#enjoy the fluff while you can angst is on the horizon <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

withleeknow · 1 year ago

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moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead.

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.”

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here. “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

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aurorasdaybreak · 20 days ago

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close to you | zayne li (m)

summary: it’s been a while since you’ve been back in linkon city - staying in one place is hard when you’re one of the most celebrated pediatricians of your time, after all. your constant movement is disrupted when an unexpected invitation to be an honorary professor at linkon university has you packing your bags and settling into a new apartment, excited to create new memories in the city you once called home. there’s just one problem with your carefully laid-out plans, though: a well-known cardiac surgeon who’s going to be co-teaching some classes with you - the same cardiac surgeon who just so happens to be your ex-fiancé. info: cardiac surgeon!zayne x afab!pediatric surgeon!reader | exes to coworkers to lovers | angst, fluff, smut | 24k words warnings: angst, fluff, hurt with comfort, smut, mc has insecurities abt work abilities and worthiness, zayne says hurtful things he doesn’t mean, reader has an evol linked to body energy - specifically soothing/calming emotions, they go back and forth bc they don’t know how to talk and that’s a big plot point, mentions of yvonne and greyson (yvonne is mc’s best friend!), zayne is a yearner but doesn’t know how to properly show it, reader drinks alcohol, reconciliation before it’s broken, another warning for angst, vague description of surgery and car accident, a description of a panic attack including: [heavy breathing, lightness of head, near blacking out], the comfort part of hurt with comfort, reconciliation but it’s real this time, smut, the slightest whisper of dom!zayne x sub!afab!reader, office sex, desk sex, clothed sex, f!receiving!fingering, m!receiving!handjob, zayne’s a tease, unprotected sex, g-spot stimulation, biting but it’s literally once, shared orgasms, zayne cums inside, fluff, happy ending :D author's note: good lord it's done LOL (;-;) i cannot ever shut the fuck up when it comes to dr. zayne li so i hope you enjoy this :D if you liked it, leave smth in my ask box!! i rlly appreciate it <3 disclaimer: will edit soon for any mistakes!! if you are a minor and you're seeing this, i ask that you turn away and do not read. this is an 18+ story and minors are not welcome. if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics listed in the warning, please do not read this story! banner by my beloved miss l, @snowvee <3 ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ playlist linked here!

You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited over west-facing windows before in your entire life.

All throughout your life, you never had the chance to see golden hour and sunsets as much as you would like. Your life prior to this new apartment had been spent huddled over a lab counter and running back and forth in hospital corridors, ensuring your work was done with efficiency and care. Sunrises are your constant companion and you think they’re nice, but there’s just something about sunset.

The warmth it leaves on your skin as it dips below the horizon and the sun-kissed haze it leaves in your apartment…it fills you with a sense of accomplishment and peace.

You’ve done it, ____. You’ve successfully created a new space for yourself - free of some of the memories that plague you at night.

Your eyes trace the lines of marble on your kitchen countertops, giddy with thoughts about all of the meals you can cook and wines you can have on the counter during dinners with friends. The idea of reviving your social life after moving for so long and connecting with certain people has your heart fluttering, although your concentration is broken when your phone buzzes on the counter.

You slide your finger along your phone’s screen without another thought, your smile immediately growing when you see who it is.

“Hi, Yvonne!”

You watch as her signature bangs pop up on screen, followed by her sparkling eyes and sweet, dimpled smile. Yvonne is one of your closest friends from college: one of two people who were able to drag you away from your textbooks and into a mall or a karaoke room during the weekends. She was there with flowers and snacks after you defended your thesis perfectly to become a fully fledged pediatrician, and you were present with her favorite chocolates and a reservation to her favorite restaurant when she passed her nursing exams with flying colors.

Simply put, she’s your rock and you don’t think you’d be able to exist without her.

“My favorite pediatrician’s back!” She cheers, and you laugh when you see her spin in her office chair. “How do you like your new apartment?”

“The west facing windows are incredible.” You pick up your phone and flip the screen so that she can see the sunset through your wall-length windows, and she gasps at the magnificent view.

“It’s gorgeous!” She rolls her chair closer to her phone, and you giggle when she presses her nose up against the screen so she can really squint at the painting-like sky you’re currently showing her. “Wine and dine nights are about to be so good at your apartment.”

“I’m just excited about the kitchen island and the second bedroom,” you sigh in response, picking up your phone and walking around with it. You walk towards the front of your half built shoe rack, sliding on some shoes as you continue your chat with your friend. “How’s work been so far?”

“Same old,” she responds. You watch as she unties her hair from its slicked back bun, shaking her head vigorously and massaging her scalp so that she can release the tension. “I was the charge nurse today, but we thankfully didn’t have any new admits.”

“That’s good!” You grab your leather tote bag and sling it over your shoulder, making sure your keys are on your wrist before you shut the door to your new home behind you. “When are you off, by the way? I have to go to the university to pick up my materials and meet with Dr. Chung, but we need to meet up in person.”

“I’m free a week from now if that’s okay? It gives you time to set up your apartment and get the first couple of classes out of the way.”

You hum at her words, nodding and giving her a thumbs up. “That sounds good! Now go and don’t let the doctors get you down.”

Yvonne laughs at this, waving as she hangs up the call.

There’s a pep in your step as you walk to Linkon U - your new apartment in the university district of Linkon City. There’s a pleasant vibe as you listen to your favorite song, strides unhurried as you take in your new workplace.

When you’ve been far away from everything you used to know, you don’t realize just how small things were until you step back into your previous environment and really take it all in. That’s the case for you as you walk into the health department - smiling fondly at the trophy display case by the entrance of the grand hall. You let your eyes wander as your feet take you into the vague direction of the administration offices, until-

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

You shake your head and smile sheepishly, breathing in deeply to calm your nerves at bumping into your new colleague. You find that it’s a big mistake, however, because it’s the smell you find yourself craving.

The crisp smell of pine body wash and jasmine detergent, mixed with something that makes you know that it’s him.

You feel yourself heat slightly as you dare to look up, embarrassment and something more heady roiling in your stomach as you stare directly into the golden flecked green of Zayne Li’s eyes. They’re carefully blank, his mouth pressed into a straight line and posture so rigid you would think he’s had a ruler permanently tucked into the waistband of his pants so he’s always straight-backed.

But you know that’s not the case.

No…you know that it’s because of how things ended between the two of you.

You wipe your mind of a kneeling man and salty tears streaking your cheeks as you carefully school your features into a pleasant, albeit lackluster smile. Your hands gently grasp at the shoulders you’ve dreamed of and you step to the side as you move past him, focusing on the small plaque with Dr. Alistair Chung: Head Director of the Linde School of Medicine engraved on it so you don’t lose your composure being in such close proximity to the man who’s never left your mind.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Dr. Li.”

And you mean it. He may not act like he cares, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to.

With that, you nod your head once before walking towards Dr. Chung’s office.

To your surprise, however, Zayne begins to follow you.

To Dr. Chung’s office.

You barely have time to process what’s happening before walking into the office, Zayne closing the door behind the two of you softly. You watch as your old mentor lifts his eyes from the file he’s poring over before sitting up sharply, a warm smile gracing his face as he registers who stands in front of him.

“Ah, Zayne! You’ve found Dr. ____!”

“Hi, Dr. Chung.” You barely hesitate to walk over when he lifts his arms out to you, and he envelops you in a hug that has your heart softening and anxiety calming when you step away from him and back by Zayne’s side.

“Look at the two of you!” He laughs joyously, clapping his hands. “Why, it feels like just yesterday that the two of you were undergrads entering the graduate program!”

You force a laugh from your throat, though it dies awkwardly when you realize Zayne is stone-faced next to you. You clear your throat once again, grasping at something to try and make the atmosphere of the room feel somewhat normal.

“I sometimes look back on those days. Some days with fondness, other times with pain” you say. Zayne’s breath stutters next to you but you ignore him, giving Dr. Chung a real smile. “I get the same amount of sleep from back then but I still look back on those days fondly.”

“Likewise, my dear.” He winks at you quickly before clearing his throat and picking up the document he was previously reading. “We’re thankful and honored to have you serving as an honorary co-professor here at Linkon University - your intellectual prowess and care for knowledge will surely be beneficial to the classes you’ll be overseeing this spring semester.”

You pause at his words, heart stuttering slightly when you hear the prefix “co-” in front of “professor.” What does that mean, exactly? Aren’t you supposed to be leading this semester’s medical intro class by yourself?

“Dr. Chung, I don’t mean to intrude,” you begin softly, but with enough assertiveness that you efficiently cut off his ramblings. “What did you mean by co-professor?”

Beside you, Zayne’s breath sharpens and his previously frosty demeanor goes even more rigid if possible - making your anxiety come back with a vengeance.

No…no-

“Well, Dr. ____, it means you’ll be hosting this semester’s course with another doctor.” Your jaw clenches tightly when Dr. Chung’s tone takes on a teasing sort of lilt, his eyebrows wiggling jokingly at you. You force a fake laugh, trying to quell your rapidly beating heart before asking the question you know the answer to, even if your heart sinks straight to your ass.

“Who am I co-teaching with?”

Zayne exhales sharply, as if he’d been waiting for you to finally prod at the snoring bear in the corner of the room. Dr. Chung looks at you with mild surprise, eyes flickering between the two of your bodies before laughing once more.

“Why, ____, did Zayne not tell you? You two are going to be co-professors!”

Fuck…you’re going to be teaching with Zayne?!

You whip your head sharply over to the root of your surprise and growing issues, and you note with little satisfaction at the sheepish tilt of his eyes.

“Is this really necessary, Dr. Chung?” Your voice is tight and you clench your fists so that you can still your emotions, taking a deep breath and schooling your face into its usual pleasant one. “Does Zay- Dr. Li not have his own courses to teach here at Linkon University?”

“On the contrary, Dr. ____.” You can see the bewilderment on Dr. Chung’s face as he regards the tension between the two of you, and he has the grace to look slightly embarrassed as he continues on. “You’re the leading expert on pediatrics in this region - particularly the study of how Evols can affect a child’s many systems. The seminar this semester will be cardiac and pediatrics focused, and Dr. Li requested yo-”

“If it’s a big deal, we can split the lectures so that you teach the pediatrics part and I teach the cardiac unit.” Zayne’s quick to cut off Dr. Chung’s reasoning, and you don’t miss the wicked gleam in Dr. Chung’s eye and Zayne’s rapidly reddening cheeks as he regards you once again. There’s a depth to his eyes that draws you in - eyes that have been your constant companion in your dreams, eyes that you’ve wanted to look at you with soft tenderness.

You know you can’t have those eyes in your life, though.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding before smiling up at Zayne, a bland sort of grin with no teeth and emotion. “It’s all right, Dr. Li. We want to be efficient with this, and it’s easier to explain Evol’s effects on the heart within the realm of pediatrics if we’re both in the room.”

If you were a different person not fully accustomed with Zayne and his emotions, you wouldn’t have seen the invisible war he wages between the facts and his heart flickering on his face. But having known him and his emotions for years at this point, you can see it happening in real time: the way his eyes move back and forth as he scans your face before lifting to the ceiling slightly in thought, the way his hands twitch ever so slightly, and the way his tongue quickly darts out to wet his lower lip. It’s little things you’ve tried to rid yourself of in your time apart from him, but you’re forever cursed with the knowledge in your head.

After what seems like a millenia, Zayne sighs softly and shakes his head. “All right, if you’re okay with it we can do the joint lectures.”

His tone holds a gravelly undertone, and a small part of your stomach erupts in a frenzy of butterflies. You open your mouth to speak but you’re prematurely cut off with a loud ringing coming from his pocket.

Zayne breaks his eye contact with you to reach into his pockets, and he slides his thumb across the screen without even looking. You watch as he answers his phone, face going from curious to severe before settling into a calm that you recognize; the sort of calm you feel when something urgent happens at the hospital.

Zayne hangs up his phone, and he looks at Dr. Chung apologetically. “Called in for emergency heart surgery, something related to a Metaflux fluctuation that triggered an underlying condition.”

Dr. Chung’s eyes sparkle and he nods his assent at Zayne. “Go on, Dr. Li.”

Zayne turns on his heel and begins to walk out. You force yourself to keep your head on Dr. Chung’s nameplate as you hear the door open, but before the door closes shut you hear him pause.

“It was nice seeing you, ____.”

A soft click signals his departure, and you shake yourself off internally.

What a meeting, and it isn’t even your first day lecturing yet.

How the fuck are you going to survive this?

“I think I need to take my leave as well, Dr. Chung.” Your eyes dart back to the man’s bemused smile, and you sigh internally to yourself. What does he know that you don’t?

You nod to him once more before turning on your heel to leave, but-

“You know, Dr. ____…we still have that permanent head of pediatrics position open.”

Dr. Chung’s voice stops you in your tracks, hand hovering above the door knob to his office. You turn your head back to look at him with a bewildered expression. “Sir?”

“It’s been empty for years,” he continues. He peers at you through his glasses, and you suddenly feel like you’re back in grad school - standing in front of him and a panel of your professors skillfully answering questions regarding your thesis. “I can’t think of anyone better than you to lead our pediatrics department.”

You shake your head at this, a bashful expression overtaking your face. “Respectfully, no thank you, Dr. Chung. I don’t think I’m fit for hospital politics - I’d rather be hands on with my care.”

“You, not fit for it?” The laugh that escapes his chest isn’t in a derogatory manner - in fact, it’s full of disbelief that you even think of yourself in that way. “Ms. ____, you fearlessly defended your thesis some years ago before going on to win heaps of awards and researching new scientific breakthroughs for diseases that plague young children. You’ve accomplished feats most of my colleagues barely even get to touch by the end of their career, and you’re still at the first couple of years in your glowing career. Why, you and Dr. Li are of the same caliber! Why are you so afraid of giving yourself time to rest?”

You flinch at the mention of his name as a comparison to your own, but you try to hide your sudden shock as you shake your head harshly. “No, I don’t think I’m quite right for it yet.”

Dr. Chung’s eyes soften at your sudden walls, and he sighs. “Seems I hit a nerve.”

You avert your eyes as he gets up from his chair, approaching you with gentle steps. He stands in front of you and holds out his hand, and after a bit of hesitation, you give him your own. He holds it gently as he regards you with a familial kindness - one that makes your heart ache ever so slightly.

“____, there’s no shame in stopping and resting.” He squeezes your hand and you fight back tears as you squeeze back. “Let me tell you, you’ll never be right for anything - but you can always let yourself grow in your new home and learn. That’s the beauty of our field.”

You bite your lip, willing yourself to get your emotions together before you look up at him and smile as brightly as you can manage. “The semester hasn’t even started yet! Let me get through the courses first - and let me navigate working with Dr. Li while also doing my dailies at Akso and balancing observations. If anything changes I’ll give my response by the end of the semester.”

Dr. Chung sighs, shaking his head. “All right. But just know that by the end of the semester, I will be sending you a couple of insistent emails.”

With that, he lets you go and you wander back down the hallway you came from. As you walk aimlessly, you catch sight of the office door the two of you were by. A shiny nameplate sparkles with the name Dr. Zayne Li, Head of Cardiology engraved on it, and you sigh at your past self’s lack of awareness.

You should have known.

You know it’s foolish of you to think, but is he thinking of you as he’s washing up and preparing for the sudden emergency surgery sprung up on it? Did you consume his thoughts as much as he did in your time apart?

Or have his feelings for you eroded into nothingness?

You shake your head once more, squashing down the disappointment that settles in your stomach before making your way out of the academic office wing.

You don’t have time to think about him. You have lectures to write.

