you awake gently. “Y/N, Y/N, can you hear me?” Checks if your brain is working. “Do you know who I am? Can you tell me my name?”

Then suddenly you go limp in his arms which has him running over to shore.

Initiates mouth to mouth resuscitation but is kind of clumsy with it.

When it works and you spit water out, he realizes his hands are trembling in fear. He didn’t know if he could save you at all. 

But now that you’re fine, he takes slow breaths to calm down. 

Sits at the shore with you for a while, propping you up in one arm, moving the wet strands of hair away from your face.

Wraps his coat around you and is off to make sure you’re warm and completely fine.

Chongyun

panics the most.

goes back and forth between abandoning the fight or going after you and then feels stupid because he really should’ve went after you first.

When he finds you he panics even more. What was he supposed to do?

Stumbles and races to the shore with you in his arms, he’s panting and looks as if he was trying to win a marathon.

Already has tears in his eyes when he sees you’re unresponsive. 

Clumsy CPR skills but is surprisingly good at using the mouth to mouth method. 

“Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up...!” 

Tears already spilling from the corners of his eyes when it isn’t working.

“Nononononono...” doubles up his efforts and it finally works. You cough out water.

When you sit up, you get tackled down again by a bear hug and a Chongyun bear sniffling. 

Taglist:  @larkspyrr​ @outlet-0​ @rim0na​ @sweeti-pie​ @yamsthegod​ @reaped-winnower​ @hai-q-haikyuu​ @tkshoki​ @fanfictionenthusiast​ @skatercashew​

[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!