You can’t fight the nervous butterflies that erupt in your stomach when you walk into your assigned lecture hall the following week.

You’ve done a lot of hard things through your career; you can practically do high risk surgeries and retake the Doctor’s Exam in your sleep if you needed to. Public speaking was never really your forte, though - which is hilarious considering you’ve had to speak at international conventions and teach lectures before this.

The more you analyze your feelings, though, you realize that they’re good butterflies.

You don’t know why it feels so different this time. You’re still the same you - maybe with more degrees and an even bigger lack of sleep when you were in undergrad but still, it’s you. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re in a familiar environment that feels so new.

Maybe it’s the person you’re going to be teaching with.

You can’t allow yourself to falter, so you swallow your nerves and open the lecture hall’s computer - waiting for it to boot up so you can access the slides you’ve carefully put together.

You hear the tell-tale sign of the door creaking open, and you hum as you log into your work account. “Hi! Class isn’t in session yet-”

“I would hope not, I don’t want to be late.”

Your stomach drops slightly when you note the soft, slightly frosty tone of your co-lecturer. You clear your throat and steel yourself, looking up to see Zayne holding a stack of neatly stapled papers and his own bag. He sets his bag next to yours on the hook behind the desk before setting the syllabi down onto the desk in front of you.

The air around you suddenly feels too thin, and you reach for a packet so that you can distract yourself from the thin line his mouth is pressed into and how his white shirtsleeves are pushed up to his elbows and hug his biceps in the way you so love- loved. You ignore the way your hands shake as you flip the paper, noting the class schedule and when exams would be before nodding once.

“Glad we both agree on the content schedule.” You cringe internally at how your voice wavers, and you clear your throat once again before scanning the class recommendations once more.

“When would we do observations?” You lift your gaze from the paper and look at him pointedly, tapping at the dates listed. “There aren’t any concrete dates, and with exams and other classes we should let them know in advance so there isn’t any confusion.”

“We should schedule it around our personal timelines.” Zayne’s voice is clipped as he pulls out a pen pouch from his bag and sets it on the desk. “We need to make sure that no major procedures are impeded on when we bring med students around.”

“That’s practically impossible with how fast things change in the hospital and you know that to be true, Zay- Dr. Li.” You catch your near slip and you clear your throat, grabbing a pen and writing down five potential dates. “How do you feel about these?”

Zayne takes the paper from your hands, and you try to fight the shiver that threatens to race down your back when his hands lightly graze against the back of your hand. The tips of his fingers are as callused as you remember and though they barely brush across your knuckles, you fight the gasp that bubbles up against your lips and disguise it as a really shitty cough.

You watch as he purses his lips, scanning through his personal timeline in his head before nodding once in agreement. “All right.”

Your heart sinks at how quickly he agrees - his clipped, almost bored voice letting you know that he intends to spend the least amount of time with you so that he can be rid of you quickly. Did he really disregard you that much - does he really not care for the past couple of years you’ve spent together, even if the ending was horrible?

“I know you don’t want to work with me, especially with how things ended.” You mumble as you avert your eyes so you don’t have to see his expression. “We just have to last the semester and then…well, I’m not sure. But I’m sure you’ll be rid of me by then.”

“What makes you think that?”

His voice is quiet, severe, devoid of any and all emotion that endeared you to him - but he still moves a little closer so that he’s encroaching on your territory. Not enough where he’s all you can feel, but enough that it sends a shiver up your spine when you smell his signature pine and jasmine scent.

“I don’t know.” Your honesty is bare for him to take in, and you swallow thickly when you realize just how vulnerable you’re being with him. This isn’t something that should be happening right now - not with students on their way to the lecture hall right now.

And you definitely shouldn’t be sharing feelings with your fucking ex-fiancé.

“It doesn’t matter.” You swallow thickly before schooling your expression into the bland smile you always seem to have when you’re around him these days. The fire in his eyes gradually dims before frost takes over his expression again because he knows.

He knows that you’re not going to listen to him, not this time.

So you turn back and wave hello to the incoming medical students.

And if they sense the frost between the two of you, they don’t dare to say anything.

“...And that’s how I ended up in this situation.”

“Holy shit, ____.”

“Yeah.” You’re careful as you flop back onto your couch so that you don’t spill the wine you’re holding, rubbing your eyes as you process all that transpired in the past couple of days.

“This is the romance story of the ages.”

Your eyes snap open from shock at Yvonne’s half joke, and you toss a cat shaped couch pillow at her head. “Yvonne! He’s my co-lecturer!”

Yvonne laughs at your reaction as she holds her hands up, half in surrender and half so that she doesn’t spill wine all over your couch. You think she’ll stop the teasing, but…

“You know, most if not all of the health college’s heads set up betting pools on when you and Zayne would start dating.” You groan at her words, throwing another pillow at her laughing head.

“You’re making that shit up!” You slouch on your couch, folding your arms dramatically.

“Am not!” She gasps. “My nursing professors put a lot of gold in the pool for the month of March because of White Day.”

You feel a hot flash of embarrassment when you remember how he had bought you a box of chocolates and a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and you rub a hand at your temple when you recall the classmates and professors that had flocked around you and asked who it was from with a touch of too much intensity. “Oh gods…”

“Now that I think about it, I think Dr. Chung won the whole thing. No wonder he’s so insistent on you working at Akso and becoming the Head of Pediatrics.” Yvonne moves to sit down next to you, placing her wine glass on your coffee table before settling her head on your shoulder. You place your head on top of hers, letting her presence be a safe space for mulling over your thoughts.

“That damn Dr. Chung,” you grumble, much to her amusement.

“It could be worse, ____.” Yvonne’s voice takes on a tone of comfort, and you sigh as you close your eyes. “You’re just lecturing a couple of classes and doing a set of observations with Zay- Dr. Li. Make it through that, you can make it through anything.”

“You can call him Zayne,” you mumble back. “Hearing his name won’t kill me.”

“Well, it sounded like making a little bit of eye contact with him was going to set off cardiac arrest.” Her voice is back to teasing and you make a noise of frustration.

“It was charged and intense!”

“Just say you were eye-fucking him and go, ____!”

The absurdity of Yvonne’s statement makes the both of you burst out laughing, you clutching your stomach as high pitched squeaks escape the both of your lips. There’s something about the two of you absolutely giggling your heads off at something so preposterous that eases your nerves with your current situation at hand.

Maybe it is that easy. All you need to do is survive this semester and then you can transfer to a different city and work in a different hospital and university. Maybe Dawnlight City or somewhere near the Arctic in a sleepy little town.

Somewhere far away enough where you don’t have to be reminded of all of your memories and history involving Zayne.

“All of this would be a lot easier if things weren’t the way they were.” It’s a quiet statement, tinged with a fraction of the sadness that lurks deep in your soul. You want to blame it on the wine, but you know that it’s something that’s been festering within your body ever since that night.

“It’s not on you, ____.” Yvonne’s voice is firm and she squeezes your hand tightly as she bumps you lightly with her shoulder. “It was a mutual agreement to keep the engagement private and you guys were so happy. Transferring to a different hospital was reasonable and you did it so you could move on - no one faults you for that, ____.”

You freeze slightly when you hear move on - a phrase loaded with implications and uncharted feelings.

Have you moved on? You reflect back on your life and you find that things have gotten easier for you. You have a new step stool that’s only allowed in the kitchen because you picked up his annoying habit of placing your dishes on the highest shelf even though you’re shorter than him. You have a car and are more comfortable driving, no longer as reliant on public transportation or your friends. You’ve grown to like eggplant parmesan, too.

But those are little things in your life that you’ve done to fill his absence. You still see and feel flashes of him when you least expect it: in cloyingly sweet lattes that remind you of late night study sessions, in lavender bouquets that surround you with the smell of your first kiss, and with the chibi snowman sitting on your nightstand - the same one you don’t have the heart to throw away because he made it for you when you were bedridden with the fever and he didn’t want to leave you alone, even though he had his own thesis defense rehearsal to prepare for that night.

As much as you’ve tried to move on, you know that you’re just plugging in the gaps for the spaces he used to live in. Deep down, you know that there’s no moving on from him - from the man who wrapped you with his own coat with laughter even though you were the one who insisted on leaving without a jacket, from the one who wiped your tears away and cried with you after you experienced your first loss as a doctor, from the one who tapped his finger three times against your nose before you went to sleep.

No, you can’t move on. Not when you’re still so deeply and irrevocably in love with Li Zayne.

“I haven’t moved on.”

The whisper hangs in the air above your heads and Yvonne stiffens ever so slightly, taking in your confession.

“You’re not over Zayne?”

Her response is a quiet gasp, and you sigh as you rub your hand over your face before shaking your head once, twice, three times - confirming the truth that’s been bubbling in your chest ever since you moved away all those years ago.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been over him.”

“Shit, ____.”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

You let yourself reflect back on that rainy night - the night where everything fell apart for the two of you. He had just been promoted to head of cardiology at Akso - draining his time and his affections from you. You had started seeing him less and less, dark circles forming under his eyes and his cheeks growing gaunter by the second. The two of you had gone back and forth on the subject until everything just…snapped.

“I never see you anymore, ____.” It was lethally quiet after you had said the unspoken truth, venom injected into your tone. “You’re working yourself to death, you’re going to bed when I’m waking up and it’s not good for you-”

“I’m working for us.” Zayne’s voice was icy and he had balled his hands into a fist so tightly you were afraid of him accidentally breaking his own skin. “Weddings are expensive and this is all for you-”

“I don’t want it to only be for me, Zayne! This is supposed to be for us!”

It had burst out of your chest, and in the heat of your anger you had marched up to him and pointed your finger in his chest. “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. You’ve distanced yourself from me. We don’t even sleep in the same fucking bed anymore, Zayne!”

Zayne’s anger had rolled over, clouding his judgement as he pushed you away from his body. Your hands had fallen to your side as he said the words that have since been engraved in the twisted, self-hating part of your brain with a coldness that had your entire body shaking. “Sometimes there are more important things than you, ___.”

The living room had gone eerily still, the words punching your gut before you had even processed what he said. There was a breathlessness that had consumed every fiber of your being, and the only thing you remember saying in response to his wide eyes and kneeling position as he clung to your legs and begged for forgiveness over and over again was a simple “We’re done.”

You had pulled off the diamond ring that was nestled on your finger and thrown it at him before walking out of his apartment into the rain, wandering aimlessly until you somehow made it onto Yvonne’s doorstep. She had answered in a mild panic and she held you as you sobbed.

And now you’re in the same position, holding hands while feeling empty.

“Have you talked to him since that day, ____?”

Yvonne’s soft musings break you out of your stupor, and you shake yourself of the past as you process her words. “What was that?”

“Have you talked to him at all?”

“No.” You pull away and rub your cheeks with your hands, hoping that the sensation pulls you away from the dark haze still threatening to consume you. “How would I even approach that conversation? Leaving was the best thing for the both of us.”

Yvonne hums and watches you as you pick up your wine glass and drains it of its remaining liquid. You sigh and wipe the back of your mouth, your thoughts flying out of your mouth as you pour yourself more wine and force yourself to smile. “It’s just a couple of months doing lectures and observations with my ex who I’m still in love with. All I need to do is keep trucking along and not look at him too long and I’ll be okay!”

“You’re deflecting again, ____.” Yvonne’s voice is deadpan, but you can see the glimmer of concern that flashes in her eyes as she reaches over and takes your wine glass and the bottle away from your hands. “And what makes you think he doesn’t feel the same about you?”

You shake your head rapidly at this, refusing to even entertain the idea with her as you try to reach for the bottle once more. “No, I think he was pretty clear when he said other things were more important than me.”

“That’s a big fat lie and you know it, ____.” You scowl and petulantly cross your arms when Yvonne shakes her head and places the bottle and glass on the side table next to her. “No more wine for you, you’re going to have the worst headache tomorrow if we don’t stop now.”

“It’s a good bottle,” you grumble, although you know she’s right.

She rolls her eyes and settles back down next to you, her tone measured as she starts on her train of thought. “You of all people know Zayne the best. He wouldn’t be teaching classes with you if that were the case - fuck, ___, he probably wouldn’t have even approved your guest professor spot if he wasn’t okay with you.”

“Maybe there was no one else available with the same type of expertise?” Your half-hearted joke dies on your throat at the glare Yvonne throws in your direction, and you shrink back as you prepare for her overprotective best friend mode.

“Of fucking course there’s no one else with your expertise, ____!” She heaves a breath, and you sigh heavily.

“Yvonne, no matter how much I want to be with him again, Zayne’s moved on from it. The best I can do now is bear it and try to move on too.”

“You just…just talk to him, ____.” You look at her in bewilderment and Yvonne throws her hands up, shaking her head in exasperation. “I’m not saying I’m defending him or that you need to get back together with him, just…talk to him. He’s changed to the point where even I can see it, and I was his number one hater.”

“You don’t think he’s moved on?” Your voice is tinged with nerves, and Yvonne shakes her head empathetically.

You sink back into your cushions as you mull over your new knowledge, and you feel dangerous feelings of hopes spark in your chest. If Yvonne, the nurse he’s closest to, thinks he hasn’t moved on, then…

“All right, I’ll talk to him.”

This is it.

This is the day you talk to Zayne and try to make things semi-normal with him again.

It’s also the first date of in-hospital observations, and you’re extra conscious of it in the way you triple check that you have your ID badge and stash multiple pens in your pockets for your students. Sure that you’re ready, you walk into Akso Hospital’s cardiac ward in your scrubs and most comfortable shoes, holding a box full of mini cakes labelled “for the ward with the most heart!”

Is it a little bit cheesy? Yes, but you need cheesy if you’re going to get back into a certain cardiac surgeon’s good graces.

For how long you’ve spent in Akso’s cardiac unit in the past, you still can’t remember the exact way you need to take to end up at the cardiac ward’s offices. You were always with Zayne, and he was the one who picked you up and led you to his office so you never really bothered to learn the directions you needed to take because he was always there with you.

You’re certainly cursing your past yourself out for not paying attention now.

You scan your surroundings, lighting up when you see a receptionist’s desk towards your left. You walk around the family waiting room and approach the desk, scanning for a familiar face. You’re a little disappointed, however, when you see a new receptionist.

A handsome looking new receptionist.

As you approach the desk, his head lifts and his eyes widen before giving you a friendly smile, waving hello to you. You give a cordial smile back, letting your feet stop in front of the table and plopping the box in front of you so that you can give your hands a break.

“Hi, I’m looking for the cardiac ward’s offices. I’m meeting a doctor and some students there for observations today?” You cringe when you hear the tilt of a question on your tone, but the receptionist beams at you and nods.

“Yes, of course! And what was your name again?”

“Dr. ____, pediatrics.” You hold out your hand, and he smiles as he grabs hold and shakes it firmly.

“Michael,” he replies easily, and you feel your stomach clench uncomfortably at the way he holds your hand for longer than necessary. You cough and pull yourself back, schooling yourself into a generally nice attitude as you regard him.

“Do you happen to know if anyone else is in the office right now?” You shift your weight around, trying to think of a reason to get going. “It’s fine if it’s the other doctor I’m following for observations today, but I want to get this to the other doctors of the ward before the day starts.”

“Hmm…” Michael’s voice tapers off as he scans his computer before shaking his head empathetically. “Nope, no one’s in right now. I can certainly take the desserts from you, though!”

His laughter fills the air, and you choke out a laugh just so you can try and feel less awkward. You grab at your box though, just to ensure that he doesn’t grab them from your grasp. “Ah, no, it’s okay. I’ll just get going, then-”

“Are you sure?” You feel yourself die a little bit when Michael stands from his desk, walking around and placing an unwanted hand on the small of your back. “I can walk you over-”

“That won’t be necessary, Matthew.”

The voice breaks the awkwardness, and you find yourself filling with cold relief as you turn around and find Zayne walking into the waiting room. He’s pulling on a white coat over his scrubs, and you try to suppress the dangerous thoughts that flare in your head when you see the slight way his fingers twitch at the sight of Michael’s hand on your back.

“Dr. Li!” Michael smiles, although you can see the tightness in his eyes as he registers Zayne using a wrong name. “I was just going to take Dr. ____ to the ward’s offices-”

“And I’m here now.” Zayne’s standing next to you before you know it, swatting his hand away and replacing it with his own. You relax slightly, unconsciously stepping closer to Zayne’s solid body as you give Michael a fake apologetic look.

“Thanks for your help!” Your tone has a soft sarcastic edge - one that has Zayne loosing a soft breath as he begins to push you away. Your movements are stopped though, when you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and tug you back.

“Wha-”

“I was going to help you!” Michael’s voice is tight as he throws a barely disguised look of annoyance at Zayne, who’s jaw ticks dangerously when he sees how Michael holds your wrist. “Zayne doesn’t need to take you-”

“On the contrary.” Zayne grabs Michael’s wrist and yanks him off of you, your eyes widening at the sudden display of calculated aggression from him. Zayne steps from your side and all but pushes Michael back to his seat, the latter’s cheeks burning bright red as he sits defeatedly back at his desk.

You watch carefully as Zayne steps back by your side, noting the way his jaw ticks dangerously when he regards Michael’s sweating face once more. Scoffing just loud enough for you to hear, he places his hand back on the small of your back and tilts his head back to Michael in a dismissive show of goodbye.

“It’s Dr. Li to you, Matthew. I suggest you remember respect.”

With that, the pressure on your back grows stronger as Zayne gently pushes you in the direction of the offices.

Once you’re out of earshot, you step away and regard him curiously. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“You were uncomfortable and Michael messed up some important appointments, I could have done worse.” Zayne’s tone is bored but you can hear the tightness in his voice as he swipes his keycard. He pushes the door open with his foot, and you’re greeted with the sight of a doctor you vaguely recognize and Yvonne, who looks like she’s about to fall asleep on her feet.

“Dr. ___, everybody.” You look at Zayne curiously, but he doesn’t give anything else away as he ushers you towards the two empty chairs at the head of the table. You shake your head at Yvonne’s small smirk, but the smirk only widens when Zayne pulls the chair out for you and gestures for you to sit.

“I’m Greyson!” The doctor with ruffled brown hair and thick glasses smiles at you sweetly as he shakes your hand, and you widen your eyes at Yvonne who’s face suddenly flushes once she sees you’ve come to your realization:

This is the doctor she has a crush on.

You’re never going to let her live this down.

“____,” your voice is warm as you shake his hand, and you give a small wave to Yvonne who’s suddenly avoiding your gaze sheepishly. Your smile grows even wider and you open your mouth to tease her subtly, but you’re interrupted with a cough.

You turn your head to look at Zayne, who’s looking at the box still in your hands with curiosity and something softer - a look he reserved only for you in the past. You watch as his eyes scan your penmanship on the box, and your heart stutters when you see the small upward tilt on his lips.

“‘For the ward with the most heart?’ There better not be a real heart in there, ____.”

“No, not at all.” You pull the lid of the box open, and you watch as Zayne’s face shifts from relaxed to something unreadable.

In the box are little tea cakes, reminiscent of the ones you and him would pick up for your coworkers. You had randomly picked out a variety when you picked them up this morning, but as you look at the innocent little cake jars you feel yourself freeze.

These were the same flavors you and him always gravitated towards when the two of you were still together.

You hold your breath as Greyson makes his way closer, picking up a small jar of earl grey cake piled high with a light whipped cream. Greyson looks towards Zayne with an inquisitive quirk on his brow. “Isn’t this your favorite flavor?”

“I-” Zayne begins, but you clear your throat and snatch the cake from Greyson’s hands.

“They’re meant to be shared!” Your voice wavers, and you shoot a pointed look at Yvonne who you can tell is trying not to die from embarrassment for you. Yvonne, getting the hint, moves to stand next to you and peers into the cake box.

“Chocolate raspberry!” She picks up the little jar and playfully elbows you, resulting in a little oof escaping from your mouth as she inspects the cake with glee in her eyes. “You’re the best, ____.”

“I like that flavor too!” Greyson moves towards Yvonne in an attempt to steal the little jar, but Yvonne moves away with ease and sticks her tongue out at him childishly.

“Get lost, Greyson! I claim this one!”

Their bickering fades when you feel another presence next to you, though you can tell it’s not as frosty. You turn your head towards Zayne, who’s looking at you with an undecipherable expression on your face.

“You didn’t have to get the cakes.” You feel your stomach drop at the tone of his voice - one that doesn’t give away his emotions. Why is he so hard to read now? Are all of your plans going to shit before you can even move them into motion?

“I wanted to.” You let your eyes dart away to compose yourself, and you find yourself scowling at the sight of the little cake jars. Maybe he didn’t want them at all? Why are you always second guessing yourself with him? “It’s okay, though. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to, I can take them-”

“Who said I wouldn’t eat them?”

A soft pressure encircles itself on your wrist, and your body stills as a comforting cold starts at your wrist and grounds yourself in your present. You look up to see Zayne’s softening gaze, clearly reading through your facade.

“I’m grateful you got them for me- us.” Zayne’s lips tilt up once more, and you feel yourself melting slightly at the sight. “The ward appreciates it, ____.”

“I’m glad,” you reply. “I wanted to get us off on the right foot, with observations and whatnot.”

You inject your voice with your hidden implications, and you watch Zayne debunk it in real time. You wait with bated breath to see if he’ll accept your tentative olive branch-

-and you exhale in relief when he nods slightly.

“After today’s observations.”

As if on cue, your first students knock on the office door and Yvonne and Greyson stop their bickering to open the door. You nod at him once before pulling away and putting on your best professor smile.

And this time, it’s not as forced as it used to be.

Observations are going well.

You and Zayne had been efficient with introducing Greyson and Yvonne to your class as the accompanying doctor and charge nurse for this set of rounds. You had been thorough with your students’ expectations: take diligent notes, let the four of you handle the brunt of the work, and respect the patient’s privacy.

The first couple of rooms had been peaceful, full of patients who were doing well and willing to chat with a select number of students. You watch with a soft smile as Zayne leads this demonstration with one of your students, an elderly patient giving your group a smile and a thumbs up as you herd them out of the room.

Soon enough, you reach the last room. You scan the patient’s file, frowning when you see the information written on the page. You take Zayne’s lax position as a chance to approach him, walking up to his height and tapping the paper in your hands.

“I don’t exactly know how this file came up in the approved files for observations, are you sure this is okay?” You ask as he scans the profile. His eyes widen and he looks at you, the concern you feel in your stomach mirrored in his eyes.

“Escalated emotions leading to spiked heart rate…” he muses softly, and he scans over the rest of the information before he nods to himself and looks back at you. “As long as we maintain a calm environment for her and direct our students to do the same, it should be okay. We have to be careful though.”

You can’t shake off your unease, but you nod with him. “It’s important for them to see different situations. I’ll take this one.”

With both of your approval, you and Zayne lay down the rules before opening the door to the patient’s room.

Your eyes soften when you see the patient on her bed - a girl no older than the age of ten. She has an apprehensive look on her face that she disguises with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and your heart aches when you note her slightly shaky hands.

You put on your own smile, one you hope that puts her at ease as you approach the bed. You feel Zayne’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head as you sit at the edge - breaking obvious protocol, but different scenarios call for different solutions.

“Hi, I’m Dr. ____! What’s your name?” You see her shoulders loosen ever so slightly at your soft tone, and you take it as a win as you hold out your hand for her to shake.

“Mine’s Grace,” she responds, and you melt when you feel the slight tremor stop as she shakes your hand.

“Well, Grace,” you begin, pulling out your files and selecting her file. You make a big show of flipping through the pages, and she giggles at your theatrics as you find her case details. “It says here you’re due for a heart transplant because of an Evol-related accident. Can you tell me some details and how you’re feeling right now?”

Grace clears her throat, a sudden seriousness taking over her face and making her older than she appears. “I’m 100th on the waitlist. I’ve been on the waitlist for two years, ever since a Wanderer attack created Metaflux waves so strong it affected the chemistry of my body. I feel…tired. Doctors keep telling me I’ll be okay but I don’t feel it.” She suddenly looks at Zayne, her eyes sharp as she regards him. “Am I going to die, Dr. Li?”

Your students pause their frantic notes, and you can feel the energy of the room go down at the sudden morbidness even though you and Zayne barely blink at her question. Maybe because the two of you are accustomed to situations turning all of a sudden, but you know that this won’t end well if you don’t redirect now.

“You’re not going to die.” Your voice is still soft but much more serious as you reach out and grasp Grace’s hand once more, letting her sink her nails into your hand so that she can grasp at her reality.

“I’m dying, Dr. ____.” You can hear the telltale sounds of tears welling up in the back of her throat, and you’re quick to wrap her in your arms as she begins to cry. You can tell that this is her breaking point and you’re cursing yourself out in your head for even bringing students into this room.

“I’m scared to die,” she sobs into your chest as you stroke her hair. Her heart rate begins to pick up on the monitor, and Zayne’s eyes flash as he hears the sound. You know immediately you need to try and get it under control - her heart spiking could lead to dangerous effects.

You will yourself into a calm place in your mind as your hands move up and down in soothing movements. The room grows quiet when your hands begin to emit a soft glow, and you whisper softly into Grace’s ear as you direct your Evol into her body.

“Dr. Li, what’s Dr. ____ doing to the patient?”

You ignore the student’s question and focus solely on Grace’s breathing, guiding her body’s energy into a tranquil place that allows for her heart rate to settle and for her tears to subside. All the while, you rub circles into her shoulder and whisper, “You’re not going to die, Grace. Dr. Li and I will make sure of it, sweetheart.”

Grace’s breathing evens out, and she pulls away with a soft sigh. Her eyes are slightly swollen, but her face looks serene, even a little bit sleepy as she gives you a small smile.

“Thank you, Dr. ____.” Her brow furrows when she looks at your face and you automatically reach up to make sure your smile isn’t slipping off your cheeks. “You look…different now.”

You know. You can feel it in the throbbing of your skull and how your cheeks probably lost some color but you shake your head, pushing away slightly and ignoring the way your hands shake.

“I’m okay, sweet girl.” You give her hand a soft pat before standing up, wobbling slightly on your feet. You brush off the concerned gasps and murmurs, instead electing to look at the bright EXIT sign above the door so you don’t accidentally make eye contact with the other doctor in the room.

“Dr. Li will finish up this round of observations.” Your voice trembles yet leaves no room for argument, and you ignore everyone’s worried glances at each other as you make your way to the door. “Reflections due midnight this Friday online.”

You’re dashing out of the door before you even hear a confirmation, briskly walking the halls of the ward so that you can try to find a quiet spot to collect yourself.

Your Evol isn’t a secret - in fact, it was quite well known in the medical world and the Hunter’s Association. You had been tested rigorously when you were younger because having the ability to control emotions could be dangerous in the wrong hands, but the results came back stating that you could only calm and soothe.

The results didn’t mention how it affected you, however. If done at too intense of a frequency when your energy’s low, it could cause damage to your own emotional being. Stop while administering the Evol and you risk permanently affecting the receiver’s psyche. Do it too many times with no adequate rest and you’re basically irreparable.

Hilarious that you can’t fix your own troubles with your Evol.

You somehow find your way back to the office you were in earlier and you swipe your key card against the sensor, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the sensor beeps red. You try to swipe again and almost kick the door in frustration when it beeps red at you once more, and you’re ready to fall asleep on the wall when a hand on your shoulder stops you.

You let the cool touch guide you away from the door, and you don’t speak as Zayne pushes the door open and gently ushers you inside. Somewhere in your tired mind you can feel the sour mood of the room, but you’re thankful that he doesn’t speak as he pulls out a chair and all but pushes you to sit on the hard plastic.

Your eyes slowly drift shut as you massage your temples, hoping the ache goes away soon so you can run off and take a nap. All the while, he’s a quiet yet agitated flurry of movement, filling a paper cup with water and pulling a chair closer to you so he can sit in front of you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Zayne says as he settles down. There’s a dull clack as he sets the paper cup in front of you a little too harshly, and you barely crack your eyes open to find it before grabbing onto it and taking a small sip. You find that the water helps alleviate the ache, so you take a bigger gulp as you eye him with a bit of annoyance.

“It was a mistake bringing the students into her room so I found a solution to help ease her anxiety.” There’s no warmth in your tone and Zayne sighs in frustration because he knows you’re right - it was an oversight on both of your parts, you just happen to be the one who fixed it.

“We could have found a solution together,” he responds, and you fight back the bitterness that settles on your tongue at the worry that finds its way into his expression and voice.

“Why does it matter?” You don’t mean to sound angry, you really don’t, but being with the man you still hold incredibly complicated feelings for is clouding your judgement and manifesting itself in this way. “Who are you to care?”

The implications of your words hang heavy in the air, and Zayne’s mouth snaps shut as you avert your gaze.

Why is he still so worried about you?

Isn’t he the one who said that there were more important things than you?

Why is your heart aching right now?

“This is stupid,” you grumble, and you push yourself up from the seat even though you wobble slightly. “I’m going to go home and take a nap.”

You sidestep his chair and walk for the door, reaching for the doorknob and pretending not to hear the scrape of his chair against the floor-

-but he stops you, pushing you back down into your chair.

Zayne doesn’t speak, simply opening the box of cakes still on the table and pulling out the earl grey cup with whipped cream - the same cake he was eyeing earlier. With a newfound gentleness, he sets the cake down in front of you alongside a small fork before grabbing your paper cup and going back to the water dispenser to fill it up.

“You’re always drained after using your Evol so you need to get your blood sugar up.” His voice is still concise and clear, but there’s a softer look in his eyes as he hands you back your water cup and lets your hands muddle together. “Eat, ____.”

His fingertips linger on the back of your hand and you watch a war of emotions flash in Zayne’s eyes before he sighs heavily, allowing his hand to reach up and run along the underside of your jaw. The room goes too still and you’re suddenly overaware of him - of his jasmine and pine scent, of the calluses on his fingertips as his thumb barely ghosts over your lips, and the myriad of emotions that flash in his eyes.

Your hand reaches up before you can stop it, and you rest your palm against his own hand. Your breath trembles, but you still find it in yourself to tap your pointer finger three times: a signal only the two of you know.

His eyes widen, but his thumb taps against your bottom lip once…twice…

“-Zayne, there you are!”

He pulls away too soon, and you’re cursing Greyson in your head for walking in on the two of you all of a sudden. Greyson’s eyes widen at the scene but Zayne’s pulling away before you can even blink, quick to stand and move next to Greyson while his hand flexes ever so slightly.

“I want the cake jar empty and a text saying you’re home and asleep by the time I come back.”

And with that, he leaves the room - leaving you flustered and warm all over.

The next few weeks are…infuriatingly pleasant, to say the least.

There’s an unspoken agreement of peace between you and Zayne. While things obviously haven’t gone back to how they were when you were…together, there’s an air of familiarity that you both sink into with an alarming quickness - and to be honest, it has your head spinning.

It’s the lunches sent to each other’s offices without another word alongside neat stacks of assignments, sticky notes of “Do you agree with this grading?” written in penmanship only the two of you understand.

It’s coffee runs early in the morning at the times you always went: 7:00 am, and while you may not talk to each other the silence is comfortable with glances from your end when you think he isn’t looking.

He’s actually staring at you when you actually aren’t looking, with a yearning that would have made your heart stop if you had caught sight of it.

And it’s the subtle touches that catch the attention of students and faculty alike - creating a flurry of rumors that he somehow is oblivious to but you’re completely aware of.

“Did you see the way he moved her away with his hand on her back? That was so romantic!” You’re passing by a group of your students after class, and your head immediately whips to the girl who sighed that statement.

“What was that, Lisa?” You’re not trying to tease or put her on the spot, you just kind of want her perspective on the situation because you were hyper aware of it, too. You watch as both of her companions snicker and she flounders for an answer, cheeks turning pink and games cast to anywhere but your scrutiny.

“N-nothing, Dr. ____!” She bows hastily and all but runs away, her friends bowing at you as a farewell gesture before chasing after her. The laughter that leaves their lips makes you shake your head, and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk to your temporary office in the academic advisory wing.

Your office is barebones, but there’s a little blind box figurine on your desk that marks it as your own. You smile at the silly little figure checking its watch while carrying a briefcase, placing your own bag down and pulling out a thick stack of reflections and a red pen. You flip your office sign so that it says you’re in before settling into your chair and reaching for the first packet because you know in your heart that the chances of you receiving a visitor are slim to none.

The minutes pass in quick succession and you’ve gotten into a groove as you reach for another reflection. You’re so engrossed in the soft violin of the classical music you have going on in the background that you almost miss the knock on your door, but being alone for close to an hour has you attuned to any abnormal sounds.

“Come in!” Your voice cracks slightly from lack of use and you feel yourself heat from embarrassment, but your posture relaxes only slightly when you see that it’s Zayne walking through the door with a plastic bag in one hand and his work bag in the other.

“Have any of our students come in yet?” He asks as a greeting, and you shake your head while ignoring how your heart annoyingly speeds up when you hear him say “our.”

“I’ve gotten through about half of the reflections, I’ll be continuing with them so I can try to finish before the end of the night.” Zayne slightly grimaces when you say that, and you watch with a quirk in your brow as he pulls a chair so that it’s next to yours behind the desk.

“Come eat first.” His voice is soft as he pulls the plastic bag container towards him, untying the knot before pulling a takeout container and utensils from the bag. With his free hand he lightly sweeps the papers from the desk, ensuring that the space is clear before he sets the container in front of you.

You regard him curiously as you pry open the container, and you feel yourself soften when you see the thick soy garlic noodles with a side of broccoli and orange chicken. It’s been your go-to order for ages now, and your stomach grumbles happily as you turn to look at him.

Zayne’s settling into his chair with his own container, eyeing his classic platter of fried rice and char siu pork with an evident hunger. You pick up your platter and begin to pick up food with your utensil, laughing softly to yourself when you see that he’s even asked for extra garlic with the broccoli - just the way you like it.

“What is it?” He asks, but deflect by shaking your head as you place a piece of chicken in your mouth so that you can ignore how your stomach clenches in an odd way.

“I forgot how good this takeout is,” you reply. His eyes scan your face but you pretend that nothing’s brewing in your mind as you continue to eat through your food.

“It is, isn’t it.” His voice tapers out, and he settles for eating beside you. With the soft music in the background and the academic atmosphere, it almost feels like you’re back in grad school with him - taking a break in between the chaos of your schedules and finding solace in his presence. You swallow thickly around some noodles at the thought, fighting the breath that threatens to leave you by grabbing your water bottle and taking a deep swig.

“Remember when we were presenting the first drafts of our research projects to the academic board?” Zayne’s surprisingly the one to break the silence, and you tilt your head to look at him curiously as he places his now empty container back on your desk.

“And Carter was violently hungover but still tried to pass that presentation off as his work?” You scoff, placing your own container onto the desk. Zayne chuckles at your annoyance - you never liked Carter, and you’re thankful Zayne was able to switch his research project before the studies got too serious.

“Nice to know he still gets on your nerves.” There’s a teasing edge to his voice but you simply roll your eyes as you lift your arms up above your head so you can stretch out your back.

“He ruined your first semesters of grad school, of course I still hate his guts,” you reply, letting a soft moan slip through your lips unknowingly when you feel a crack along your spine. You feel yourself flush a little at the unwarranted sound, and you look over to Zayne to see if he caught it.

Judging by the slight tick of his jaw, he did.

You stand up too quickly, clearing your throat and beginning to reach your hands out so that you can clear your desk, but a hand on the small of your back stops you dead in your tracks.

“Zayne, wha-” you begin, but Zayne’s quick to settle you back into the plush cushion, turning you around in your office chair so that you’re facing the wall. You scowl petulantly, but his hand on the head of your office chair restricts your movement.

“Stay there,” he says, and though he tries to sound nonchalant you can hear a strained undertone that has your heart racing.

“I can clean my own desk,” you try to argue, but your mouth falls shut when you feel a whisper of ice forming on the back of your chair due to his fingers digging into the leather a little too tightly.

“I brought the food, I will clean up.”

You cross your arms, trying to remove the cross crease of your brow as you hear him place the containers into the plastic bag. Your toe taps against the floor as he ties the bag shut, sighing to himself deeply before letting go of your chair and allowing you to spin back around to face the desk.

You both fight to ignore each other’s glances, Zayne throwing the trash away in the garbage can outside of your office while you drink water to keep yourself alert and clear-minded. By the time he walks back into your office you’ve both composed yourselves and you’re reaching out to grab the next stack of reflections to be graded. You expect him to pick up his bag and leave, but to your surprise he’s settling back down in his seat and pushing his sweater sleeves up.

“Are you going to go home?” He asks as he unbuttons the top of the shirt underneath his sweater, and you shake your head in response while putting everything you can in ignoring the appearance of his arms.

“I want to finish these reflections.” You tap your pen against the opening page, eyes widening when you see whose paper you’re about to grade. “Lisa Zhao, huh…”

“What about her?” Zayne’s rolling his chair closer to your’s, hovering his head above your shoulder just enough so that he can also read her proposal.

“It’s nothing, really. She was just muttering something about romance and her friends were laughing at her.” You fight to focus your attention on the words printed on the paper, but Zayne’s presence has your head spinning in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

“Odd,” he replies. You turn to look at him head on, but your heart stutters painfully at the sight that greets you.

His eyes are slightly unfocused behind his thin rimmed glasses, hair pushed up just enough where you can see the concentrated crease of his brow. Against your better judgement your eyes drift lower to his chest, and you gasp softly when you see his bare neck and a little bit of his chest because of the way he’s leaning beside you.

“-!” A soft noise escapes your lips when his nose slightly brushes against your’s, and you push your chair away from him so that you can try and catch your breath. There’s a sudden shift in the air and you need to gather your wits and tell him to leave because if you don’t you might do something you might regret like pull him in for…you don’t know but you don’t want to find out.

“Are you all right, ____?” There’s genuine concern in his voice, you know, but you suddenly feel so angry at him.

“What game are you playing?” You push yourself out of your chair, trying to fight the way your vision swims from the sudden movement as you glare at the way he stands from his chair.

“What do you mean?” He asks, although you can tell by the carefully neutral tone of his voice that he knows - of course he does, when he knows every little thing about you.

“The food,” you begin, lifting a finger for each reason you can come up with. “The soft touches on my back and across my knuckles, taking care of me after the first set of observations, coffee in the morning the way we like…Zayne, what’s happening?”

Your voice breaks off at the last word, and you reach up to rub at your face to quell the frustrated tears that begin to pool in the corners of your eyes.

You’ve admitted it to Yvonne and to a tiny part of yourself: you’re scared. Scared of how easy it is to fall back into this routine, at how you and Zayne are too quick to bury your past and return to almost-normal with a frightening comfort that has you believing you’re still his.

And therein lies the issue: you’re absolutely not Zayne Li’s and it’s going to ruin you and the feelings that have just blossomed tenfold since you first re-met him in Dr. Chung’s office.

“I…I want to take care of you.”

It’s a quiet confession that has your heart racing. You bury your face in your hands even tighter, but a gentle sweep of his thumb across your knuckles has you loosening your grip. When he sees that you won’t peek up to look at him, he sighs and taps his thumb against your knuckle once.

“The lines between us are blurred right now, and that’s my fault.” He admits. You lift your head up slightly, and he exhales in relief when your hands begin to lower. His own hands are there to replace them, and your fingers wrap around his wrists as he gently massages your cheeks with his thumbs.

“All I know is that when I saw your name on the potential list of candidates to co-teach, I wanted it to be you immediately.” He taps your cheek, and your eyes slowly drift shut at his comforting contact. “I knew things couldn’t go back to the way they were immediately but…but I know I want to try.”

“Everything has been so hot and cold with you.” Your voice has dropped to a whisper, and against your own wishes you feel a tear slide down your cheek. “I don’t know what to believe or expect. Will I get cold, avoidant Dr. Li? Or will I get Zayne?”

The room stills as he absorbs your words, music long done from how long it’s been. Even though you know it’s way past your office hours, you know that anyone could walk by and see this compromising position. That alone is enough to begin to untangle yourself from his embrace, but his hold on your face tightens just slightly enough for you to stop.

“I haven’t been the clearest with you, but I want you to know that I want to make amends with you.” His forehead comes to rest against yours, making your grip on his wrists tighten at the contact.

The two of you stand like that for just a moment, and you feel something in your chest ignite when his pointer finger taps your nose gently. You pull away to look at his flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips - a look you know is mirrored on your own face.

“Can we even get to that point?” Your voice bares all of your fears and emotions to him, and you can see the exact moment Zayne’s heart cracks slightly in his chest.

“I’ll spend the rest of this semester and whatever time you allow trying and making it up to you if you’ll let me,” he murmurs in response.

You look up at him, noting the sincerity in his face and the myriad of emotions that lie beneath the surface. They reflect and resonate with you because they’re exactly the ones you feel in your own body.

It feels a little different now, though. You feel a little bit lighter and ready to try.

And by the way Zayne’s face breaks out into a breathtaking smile when you nod in his grasp, you know he feels the same way, too.

As it turns out, his trying includes inviting you to a karaoke party with the rest of the cardiac unit.

“Don’t worry,” Yvonne reassures you as she helps you put on your favorite necklace. “Zayne made sure to not include Michael tonight! It's just the cardiac ward’s available doctors, nurses, and you.”

“You’re making that sound like it’s a bad thing,” you reply teasingly, and Yvonne laughs as she slides on her heels.

“It’s definitely not, especially when you look this hot!”

A burst of confidence makes itself known in your chest, a smile spreading across your face as you look at the floor length mirror by your bedroom door. Your navy blue dress is appropriate enough to wear to a work function but the low back and silky fabric makes you feel bold, even with the white cardigan you end up pulling on.

Yvonne pouts as you button the top closed, shaking out her loose hair and messing with her bangs so they look tastefully messy. “C’mon, ____! Let Dr. Zayne see his beautiful lady, take the cardigan off!”

“It’s cold!” You laugh in response. You wiggle your eyebrows teasingly and she groans because she knows what you’re about to say. “You’re all covered up though, no Greyson?”

Yvonne’s face flushes a light pink, and you can’t help but laugh at the way she scans her white off-the-shoulder long sleeved top and black flowy pants. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“So he is coming.” Yvonne groans at your giggles, shaking her head and making her way to the front door of your apartment with an alarming quickness.

“We have a cab to catch, ____!” You follow after her, laughing all the way down the elevator ride and on your way to the karaoke bar.

The good mood continues when you enter the building, arms linked with Yvonne as you scan the rooms the cardiac ward rented out. Soon enough, you find a screen that says Akso Hospital’s Ward with the Most Heart, and your heart flutters as you enter the room because you know Zayne named it after your lame joke.

You say hi to the nurses and doctors that approach you and Yvonne, giving hugs and accepting compliments for your outfits. You put your cardigan and purse next to Yvonne’s on the designated table before being whisked away to the bar in the corner of the room, away from the karaoke screens and crowd of cardiac surgeons belting a ballad with increasing passion.

Yvonne waves the bartender over, ordering two cocktails while you surreptitiously scan the room for a certain raven-haired head of cardiology. Zayne was never one to spend too much time at work events, even if he’s the one helping plan and pay for said events. If you remember correctly, you and him would show up for an hour at most before doing…other activities.

Your skin heats very briefly, and Yvonne eyes you curiously as she hands you a pink cocktail. “What is it, ____?”

“Just remembering something,” you murmur before lifting the glass up to your lips. You wince at the slight alcoholic sting but you find it’s much easier to drink, making you look at Yvonne suspiciously as she rapidly downs her own drink.

“The tab’s on the hospital,” she answers as a reply to your curious stare, holding her hand up again for another drink. You shake your head and laugh, placing your mostly full glass on the counter before waving the bartender over to you as she pouts.

“Can we get two glasses of white?” You ask, and before Yvonne can protest you shake your head. “The goal is to feel good, not get fucked up. Your cocktails will fuck us up.”

“Okay, okay, ____,” she sighs, and you hand her a glass of white wine before making her promise she’ll go easy on herself.

You hear cheers and greetings on the microphone, and you turn around to see Zayne and Greyson entering the room. Your breath catches in your throat when you see Zayne - eyes wandering down his frame before you even realize what you’re doing. Your fingers tighten ever so slightly on the stem of your wine glass when you see the neat lines of his tan slacks and the way the embroidered birds on his sweater ripple across his chest when he turns his body to scan the room.

His eyes catch yours and you’re rendered breathless as you scan his face. There’s a hint of weariness behind his thin rimmed glasses, hair slightly more mussed than how he usually has it done. But his eyes flash with something dangerous before his lips tilt up ever so slightly, making you squeak as you turn back to the bar.

“What is it?” Yvonne’s eyes widen as you down your wine in one gulp before reaching for the cocktail you had left untouched. She yelps as you try to down it too, but you’re only able to get a little sip before she successfully pries the glass from your palm.

“I need more if I’m going to make it out-” you say hastily, raising your hand but Yvonne stops you and orders two waters.

“Okay, so we’re going to drink water and gather ourselves because we should not be letting men dictate our feelings,” she declares steadily, and you sigh heavily before begrudgingly drinking the cold water. The coolness of the liquid clears your head, although it doesn’t stop the soft buzz that’s still coursing through your veins as you finish the glass. You and Yvonne place the empty glasses on the bar, eyeing the mounting energy in front of the karaoke screens as everyone jumps up and down to a classic party song.

“I think it’s a mistake for me to be here!” By now you’re having to shout for her to understand you through the din, and she shakes her head empathetically as she grabs your hand and begins to drag you to the floor.

“No it isn’t, ____!” She begins to dance, spinning in a circle and making you laugh as you begin to sway your body back and forth to the beat as well. “You’ve worked hard with observations and teaching, it’s time for you to relax!”

You’re quick to let loose, letting yourself open up a little and dance with Yvonne and the other nurses of the cardiac ward to a fun pop song. You go for a little spin during the height of the song, the girls cheering you on as your skirt billows slightly around your ankles and making you feel really, really good.

The dancing continues and you move from crowd to crowd, smiling and dancing with your coworkers. You lose Yvonne in the crowd but you don’t mind it, finding your way to the edge of the crowd and dancing with the first group you had been with. Soon enough, the next karaoke singer chooses a slower song - the crowd groaning but still finding partners to dance with. You take it as a chance to move back to the bar so that you can take a break and try to find your best friend. There’s a wide smile on your face as you order a glass of water, gulping it down greedily before placing it back on the counter and leaning against the solid wood.

“Having fun?”

You tilt your head to the side to find Zayne standing next to you with his elbows propped on the bar behind him, his sleeves pushed up past his forearms and hair even more mussed than when you first saw him. There’s a softness on his face as he regards you, and you feel your knees go slightly weak when you see him scanning your figure with a slow, calculated sweep of his eyes.

“Yes.” You don’t mean for it to sound so breathless, but you find yourself growing bolder when his jaw tightens ever so slightly. You gather your courage and slide yourself closer to him, your fingers reaching up to push his hair back from his face. His hand twitches on the bar, fingers tightening on the wood as the tips of your nails softly graze his forehead before you smile and pull your hand back to copy his stance. “Are you?”

“Somewhat,” he sighs, and you fight your shiver as he moves himself closer so that he can tilt his head towards you. The rational part of your brain is telling you that it’s just so that you can hear him better, but the majority of your brain is melting - especially when he lays his arm flat across the bar so you’re half in his embrace.

“Oh?” You fight to keep your breathing even as you tilt your head up to regard him. “I saw that you and Greyson came in late. Is everything all right in the cardiac ward?”

Zayne’s eyes light up at your words, and you watch with a soft feeling in your heart as he begins to speak once more. “We found a donor so we were organizing who would be doing the surgery and whatnot. It took longer than expected, I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“I’m glad you’re here now,” you reply. You playfully bump his shoulder, your smile widening when you see the corners of his lips tilt up. “Now you get to relax!”

“It’s hard for me to relax.” His head dips down lower so his lips are right by your ear, and you feel yourself shiver at the way his mouth barely brushes your skin. Eyes threatening to slip shut, you reach up and wrap your fingers around his bicep - earning yourself a low groan and another thrilling sensation racing up your spine.

“And why’s that?” You’re tilting your body so that you can place your palms on his shoulders, smoothing the barely creased fabric so that you can put some semblance of normalcy at this clear flirting going on between the two of you. Zayne gets the hint though, and with a bemused smile forming on his lips he places his hands on your waist to pull you closer.

“Too loud.” His right hand picks up your own absentmindedly, and he begins swaying you around in a circle. Your feet follow along without a second thought as you stare up at him - in tune with him from the times he led impromptu dances during late nights in the kitchen while you two were still together. There’s a pang in your chest when you come to that realization, but it’s quickly soothed away with a gentle squeeze on your waist that has you melting even closer to him.

“It certainly is,” you hum back as you allow him to give you a little spin. The skirt of your dress whooshes around your ankles and you giggle softly when he directs your spin back into his safe embrace. His hands are quick to settle on your hips, long fingertips brushing against the warm skin of your spine and making you gasp softly as he regards you with a sudden heat in his stare.

“There’s another reason why I can’t relax,” he confesses softly. His fingers trace up to the middle of your back, tapping three times slowly as he pulls you closer. The swaying slowly stops until it’s the two of you just…staring at each other, noses brushing and eyes unblinking as one of his hands reaches up to cup your face.

“What’s that?” It’s a breathless, rhetorical question that you both know the answer to. It’s a question that has equal parts desire and anxiety pooling in your stomach at how he may respond, your heart beating so loudly you wonder if he can hear it above the din of his coworkers singing horribly on the mic.

“A beautiful vision before me.” It has you gasping as his nose slides against yours, lips barely brushing. “She’s dressed in navy blue silk and she’s made it hard for me to think rationally since I saw her name on a list of potential candidates to teach with.”

“Zayne-” you begin to whisper, but his lips are quick to bend down and press against yours. Your eyes immediately flutter shut at the contact, arms tightening around his neck as you pull him closer to you. His hands are no better - pulling you as close as you can get as he angles your head up to deepen your kiss. His tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip and you whimper against his mouth, allowing for him to bite against your lip softly.

Your head spins as he slowly comes to a stop, pulling away ever so slightly. Your eyes open lazily, and you find that he has a hazy look in his own eyes, scanning up and down your face in a way that has you smiling up at him.

“Hi,” you begin softly. Your fingers trace soft circles at the base of his skull as you tilt your head up at him so you can watch his expression carefully. “How are you?”

It’s like his body temperature goes down in a millisecond, eyes widening rapidly as he all but pushes himself away from you. You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair, hands shaking and gaze avoidant as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and clears his throat.

“That was a mistake.”

Your heart cracks.

It’s like you’re watching in the third person, powerless to stop what’s about to happen to you. Your hands itch to reach out to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, hold him close, something, anything - but you do nothing and watch as he takes one step back.

And then another, before he’s turning on his heel.

He barely spares you a glance as he briskly strides out of the room, taking the warmth from your body until you’re shivering by yourself, cold to your hollow core.

You don’t know how long you stand there, lips tingling and heart shattering in your chest as your hands flex by your side, trying to process it all. Being kissed by the man you’re in love with and then being brushed away without another explanation…what’s happening? Did you do something wrong?

You barely register Yvonne pulling on your wrist, guiding you out of the room before stuffing the two of you into a cab. Your head spins and yet you feel nothing at all, staring straight ahead blankly because if you open your feelings to her you’ll fall apart and you don’t know if you’ll be able to repair yourself.

You’re back in your apartment with Yvonne sitting you on your sofa when the first tear falls. No sounds escape your mouth but it’s enough for Yvonne to panic, placing the glass of water she filled for you on the table as she hastily sits in front of you to cup your face and brush your hair back from your temples with her fingers.

“Are you okay, ____?”

That one sentence is enough.

You begin to sob, collapsing into her arms as your cries shake your entire body. She’s silent except for the occasional soothing sound, rubbing her hands against your back as she attempts to help you weather the storm of pain that’s thundering through your chest.

You know there’s no making it out of this one, though.

Not when the hands you crave are the same ones that took your heart and crushed it in between his skilled fists.

You assign your work through an online medium the following week.

Dr. Chung had been confused when you asked for a week to yourself, but he had been quick to put two and two together when he entered the room with a stack of material and you all but ran out of the office.

There had been an email a couple of hours later with a simple message: Talk to him, Dr. ____. Please.

You left it open on your desktop, simply electing to stare out of the windows at the beginnings of sunset.

Was it really a mistake? You don’t think so. You wanted- want him with every fiber of your being, so much that it feels like he’s robbed you of the air you so desperately crave when he walked away last Friday.

Yvonne had been furious once she found out the full story, seething and yelling on your behalf while you sat eerily still on your couch. She had prepared meals for you, sometimes even feeding you spoonfuls when she returned to find your food barely touched. You could sense a shift halfway through the week where she wasn’t as angry, though - more reflective and quiet.

“What is it?” You asked when you find her staring off in the sunset.

“Nothing, ____,” she murmured back, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

You find yourself reflecting back on that change and why Yvonne is suddenly too quiet. Is there something she doesn’t know?

Against your will you find yourself thinking back on that kiss. For a split second it felt like everything was going right - on the path of reconciliation and maybe even love. Just for a singular moment everything felt perfect, like your world was spinning properly and the crack in your chest felt whole.

But now? Now you even feel more broken.

It’s the last day of your leave and you’re desperately trying to pick yourself up. Despite being off from both work and teaching at Linkon you barely got any sleep, staring up at your ceiling at night because being asleep meant dreaming about the man who both haunts and comforts you.

You’re sorting through the last of your graded papers before putting them into a manila folder and packing them in your bag, rubbing your eyes as you do so. You’re trying as hard as you can to focus on your objectives at hand but you find your eyes wandering to your phone and reaching out to grab it. You scowl when you realize what you’re doing, shaking your head and returning to packing your work bags.

There’s a knock on your front door and you walk towards it without another thought, peeking your head out so that you can let Yvonne into your apartment. You freeze, however, when you see a bouquet of lavenders.

Your eyes wander up, and you feel them widening when you see his tired eyes and serious face, though it softens considerably when he sees your face from by the door.

“Can I come in?” Zayne asks quietly.

You let him in without another word, turning and settling your body onto a barstool by the kitchen. You will yourself to take deep, steady breaths as he places the lavenders on the counter and props himself directly across from you, focusing your vision on the tip of his chin so that you don’t completely crumble under his steady gaze.

“How are you?”

Your laugh is humorless at the question, fingers tapping on the counter as you spill the truth from your lips. “Shit.”

There’s a shallow intake of breath from him, but you don’t allow him to speak as you continue on with your thoughts.

“It’s hard feeling okay when you reconcile with your ex-fiancé over the course of a few months, learning how to live and breathe and work with someone who’s somehow still your everything.” Your vision wavers but you swallow your tears, finally pushing yourself up from the counter and walking around. “It felt like things were finally going right when you said you wanted things to work.”

Your eyes finally look up at him and you feel yourself rendered speechless when you see the expression on his face. He looks every bit vulnerable and hollow as you feel in your chest, eyes shining and lips pressed in a thin line.

And you don’t know why, but you feel hot rage consume your body at the sight. How dare he look broken when he’s the one shattering you.

“But then you kissed me and it was the best kiss of my life.” Your voice rises as you step closer to him, poking your finger at his chest as your anger begins to affect your reasoning. “You kissed me like you meant it and everything felt like it was back in place for a split second until you pushed yourself away and said it was a fucking mistake.”

“____-” he tries to begin, but your voice rises to a yell as you finally let everything spill from out of you and into the air, even if it means permanently ruining whatever foundation the two of you still had.

“You said we would try. You said you would make it up to me.” You can’t quite stop your tears now, but your voice is still steady even if your hands shake. “Do you not mean it?”

“I do.”

There’s a brokenness in Zayne’s voice as he reaches out to cup your face, and against your better judgement you press your palms against his. He tilts your face up to look at him and you’re rendered breathless from the vulnerability on his face - open for you to see his deepest feelings.

“It was a mistake because we were only just starting again,” he says, voice thick with pain and unshed tears. “That kiss was something I’ve dreamed about since you left all those years ago - something I’ve craved to do when I’m alone with you. But I know that it’s not right to kiss you - and it’s not fair to kiss you for my own greed.”

Your breath stutters in your throat, chest aching as you absorb his words. Taking your silence as permission, he continues. “I’ve hurt you far too many times and I…I don’t deserve you at all.” His breath is shallow, washing over your face as he leans his forehead against yours. His finger taps your cheek three times in quick succession, a featherlight touch that makes you think you conjured it up. “Please, ____…let me make it up to you. Let me earn your forgiveness.”

You freeze.

You want nothing more to make things right, to patch things over and go back to the way things were. But can you ever truly go back to how things were? With how much has been said and what’s been done in between your bodies, laying at your feet?

Can you even forgive yourself if he shatters the remaining parts of you? Fix what’s been broken for the third time if it happens again?

There’s no way that this is going to end well for the both of you, so you resign yourself to the sad ending that’s been written out for the both of you long ago. The fire of your anger is gone, replaced with your salty tears as you look into his eyes and say, “I’m still in love with you, Zayne.”

His breath hitches.

You step away, keeping eye contact as you curl your hands into fists to keep yourself steady. “I’m still in love with you, but I don’t think you realize the gravity of how much I do. I love you enough to come back to Linkon and teach, even if I was apprehensive at first. I love you to try and fill the gaps you left. I love you enough to try again over and over again, even if it costs me every single time.”

You shake your head, a sob escaping your chest as you hold your hand up so that he can’t step any closer to you.

“I love you enough to know that I’ll shatter myself over again, but I can’t keep breaking.” Your voice shakes as you register him moving to stand in front of you. Your breath hiccups when you see him slowly sink to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs while tilting his head up so he catches your eyes.

“Forgive me, ____,” he all but begs, and you’re transported back to that first time he broke your heart. To when he knelt and groveled for forgiveness, only for you to push your diamond ring into his hands and run out of your shared apartment.

There isn’t a ring now, but there’s still the desperation on his face and tears streaming down your cheeks as you reach out and place your hand on his cheek delicately. He pushes his face into your hand, breathing deeply and kissing your palm as if it’ll help - but you know it’s far too late.

You’re not going to let your heart break for a third time.

“Please leave.”

Your hands emit a soft glow, allowing for Zayne’s emotions to calm down enough for him to understand your words. His eyes widen as he registers the soothing emotion wash over his body, gaze flickering as you continue to soothe his emotions - a sort of parting gift.

A way to soothe him in the way you’ll never be able to be comforted.

He’s on his feet to pull your hands away but you take it as an opportunity to push him out of the door, him going with no resistance due to the shock of you using your Evol on him. You’re barely able to open the door and unceremoniously push him out before you collapse against the door, trying to stop your relentless flow of tears.

You cry for what feels like hours, mourning the loss of the person you love with your entire being. You try to tell yourself that it’s for the best - you can’t keep letting yourself get hurt, he can’t keep apologizing and trying to make it up to you.

But when you sink into sleep that night, you can only see gold flecked emerald and warm hands brushing your tears away, tapping three times before leaving you empty.

You feel like you’ve lived lifetimes ever since that night.

You had sent a curt email to him with Dr. Chung CC’ed, dividing the last of your classes and finals schedule evenly so that you wouldn’t have to cross paths with him again. Your students had been confused, but your steady voice and sharp gaze had put a stop to all prying.

You had effectively closed yourself off, simply going through the motions and giving non-committal hums whenever Yvonne asked a question or if you were with a group of friends. You spent most of your time on your desktop, rifling through open positions in Chansia City and refining your resume.

You don’t think you can stand to live here, not when your heart still aches for him. You need to just get out and force yourself to move on, even if it means moving oceans away.

You’re almost there, you tell yourself. You’re sitting in the pediatric ward’s offices, grading some final papers and eyeing your pager warily. You had come in early even though you were technically scheduled for the night shift, but you had shooed away the attending doctor scheduled for the morning and have since been using the empty hours to grade papers and try to distract yourself from the aching in your chest.

Your pager beeps the same time one of your charge nurses bursts through the door, breathless and shaky. You eye the code, feeling a sense of tired calm wash over you at the CODE BLUE flashing on the screen.

“Evol-related car accident,” your nurse gasps, and you’re up out of your seat and walking briskly towards the scrub down room before she even finishes giving the summary.

You enter the surgery with a clear understanding: your patient (female, age 6) has a punctured organ due to being in a car accident caused by a Wanderer attack. Her mother is currently in surgery as well, but her wounds are more severe. Nevertheless, you put all of your focus on your patient as you begin the operation.

The hours pass, your charge nurse noting the time as you extract shrapnel and tie sutures as gently as you can. Your fatigue begins to eat at your concentration, hands shaking as you call for a different pair of scissors but you force it down, honing your laser sharp focus so that you can save this little girl's life.

After twelve hours of work you tie the last stitch, making sure that it’s clean before nodding to the assisting surgeon. He nods at you once more before beginning the removal procedure, instructing the other nurses and anesthesiologist in the room on how to transport the patient to the ICU. All the while you bow to them in thanks, mustering a small yet genuine smile as you express your thanks for their help.

Your scrub down is slow and methodical, taking your time to clean yourself off so that you can look half-decent when you report the results to what family may be waiting in the waiting room. You briefly think of your patient’s mother - is she okay? Did she make it through? You desperately hope so. Losses are never easy to digest and share, so you hope with every bit of your being that she made it out okay, too.

You’re in the waiting room before you can even register you’re there, your tired mind guiding your body on autopilot. You clear your voice before announcing, “Is the family of Lilian Hsu here?”

Immediately, a harried looking man jumps to his feet and rushes to stand in front of you. His eyes are bloodshot as he reaches out to grip one of your hands in between his own shaking one’s, and you allow him to grip at you as he looks at you with primal eyes.

“Is Lili alive? Is my little girl okay?” Mr. Hsu blurts out, frame shaking as he stares at you with all the hope in the world. You nod slightly and his face crumples, tears beginning to race tracks down his cheeks as he begins to sob.

“There were some complications with the Evol-laden shrapnel so we had to make sure her body’s chemistry wasn’t too affected.” His breath hitches but you’re quick to placate him with a soft squeeze on his hand. “Her vitals are stable and nothing seems wrong so we were able to wrap up with no other complications. She’s in the Children’s ICU right now.”

“Oh, thank gods,” he breathes, squeezing your hands once more. “Thank you, Dr. ____, you saved my little girl’s life-”

“Is the family of Amy Hsu here?”

The voice is more somber, and you turn to see Greyson with a tired look on his face. He nods at you in greeting, but you feel something in you sink when you see the grim line of his mouth and the way his eyes shine with unshed tears.

Oh no.

Mr. Hsu senses it too, and his face crumples as he realizes what happened.

“I’m sorry,” Greyson says softly.

That’s all it takes. Mr. Hsu collapses onto the floor, hysterical sobs beginning to wrack his body as he processes the news that was just given to him. The earth-shattering news that his wife is gone but his daughter’s alive…

You bite your lip, tears welling in your own eyes - from sheer exhaustion or empathy for him, you don’t know. Your head spins and you know that you could easily just leave, find an empty hospital room, and go to sleep. It would be so easy to walk away for anyone else, so why can’t you?

Empathy and compassion. Service for others before yourself.

The Hippocratic Oath reverberates through your brain, and before you’re even processing your actions you’re kneeling in front of Mr. Hsu and wrapping him in your arms. Using the last bits of energy you can muster, you begin soothing him while wrapping him in your Evol.

“I’m sorry,” you susurrate quietly, hands stroking up and down his back. He clings onto you and sobs into your neck, and you fight the tears in your eyes and the fuzziness of your vision as you continue to target his energy - soothing the pain and bringing forth a semblance of peace for his turbulent mind. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The hallway is silent, charge nurses and patients watching with equal parts curiosity and horror as your hands begin to emit a stronger glow. You push down the feelings of regret and sadness that spiral in you as a result of expelling the man’s own sadness, although you can tell by the way your hands shake and your breath leaves in exhausted puffs that you might exert yourself past the point of no return.

In the back of your mind you hear frantic steps behind you, and you register an ice cold voice injected with…something, you’re not quite sure. “Stop her, now.”

“Dr. Li, once she starts she can’t stop.” Greyson’s voice is timid and tinged with concern, but you thank him in your brain - he knows better than to deter you from doing your job. “If she does, you know it risks permanently affecting the receiver’s emotions.”

“I don’t care-” the voice above you wavers in and out as you fight to maintain your concentration. You briefly note how the man’s breathing evens out and his sobs subsiding, though you notice your breath is leaving you in unsteady puffs as tears course down your cheeks.

Keep going, keep going. Even through the pain of it all. Endure.

“She’ll risk bleeding her own energy dry and it will affect her psyche permanently and I can’t live with having her go through that-”

The argument above you rages on, but you soldier on. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Your voice leaves in gasps as you continue to give your all. The man slumps onto your shoulder, his breath steady as he dozes off but you continue to inject your Evol onto him so that you can spare him of the pain of a splintering, broken heart. It’s the worst feeling in the world, one you don’t want anyone to live with because you’re living with one right now.

Spare the hurt. Take everyone’s pain and keep it to yourself. Rid the world of its sadness and strife, even if it means you’ll suffer for an eternity.

You barely register the man being lifted off of you through the heaving, shuddering sobs that shake your entire body. With nothing else to support your weight you fall to the floor, curling into a ball and digging your nails into your palms as you scream from the sheer anguish coursing through your veins.

“Everybody move out of my way!”

It’s agonizing, the hollow feeling in your chest spreading through your entire body and the tiny voice in your brain telling you that you’ll never amount to more, be able to do more - that no one will ever be able to help you with what plagues you. Your breathing stutters and your head spins as your vision fades in and out, and you thank the universe that it's finally sparing you of the pain of your broken heart and the knowledge that you'll never get to fully repair yourself - and that you’ve pushed away the one person you want.

No, need. You had the best thing in the palm of your hands, but you pushed him away - thinking it was for the best. He slipped in between your fingers and you’ll forever live with that regret. You vow to run again, if your energy isn’t forever ruined. Spare you and him of the pain that somehow always emerges when the two of you are together.

You find comfort in that fact. Your vision begins to darken and your eyes slowly shut.

Finally, some rest.

Your ears ring and you’re about to slip into the abyss-

-but ice wraps around your hands, pulling you through a pine forest and into the warmth of a hearth with jasmine flowers in a vase.

“-hear me?” A familiar voice swims above you, and against your better judgement you fight your impending black out. “-breath out your mouth, my love.”

The tone is gentle, full of an emotion that you’ve craved during many of your sleepless nights. You begin to follow the voice’s commands, taking an unsteady and short breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“-my chest, ____. The rhythm will help-”

Right. You put everything you can into the rhythm of the hearth’s beat, allowing for the steady presence to guide you back to your senses. The ringing of your ears slowly subsides, although exhaustion settles deeply into your bones as your breath hiccups.

“You’re doing well, ____. Keep breathing, my love.” The feeling of hands rubbing up and down your back has you melting against a solid chest, and you feel deft fingers pull at the clip on top of your head. Your hair falls down and the fingers rub against the back of your skull, making your eyes slowly flutter shut at the soothing contact.

“Zayne…” It leaves you in a breathless gasp, and you half curse your stupidity in your exhausted brain because how do you even know it’s him? But you’re placated with a finger tapping three times against your nose, a sure-fire sign that it’s him.

“Are you with me, ____?” His voice is soft, although it’s colored with something heavy. Still, he rubs his thumbs against your temples as he ponders something. “Can you tell me the major chambers of the heart in clockwise order?”

It’s an easy question, yes, but you know it’s his way of checking if you’re back with him. You scramble through your tired mind, trying to piece the answer together and you finally whisper: “Left atrium, left ventricle, right ventricle, right atrium. Aorta on top.”

“Good.” There’s a tired undertone in his voice that has you leaning against his chest, fingers blindly gripping at his scrubs. All of a sudden, you’re being lifted into the air, and you gasp and wrap your fingers tighter against his coat as you fight the fatigue that addles your brain.

“-in my office,” Zayne begins, and you register that you’re going in and out of consciousness. You continue to fight your brain so that you can listen in, but the strong scent of pine and jasmine coupled with the steady rhythm of his heart engulfs your senses and you feel yourself begin to shut down. “-not disturb, I’ll be the one to make sure Dr. ____ is okay. No pagers, no questions-”

You don’t register anything else, the steady steps carrying you to an unknown location lulling you into a trance-like state. Maybe he’ll dump you on a hospital room bed and leave you there.

“No I won’t.” Zayne’s voice is severe, and you feel hot embarrassment in the fact that you’re mindlessly babbling out your thoughts. “You’re staying with me, ____.”

You don’t say anything else, simply curling up against his chest and holding onto his shirt tightly. His grip on your remains steadfast, and he continues to walk until he comes to a stop. You vaguely hear the beeping of a keycard paired with his foot kicking something, and before you know it you’re in a pleasantly cool room.

You feel yourself being gently laid down on a plush sofa and you sigh as you sink against the soft pillows. You feel him begin to untangle himself from you, but you grip onto his shirt as a feeble whimper escapes your lips.

“Stay.”

It’s a helpless plea, a hopeless request, and your one greatest desire in this entire world. You want Zayne to stay with you, in this moment and for the rest of your lives. You don’t know if this will be fleeting or forever, but you’ll take the fleeting touch if it means you can have it in your brain forever.

The moment feels like a lifetime, but not even a minute later Zayne slides onto the couch with you. He arranges himself so that he’s laying on his back and you’re wrapped in his arms on top of him - the both of your favorite cuddling positions, one that has tears welling in your eyes once again.

One of his hands reaches up to massage the back of your head and you sigh against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the skin of his jaw. His chest rumbles in response to your contact and you nuzzle yourself further into his neck, breathing in the scent that’s brought you back from over the edge time and time again.

Your eyes begin to drift shut when his chest moves up, a soft humming in his chest as he whispers something. You strain your ears and you hear it: “I don’t deserve you, ____.”

“Mmm?” you mumble sleepily.

“I don’t deserve you,” Zayne says again. His fingers never stop in your hair and on your back, but you feel something new. A wetness on your forehead, sliding down to meet the previous tear tracks that still lay on your cheeks.

“Zayne?”

“I’m sorry, ____.” A shuddering gasp lifts your body, and your arms tighten around his neck as he tries to swallow his tears so you can hear him clearly. “I don’t deserve you, but I will make it up to you forever if you’ll let me. Please let me.”

“What if we aren't meant to be?”

It’s a soft whisper, but your fears are laid bare for the both of you to analyze. You want so desperately to make this work, but you don’t know if it’s meant to be after what’s happened.

His arms squeeze you tighter, his voice thick with tears yet steady with conviction. “We are, ____. I will work and beg and apologize and kneel at your feet until you forgive me and we build something new. We don’t have to force it - we'll go at your own pace and I will follow until you’re ready because you’re the most important thing in my life.”

His words sink into your skull, and for the first time you find tranquility instead of turbulence. Your lips brush against his pulsepoint once again before you whisper the single word that dictates your future with him:

“Okay.”

You barely feel his breath of relief and the tender kiss he brushes against your forehead as a peace that you haven’t felt in a while envelopes your bones. You snuggle further into his chest and allow yourself to finally succumb to sleep - lulled into a kind part of your brain by Zayne’s fingers in your hair.

Before you finally surrender, though, you hear it:

“You will always be my heart, my love. I hope I can earn yours again.”

It’s finals week, and your body feels lighter than it’s felt in a while.

There’s a soft smile ever-present on your lips, and it’s something that’s aided your students somewhat. When faced with a gentle smile, they relax and do better on their tests.

You tell yourself it’s to make them feel at ease, but you know it’s for another reason entirely.

Zayne’s back in your life, finding ways to show his fondness and apologies in your everyday life. It’s subtle but for you it makes a world of difference - texts asking about your day, your favorite food delivered at your apartment and the pediatric office, and flowers addressed to you and Yvonne because he knows that earning your forgiveness means earning hers tenfold.

She had scoffed the first time he had sent her a bouquet of peonies, even though her eyes sparkled when she saw her favorite flower. “Why’s he sending me some?”

You had sniffed your own bouquet of jasmines and lavender, pointing to the card that was attached to her bouquet. “Read it and tell me what it says!”

She had grabbed the card and you carefully watched her reaction, her eyes widening before filling with tears. You had been filled with alarm, reaching out to hug her but she had shaken her head and held the card tightly.

“What a jerk, making me cry…” She had mumbled, but the smile on her face let you know that his apologies were working on her, too.

There were also the talks after lectures and in between check ups - any time you could find each other, really. They were serious, filled with tears but also with a comfort that you two were finally talking - not skirting around the issues that made your foundations crack in the first place. While things are still a little soft, you find that the cracks are filled with gold - making the foundation of your relationship stable with new meaning.

Your thoughts stop with a knock on the lecture hall door, and you lift your head to see Dr. Chung waving his hand at you with a friendly smile. You scan your students in the crowd; most of them have their heads down, teeth gnawing at their lips and brows furrowed in concentration at the test you and Zayne had put together. Sure that they won’t need you immediately, you nod at Dr. Chung and make your way out of the lecture hall.

Once outside, you regard him curiously as he produces a manila envelope from his side and presents it to you with a flourish. There’s a gleam in his eyes that has your heart pounding as you open the envelope shakily, pulling out the neat packet of papers and reading “OFFER OF PERMANENT POSITION WITH THE LINDE SCHOOL OF MEDICINE AND AKSO HOSPITAL.”

“I told you I would pester you about it during finals week,” he teases with a smile as you look at him with wide eyes.

“I-” you try to begin, but he’s quick to cut you off with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulders.

“You are leagues above the medical world and it would be an honor to have you with us, Dr. ____.” His voice is full of warm conviction, giving you a wide smile as you flounder for words. “I’d also like to be happily retired when you and Dr. Li have children.”

“Alistair!” You ignore formality for a scandalized whisper of his name, but he only laughs as he pats your arms reassuringly.

“I did put a lot of money on a betting pool back when the two of you were in undergrad and won it back tenfold,” he replies cheekily. Dr. Chung gestures to the packet once more, eyes full of hope as he scans your face. “So? Are you ready to step into the shoes that have always fit you perfectly and send me into an early and reassuringly calm retirement?”

Your hands shake, but your smile is steady as you look at him.

You’ve always known the answer, you think.

There’s a knock on your door as you finish inputting final grades for the semester later on in the week.

You quirk your eyebrow when you eye the door, not expecting any visitors or students. It’s Friday, and by the time the sun sets below the horizon students and faculty alike are off to hot pot restaurants and karaoke bars to celebrate the end of the semester and the beginning of summer break. You know you’re supposed to be alone - you saw each of your coworker’s lamps flicker off one by one, their laughter echoing through the empty hall as they waved goodbye to you or tried to goad you into a night out.

You’re definitely supposed to be alone.

Still, you clear your throat and answer. “Come in!”

Your eyes widen when you see Zayne, an unusual ruffledness to him as he shuts the door and flicks the lock closed behind him. He’s wearing blue scrubs, white coat draped over his arm and hair mussed as he looks at you with an intense stare that has your body beginning to melt from the inside out.

“Alistair said you accepted the offer.”

It spills out of his mouth almost unwittingly, and your lips tilt up at the corners when you see how his cheeks flush. Still, his eyes never waver from yours as you stand up from your desk and smooth the thin blue cotton of the long summer dress you had pulled on earlier in the morning.

“Yes,” you confirm as you walk around your desk to stand in front of him. His posture relaxes at your simple word, jaw releasing its tension as his gaze softens.

“Do you know what that means?” He asks. It’s gentler, full of unanswered questions he wants to know the answers to because you know that he needs to know your thoughts.

You reflect back to your analysis of the document, immediately noting that Zayne was signing on as one of the two directors of the Linde School of Medicine.

The reason why you know that is because your name was slotted next to his as the permanent head of pediatrics and a potential candidate for the position of interim director.

“Yes,” you say again. You’re standing in front of him now, head tilted up as you regard his gaze curiously. “I read all of that in the packet. I even gave it to my personal lawyer to ensure that there was nothing problematic in the agreement-”

“I’m sorry, ____, but you know that’s not what I mean right now.”

Zayne’s voice trembles as he steps forward to meet your body, dropping his white coat onto the floor. He cups your face in his hands and tilts your head up so that he can look directly into your gaze. You melt into his touch, reaching up to hold his hands in place with a gentle pressure.

“I need to know if you’re okay working with…me,” his voice is gravelly and filled with anxiety, something that makes your heart clench at the vulnerability of his words. “I need to know that you’re okay working with me and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable when we just started mending things between us-”

“Zayne.”

It’s your turn to interrupt him and he shuts his mouth immediately, leaning down to press a kiss against the palm of your hand. You smile at the contact, letting him kiss your hand to alleviate his anxiety before clearing your throat and starting.

“I’m more than okay with it.” Your pointer finger taps against his cheek once, making his eyes widen as you step closer so that your chests are barely brushing. “I wouldn’t have accepted the position and scheduled the seemingly endless meetings and interviews for the interim director position if I wasn’t okay with it.”

He breathes a deep sigh of relief at that, sinking his face further into your hand while you tap your thumb against his chin.

“You’re comfortable with me?” He asks, eyes full of yearning as he moves his hands to settle on your hips. He pulls your body flush against his, making you lose your breath as you stare into your favorite shade of emerald. “Are things…”

“I’m more than comfortable.” Your finger drags a line past his Adam’s apple up to his jaw, eliciting a shaky breath from his lips when you run the tips of your fingers up to his hair to play with the inky strands. “In fact, things are going pretty swimmingly from my vantage point.”

Your pointer finger traces a dangerous line from his jaw to the edge of his mouth, and your eyes hood ever so slightly when you tap his bottom lip once.

“My question is,” you whisper as you tiptoe up to meet his face. “Does the doctor who hasn’t left my mind since I moved back feel the same way?”

A beat passes - a singular moment when you feel his heart beating in tandem with yours. His eyes widen at the implication of your words, registering your hidden meaning before a true smile spreads across his lips.

That one smile solidifies everything for the both of you. He leans down and presses his lips against yours, stealing your breath and the last bits of all rationality away from your mind.

You’re quick to respond to the movements of his lips, running your hands up the back of his head and gripping the inky strands of his hair in between your fingers. A deep rumble reverberates through his chest when your nails scratch his head slightly, making him step back and press you against your desk.

You gasp when you feel the smooth wood against the small of your back, the pressure making your eyes roll back into your head and grip his hair tighter. He pulls away though, eyes flying open at the little sound. He immediately moves to cradle your face in his hands, tilting your head in his touch as he scans you for any sort of hesitation or sign of hurt. “Are you okay, my love?”

“I am,” you reply, melting at the slip of his pet name. He doesn’t notice, simply peppering your face with soft kisses until you’re giggling in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck tighter.

“Good,” he says with a soft twinkle in his eye. His hands reach behind your back, and your eyes widen at the sound of papers and your little plastic cup of pens clattering to the floor before you squeal, your arms around his neck tightening when he lifts you by one arm up onto your desk.

“Zayne, what-” you try to begin, but he simply leans back down and kisses you deeply, stealing your breath away and eliciting a soft moan from between your lips. He groans in response, spreading your legs apart on the table and bracing his left hand on the wood behind your back while pulling your leg up with his right hand up around his waist. He steps in between the newly formed space, allowing his hips to roll slightly against yours in a way that has you whining from the contact.

Your hands move, tilting his head to the side so that you can kiss him deeper. A stroke of your tongue against his bottom lip has his mouth falling open, allowing for your tongue to push in slightly to brush against his. Simultaneous gasps escape your mouths at the same time, and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth so that he can get a taste of you directly from the source.

Soon enough though, the need for air has you pulling away, leaning your forehead against his as you both catch your breath. You giggle breathlessly when you see the marks your skin left on his glasses, the cloudiness making it difficult to see the real emotion on his face. Your hands begin to lift to pull at them but he beats you to it, simply grabbing at the thin frame before tossing them somewhere to the side.

“Your glasses!” You try to yelp, but he leans down to nip at your bottom lip, making your mouth fall open once more.

“They were getting in the way,” he grumbles, and you laugh as you allow him to recapture your mouth with his once more.

The kiss this time is slower but just as needy on your end, the brush of his lips soothing the worried part in your mind. He discards any lingering doubt in your head, cementing him as yours - and the giddy feeling swallows you whole.

His lips make a path from the corner of your mouth to your jawline, soft presses of his lips making your skin heat from his touch. The stimulation has you whining, tugging on the collar of his scrubs to try to get them off of his body. Your needy movements make him chuckle darkly and he pulls away just enough so he can pull the top and his undershirt off of his body, giving you access to his glorious body.

“Zayne,” you murmur softly, drinking in the sight of his body once more. It’s a sight you’re intimately familiar with but it still has molten desire pooling in your stomach, and you let your eyes wander past the planes of his chest and the chiseled softness of his abs before biting your lip at the sight of the thin, dark hairs that lead below the waistband of his scrubs.

“What are you thinking about, pretty lady?” His breath catches when your hand presses on the skin above his heart. He shuffles closer to your body which allows you to press a kiss directly on his heart, and you smile to yourself when you hear a soft gasp above your head.

“You,” you say back, grabbing his hand and letting your fingers trace the fading scars on his forearm. His breath hitches in his chest when you bring his arm to your lips, gently ghosting your lips along the skin reverently.

“Is that so?” He gently pulls his arm away from you, instead placing his palms on your thighs and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Yes,” you breathe, wrapping one arm around his neck to pull him closer. Your other hand trails down his chest and past his abs, fingers toying dangerously with the elastic waistband of his thin scrubs. You smile sweetly up at him as his eyes flash dangerously, playing innocent while your hand slips underneath his scrubs to cup his bulge above his boxer briefs.

“You’re still a little minx,” he groans. You laugh as you begin to massage the tent in his pants, but you gasp when he pulls your thighs up to his waist, making your back fall against your desk.

“Zayne, what-” you try to begin, but your words die in your mouth when he slides your skirt up past your thighs so that it pools at your waist. He gently pulls your hand from his pants so that he can spread your legs even more, folding them so that they’re up in the air and he has a clear view of your dainty white panties clinging against the silken folds of your core.

“Pretty,” he says softly, running a single finger up against your slit. Your mouth is too dry all of the sudden, falling open at the muted stimulation of his finger rubbing your clit above your panties. Your wetness drenches the thin fabric even more, and it has you grinding your hips against his single finger while mewling in a bid to feel even more.

“Still impatient and needy for me, my love?” He places one of your legs on his shoulder, letting you wrap the other one around his waist as you grind against his hand - desperate for his bare skin against the place you need him the most.

“Yes,” you breathe. You pout up at him and he laughs, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss as you continue to grind yourself against his hand. The pleasure builds in the pit of your stomach and continues to rise, but you huff in frustration when you feel it plateau instead of bringing you closer to the edge of your end.

“Zayne,” you gasp, looking up at him imploringly. His eyes flash at your need and without another word he moves his hand, pulling your panties to the side and finally allowing you to grind your bare pussy against the warm skin of his hand. A small cry leaves your mouth, head tilting back as you rock your hips against the palm of his hand.

Zayne looks down at the goddess that is you, writhing on your desk as you chase your high. The ruffled straps of your sundress fall down your shoulders, accentuating the way your breasts heave as your chest rises and falls with the onslaught of pleasure wreaking havoc on your body. If the two of you weren’t in the academic offices and he had more time on his hands, he would have torn your dress off a long time ago, pinching your nipples with his skilled fingers until your eyes went cross-eyed and all that left your mouth were moans and babbles of his name.

Another time, he thinks to himself when he sees the scrunch of your nose. There are plenty of other times to shower your body with love.

Your eyes snap open when he pulls his hand away from your core, a noise of protest beginning on your lips as to why he moved away. It quickly dies, however, when you see him pull his straining cock out of his scrubs. He pushes you down onto your desk once more, jacking himself with your wetness rapidly so that he’s ready too. All the while, he looks down at you with a heady glance, leaning down to kiss you once more.

“Are you still on the pill?” He asks breathlessly. He slides his cockhead against your pussy, and you both moan when he slaps his tip against your clit.

“Yes,” you confirm, eyes going hazy when he drags his cock down to your sopping hole. The tip catches slightly and you whine, tightening the hold your leg has on his waist. “Z-zayne!”

“I got you, my love,” he groans back, and you cry out softly when he begins to push himself into your pussy.

Your head lolls back, eyes rolling back into your skull with each thick inch he gives you. Even with how slick you are, the pleasurable stretch still burns - enough to make you pant when he rolls his hips.

“W-wait-” you gasp, and he’s quick to stop his pace, leaning down to press his nose against your neck. He leaves soft kisses against your pulse point and across your collarbones as you breathe deeply, trying to get used to the feeling of him pulsing inside of you after so long.

Soon enough, though, the burn gives way to nothing but heady pleasure, and you roll your hips against his to sink him further into your cunt. His hand tightens on the leg he has propped on his shoulder, eyes looking down at you with worry as he checks to make sure that you mean it.

“Are you sure?”

You nod once, and while he knows that you do mean it his eyes darken mischievously. He rolls his hips slowly, leaving you moaning as you attempt to roll your hips back to meet his - even with his sturdy grip on your hips.

“Use your words, Dr. ____.” His authoritative voice and use of your title has you clenching down on him, making you whimper and him grip your calf even tighter so that he doesn’t lose his mind. He groans as he thrusts shallowly once more, drinking in your moans that fill the air. “Use your words to tell me what you need.”

“You!” You all but cry out. “P-please Zayne, I need you fully in m-me-”

“Good,” he huffs. He kisses your ankle before sinking his cock all the way into your soaking pussy, making your back arch as you moan. He pulls out slowly, letting your walls pulse sporadically around his cock until only his cockhead remains in your cunt, making you whine at the emptiness. There’s only a whisper of respite from the fullness, though, before he pushes himself back in and elicits a cry from your swollen lips.

“Shh,” he murmurs, moving down to kiss you deeply. His hips never stop their pace, pistoning in and out of you at a relentless speed that has you seeing stars. “You don’t want anyone to catch us, right?”

“I-it’s late night though-” you try to begin, but your mouth falls open when he presses himself all of the way and nudges against your g-spot.

“There she is,” he says with a grunt, thrusting once again so that he can continue to press against that spot. “I was wondering when I would meet her again.”

“-ah!” You cry out in response. Your head falls back as the pleasure continues to wash over your body, bringing you closer and closer to the precipice of your orgasm. Zayne, seeing you begin to near your end, maintains his pace, reaching down to rub and pinch your clit in tandem with his thrusts.

The added stimulation makes your nose scrunch, moans and whimpers the only thing you can manage as your pussy spasms rhythmically around him. Your stomach tightens, and you’re barely able to gasp out his name before he leans down to kiss you once more, stealing your breath away.

“Cum with me, ____,” he breathes, and he swallows your cries with his lips when you finally fall over the edge.

The pleasure is overwhelming, crashing onto you as you dig your nails into his shoulders and making him groan. It leaves you seeing stars in your eyes, your head spinning as you try to control your breathing. You vaguely register your cries of his name and moans falling from your lips, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at how loud you're being - not when it feels this good.

Zayne, all the while, ruts his hips against yours - the pulsing of your slick walls driving him mad and prolonging your pleasure. A whine of his name has his moaning, cumming into your wet heat as he sinks his teeth in the skin between your shoulder and neck to try and keep a hold of himself. You gasp at the bit of pain, letting it mix with the heady pleasure of your orgasm until everything fades away, leaving just you and him in the afterglow.

“Mmm,” you moan softly as he kisses the bite he left on your neck, shivering slightly when he licks the tender skin.

“We’re going to need to make this our office,” he says softly against your neck. The statement makes you throw your head back to laugh, and he chuckles softly alongside you as he gently lowers your leg from his chest to wrap around his waist.

“You’re right,” you tease in response. “Can’t let anyone else have this office after what we did here.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, moving his head up to kiss you once more. You let him press the sweet kiss against your mouth, a stark juxtaposition to the way your shaky legs are still wrapped around his waist.

He pulls away softly, and you push his slightly sweaty hair up above his brow so that it isn’t plastered onto his forehead. You tap your finger three times against his nose, and you feel yourself soften at the breathtaking smile that overtakes his entire face.

“Me too, my love,” he murmurs back, tapping your nose three times - like the two of you have always done. He leans over you to kiss you once more, filling you with that pure feeling of love that has you smiling against his mouth.

And by the way he smiles against your mouth, you know he feels that same love for you too.

August means the start of a new academic year at Linkon University.

You hear the nervous chatter of the fresh-faced medical students currently seated in the lecture hall outside of your shared office and you turn to look at your handsome co-lecturer with a half serious expression on your face while you watch him struggle with his tie. You step closer and help him fix it, straightening out the crooked fabric before smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles on his perfectly pressed white button down.

“Don’t grill them too hard, Dr. Li.” You say softly, amusement coloring your voice as Zayne lets out a scoff. “You want them to want to continue med school.”

“No promises, my love.” He swoops down and kisses you - the kind that steals your breath away and makes you weak in the knees. You kiss him back, smiles forming on your mouths as you relish in the quick contact before pulling away.

“Ready?” He asks, and he offers his arm out to you as you gather your stack of syllabi and notes. You beam at him and place your hand in the crook of his arm, nodding once.

“With you? Always.”

And the two of you walk out of your office and into the lecture room - taking your first steps toward your shared future together as the head lecturers and directors of the Linde School of Medicine.

a/n #2: i'm going to take a nap LOL but i hope you enjoy!! <3

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mononijikayu · 10 months ago

Text

dearest, darling, my universe — gojo satoru.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did." The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

GENRE: post shinjiku showdown (spoilers for jjk chapter 268)

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

WORDS: 11k words.

NOTE: my brothers caught a cold so i caught it too because that's just how it sometimes goes when you're always together. i've been writing a bunch of stuff in the mean time, cause i'm strong enough at least. but i hope you enjoy this. it took me a while to write this, but it's finally done. also, listen to iu's song love wins all while reading this. love you all!!!

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED. The world feels quiet now, almost unnaturally so, as if it is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next. The grounds are empty, unlike how they used to be. The sky is heavy and dulled gray and the wind carries a strange stillness that presses against your skin.

Everything seems suspended, caught in a moment that refuses to pass, a calm that feels more like a warning than a relief. It’s the kind of quiet that settles in after a storm — not the peace that follows resolution, but the heavy, fragile silence that comes when everything has been ripped apart, and nothing has been put back together.

Your gaze searches for someone as you look towards the horizon. It takes you a while, but you smile when you find that figure again. You sighed, he’s been there awhile. But you don't blame him. You think that Fushiguro Megumi feels like he’d find peace, if he sits there to wonder what had been before. You find him sitting on the bench your husband had loved to sit on years ago, his back turned to you. He is still, his head lowered, shoulders slumped, and you can see the way his body trembles with each ragged breath.

He’s still recovering, as most are after the battle with Sukuna. But for Megumi, the wounds are deeper, more insidious. After being imprisoned by Sukuna, after having his body and mind twisted and torn apart from the inside out, he’s struggling to find his footing again. His physical scars may heal with time, but the ones etched into his soul are a different story.

You approach slowly, hesitant to break the fragile stillness that surrounds him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the slight shift of his head as if he’s listening, waiting. You move closer until you’re standing beside him, close enough to see the bandaged bruises that still darken his skin, the way his hands are clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together.

“Megumi.” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle him.

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his blue green eyes shadowed and hollow. You can’t tell if he’s looking at the ruins or something beyond them, something only he can see. You wait, giving him the time he needs, the space to decide whether he wants to speak or remain silent.

Finally, he lets out a breath, slow and heavy, his shoulders sagging further. “I couldn’t sleep.” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “I could still feel it. Like he’s still here… in my head… in my body. And then my dreams…. My hands and Gojo–sensei’s eyes….”

The words hang in the air, raw and unsteady, as if they barely have the strength to escape his lips. You hear the tremor in his voice, the way it quivers with each syllable. It’s a sound you haven’t heard from him before, a vulnerability that he rarely shows, and it cuts through you like a knife. Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, so broken and raw, a far cry from the stoic, determined young man you’ve known for so long.

You can see it in the way his eyes stare ahead, unfocused, as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. The way his hands tremble slightly, even though they’re clenched tightly on his knees. He sounds lost, like he’s still fighting a battle that has no end, still trying to claw his way out of a darkness that clings to him like a second skin. His whole body seems to sag under the weight of it, the invisible chains that bind him to a past he can’t escape.

“I see.” you whisper, your voice gentle, but firm. You reach out, hesitantly, resting your hand on his arm, feeling the tension that coils beneath his skin, the way his muscles are taut and ready to snap. “I’m sorry for that, Megumi.”

He flinches at your touch, just a little, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief second before darting away again. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s torn between wanting to believe you and the insidious doubt that’s been planted deep inside him. There’s a flicker of shame, of fear, as if he’s afraid of admitting just how much he’s struggling, how much of himself he feels he’s lost.

“It’s going to take some time for all of this to go and change.” he finally admits, his voice low, almost inaudible. “It feels like… like he’s still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting for a chance to come back. And then Gojo–sensei’s voice echoes sometimes, whispering… and Sukuna just….It’s like he’s a part of me now, and I don’t know how to make him leave.”

His words are laced with a quiet desperation, a plea for some kind of reassurance that you’re not sure you can give. How do you tell someone that the ghost in their mind will eventually fade when you know that kind of pain never truly leaves? How do you promise a tomorrow free of shadows when the past clings so fiercely to the present?

You tighten your grip on his arm, just a little, enough to ground him, to let him know you’re here. “He won’t win. Satoru knew that too.” you say, your voice is firmer now, more certain. “Not while you’re still fighting. And I know you, Megumi. You’ve fought through worse. You’re stronger than you think, even when you feel like you’re falling apart.”

His eyes meet yours again, and you can see the doubt there, the fear. But beneath it, there’s a spark of something else, something fragile and faint, but alive — hope, maybe. A glimmer of belief that he can pull through this, that he can find himself again. His lips part, but he seems to hesitate, as if afraid of saying something he can’t take back.

“I’m tired.” he confesses, and it feels like the weight of the world is in those two words. “I’m so tired of fighting. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes, but you blink them back. “I know." you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know you are. And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to be tired, to need a break. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Megumi. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky breath that trembles with all the emotions he’s been holding in, and for a moment, he looks like he might break, like the walls he’s built around himself might finally come crashing down. His shoulders slump further, and he leans forward, just a fraction, as if testing the waters, as if trying to decide if it’s safe to fall.

“I….” he starts, his voice breaking, “I keep thinking about him… and about everyone we lost. And I wonder if it’s even worth it, to keep going… if I’m even worth it. I…I helped cause all this pain.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You tighten your grip on his arm, leaning closer, your heart breaking for him, for everything he’s endured, for everything he’s still enduring.

“Megumi.” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You are worth it. You’re worth every fight, every tear, every moment of pain. You’re worth it because you’re here, and you’re trying, and you haven’t given up. And that… that’s everything.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to find the truth in your words, as if he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. His lips tremble, and for a moment, he seems like he might speak, might say something that could change everything.

But then he just closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he lets out a breath, long and shuddering. “I don’t know.” he whispers, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. He stays there, his body tense but close, and you know that for now, that’s enough.

You feel the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he fights to keep himself together, and you wonder how many times he’s had to do this — how many times he’s been forced to stand tall when everything inside him was falling apart. You can see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’s so young, but he looks older now, like the weight of the world has been pressing down on him for too long.

You don’t say anything, just keep your hand on his arm, feeling the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. You know that words won’t fix this, won’t make the shadows in his eyes disappear. But you want him to know he’s not alone, that he doesn’t have to carry this burden by himself.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans into you, just a little, his head bowing as if the strength he’s been holding onto is slipping away. You don’t move, don’t flinch, just let him take whatever he needs from you, let him find some solace in the contact, in the warmth of another human being who understands, who has lost as much as he has.

“I’m scared.” he admits, his voice so soft you almost miss it, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m scared that I’ll never be… me again. That I’ll never be whole. That I’ll always feel… like this.”

Your heart aches at the confession, at the way his voice breaks, the way his words tremble with an uncertainty that shakes you to your core. You feel a tear slip down your own cheek, and you quickly brush it away, not wanting him to see, not wanting to add to his pain.

“It’s okay to be scared.” you whisper back, your voice rough with emotion. “I’m scared too, Megumi. Every day. But you don’t have to do this alone. You have people who care about you, who love you. And we’ll get through this… somehow. Together.”

He nods, just barely, and you can feel the tiniest bit of tension ease from his frame, as if your words have given him something to hold onto, even if just for a moment. His tired eyes remain closed, and he takes another deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line, his brows furrowing like he’s trying to muster some strength from within.

“I miss him.” he confesses, almost like he’s ashamed to say it out loud. “I miss Gojo–sensei. Tsumiki, I…I still can’t…”

Silence engulfs you, heavy and unrelenting, settling like a thick fog between you and Megumi. He opens his eyes. You couldn’t help but see the light of devastation in his eyes, a light that flickers and fades like a dying star. It’s a look you’ve seen before, a look you’ve felt etched into your own reflection every time you’ve caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The eyes that have stared back at you have been hollowed out, drained of their usual spark, carrying the same weight that now rests in Megumi’s.

You see it in the way he looks down, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ground, as if he’s afraid that meeting your eyes might shatter whatever fragile composure he’s managed to hold onto. The devastation is so clear in his expression, so raw and exposed, like an open wound that hasn’t begun to heal.

But you share the same look, you think. Because you’ve both lost the dearest people in your lives. The ones who held you together, who gave you strength when you needed it most. You knew that too well — the pain, the grief that seems to expand with every breath you take, filling the space around you, making it harder and harder to breathe. Tsumiki, taken from him so suddenly, so cruelly. And now Satoru, your husband, the man who was everything — your light, your laughter, your reason to keep fighting even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

How much more can you both bear?

It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest, an invisible force squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart aches with a pain that’s deep and unyielding, a pain that you’ve grown accustomed to, but that never seems too dull. It’s the kind of pain that lingers, that finds its way into every corner of your being, that refuses to be ignored no matter how hard you try.

You think of Satoru — his smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he could light up a room just by being in it. You think of Tsumiki — her quiet strength, her gentle kindness, the way she could make Megumi laugh even when he didn’t want to. You think of how much they meant to you, to both of you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to go on without them. How do you keep moving forward when the ground beneath you has been ripped away? How do you find the strength to keep fighting when the people who gave you that strength are gone?

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, hot and heavy, and you quickly brush it away. You don’t want Megumi to see, don’t want him to think that you’re breaking, that you’re crumbling under the weight of your own grief. But maybe he already knows. Maybe he can see it in the way your hands tremble, in the way your shoulders sag just a little, in the way your breath catches in your throat like you’re fighting to keep from sobbing.

Megumi finally looks up, and when his eyes meet yours, you see the reflection of your own sorrow staring back at you. His eyes are tired, so very tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, weeks even. There’s a hollowness in them, a void where there used to be determination and fire. He looks older than he is, worn down by the battles he fought, by the losses he’s endured. And you wonder how much more he can take, how much more you can ask of him when he’s already given so much.

“I’m… I’m not sure how to do this.” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper, his words trembling on the edge of breaking. “I don’t know how to… keep going.”

Your heart tightens, and you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you, cold and sharp like a blade. You want to tell him that it will get easier, that the pain will fade, but you know it’s not true. You know that some losses never heal, that some wounds never close. All you can do is reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently, letting him know that you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere.

“I don’t know how either.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “But we have to try… for them. For ourselves.”

He nods, but it’s a slow, uncertain nod, like he’s still not sure if he believes you, if he believes in anything anymore. His grip tightens around your hand, almost desperate, like he’s holding on for dear life. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are, trying to keep each other afloat in a sea of loss and uncertainty, trying to find something solid to cling to when everything else has been swept away.

For a long moment, you stand there in silence, feeling the weight of everything you’ve lost, everything you’re still losing. And you realize that there’s no easy answer, no simple path forward. There’s only this — the two of you, standing together in the midst of all the broken pieces, trying to make sense of a world that no longer feels whole. And maybe that’s enough. For now, maybe that’s enough.

"I… I keep thinking he’ll walk through that door too, you know?" you finally manage to say, your voice catching on the last word. "With that grin of his, like it's all been a bad dream."

Megumi’s gaze drops to the ground. “Me too.” he whispers. "I keep hearing his voice, like he's about to make another joke… or ruffle my hair." His hands curl into fists, and he swallows hard. "I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream."

You reach out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. "It feels wrong, doesn't it? For him to be gone."

He nods, his shoulders slumping further. "I hated how he made everything a joke, how he never took things seriously… but I’d give anything to hear him laugh again." His voice cracks, and you see the tears he's been holding back start to gather in his eyes.

Your own tears brim over, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "I don’t know what to do." you admit. "I feel lost without him. I thought we’d have more time… that we could…"

"To live together?" Megumi finishes for you, and you nod, grateful that he understands.

For a moment, you both stand there in your shared grief, the silence punctuated by the distant sounds of the wind moving through the ruins. Finally, Megumi reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, worn and slightly crumpled, as if it’s been handled many times. You look at him and then to the paper. You could feel the air knocked from your lungs.

"He… he left this for you." he says, handing it over. “Ieiri–san gave this to me. He told Ieiri–san to give it to you.....if something happened, you’d be the one to need it most.”

You take the letter with trembling hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to open it, terrified of what it might say, of the finality it represents. But then you unfold it, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting dancing across the page, and his little drawing of himself on the side. You don’t know whether you were going to laugh or cry. Because, almost immediately, you can almost hear his voice speaking the words.

𝑯𝒆𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖! 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆,

𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒕’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕… 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓… 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖, 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝑻𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒌𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 — 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒚. 𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊. 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑬𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕… 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔. 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 — 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕, 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖.

The tears spill over again, as they have these past few weeks and you clutch the letter to your chest, your heart aching with a mix of love and pain. You look over at Megumi, who’s watching you with a mix of understanding and his own quiet grief. He didn’t say a word for a while. He just let you cry, to let out the grief that you had been holding in for so long.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did."

The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

Megumi shifts beside you, his gaze distant. You sense he’s been wrestling with his own demons, carrying a grief he doesn’t quite know how to articulate. You remember the nights Satoru would tease him, ruffle his hair, and declare with exaggerated fondness that he was the son he never had. And you remember how Megumi would roll his eyes, always with that begrudging smile, the one that said he was secretly happy to have someone who cared so much.

"I don’t know what to do." you confess, your voice barely a whisper. "I don’t even know where to begin."

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening in understanding. "Neither do I." he admits. "But… I think Gojo–sensei would want us to keep going. He’d hate seeing us like this, stuck in the past."

You nod, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "He was always moving forward, wasn’t he? Never stopping, not even for a second."

Megumi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. "Yeah, always dragging everyone else along for the ride." He hesitates, and then adds, "But… it wasn’t just him. You kept him grounded. You gave him a reason to slow down, even if just a little."

Your breath catches in your throat. You never thought of it that way — always felt like you were the one chasing after him, trying to keep up with his boundless energy and insatiable curiosity. But maybe, in your own way, you had been his anchor.

Megumi takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, as if unsure whether to reach out. "He always talked about you, a lot. Even when you weren't around." he says softly. "Not in the way you'd expect. He’d get this look in his eyes, like… like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have you."

You nod, finding some solace in his words. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around you, a cocoon of shared understanding. Then, with a deep breath, you fold Satoru’s letter carefully, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and tuck it into your pocket.

“I know.” you say gently, a faint smile on your lips. “I was the luckiest person alive too. To have loved him. To have been with him. To…To have a life with him.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a flicker of something there — a mix of pain and doubt, hope and fear. He looks exhausted, like every breath, every moment, is a battle in itself. His hands unclench slowly, his fingers twitching like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

He closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know if I can ever be what I was.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

"That's okay." You whisper back. "You don't need to be whole to be yourself, Megumi. It's...enough. Being like this, for now."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s still so young, you think, still so young to have been through so much, to carry so many burdens on his shoulders. You didn’t want this from him. You don’t want him to live with this for the rest of his life.

“Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a plea.

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t know.” you admit honestly. “I think… I think it might always hurt a little. But I also think that one day, the pain won’t be the first thing you feel. One day, you’ll wake up, and it’ll be a little easier to breathe. And then another day, and another… and eventually, you’ll find a way to live with it. To carry it without letting it crush you.”

He nods slowly, as if trying to absorb your words, to find some semblance of comfort in them. “I hope so.” he says quietly. “I really hope so.”

As you purse your lips into a tight line, Fushiguro Megumi turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain in his eyes. They’re the same eyes you’ve known for years, dark and brooding, yet now they seem dimmed by a weight too heavy for any young man to bear. His expression is weary, etched with the lines of battles fought not just against enemies but against the relentless tide of grief and responsibility that threatens to swallow him whole.

You pause, taking in the sight of him. Megumi, who has always seemed so strong, so unyielding, now stands with his shoulders hunched, his frame pulled inward like a fragile fortress protecting a fragile heart. His hands, usually so sure and steady, are clenched tightly at his sides, fingers twitching with a nervous energy.

The boy who faced curses without flinching now looks lost, as if he’s unsure of where to place his feet or how to hold himself together. You notice how his posture has shrunk into itself, his form smaller, more fragile than you remember. For a fleeting moment, he is not the stoic young man who bears the weight of the Zen’in name, but the boy you raised, the one who used to look up at you with a defiance softened by hope.

Memories rush in, unbidden and raw. You remember the first time you took his hand, how tiny it seemed in yours, and the way he stiffened, wary of your touch. It took time for him to trust you, to accept the safety you offered in a world that had been anything but kind. He was so guarded, so determined to prove that he didn’t need anyone, but you had seen through the cracks in his armor, glimpsed the boy beneath who craved comfort and understanding.

Now, as you stand before him, you see that boy again. The boy who hid his hurt behind curt words and narrowed eyes, who watched the world with suspicion, waiting for it to turn on him. You see the boy who wanted to be strong, not just for himself but for those he cared about, who believed that if he could shoulder enough pain, he might somehow spare others from it. That same boy stands before you now, but the weight he carries has only grown heavier, pressing down on his shoulders until they sag with exhaustion.

You move closer, slowly, careful not to startle him. Megumi’s gaze flickers to you, and for a moment, something in his eyes softens, just a fraction. He looks at you as if he wants to say something, but the words catch in his throat, stuck behind the fear of vulnerability. You can see the battle waging within him — the need to be strong, to keep it all together, and the desperate longing to let someone in, to share the burden that’s breaking him apart.

“I…I’m sorry for putting you through what I did.” he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it. His voice is thick, strained with the weight of everything left unsaid.

It was hard seeing Megumi this way, you think. If anything, you still weren’t prepared to seek him out. You felt ashamed that you couldn’t do much for him. As much as you were also worried that he’d put himself at your feet, kneeling and in tears. Now your worst fear came to pass, that he would be apologizing to you for something that was not his fault. And so, you took that time — a long time, to just be alone and grieve. To let your husband’s soul rest in peace.

So your heart aches at his confession, and you step closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. At first, he resists, his body stiff and unyielding, but you hold firm, refusing to let go. Slowly, he relents, and he collapses against you, his head resting against your shoulder. His hands clutch at the fabric of your clothes, and you feel the tremble in his fingers, the suppressed sobs caught in his chest.

“It’s okay, Megumi.” you murmur, stroking his back in soothing circles. “You silly boy. Why are you apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, hm?”

His shoulders shake, and you feel the tears that he’s fought so hard to hold back finally spill over. He buries his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs, each one tearing at your heart. You hold him tighter, as if you could somehow shield him from the pain, as if you could gather all the shattered pieces of him and put them back together.

He cries quietly, like he doesn’t want to be heard, like he’s afraid of what his grief might sound like if he lets it out. You just hold him, letting him take the time he needs, giving him the space to be the child you know he still is, beneath all that strength and stubbornness.

And for that moment, you are back in time, comforting a boy who tried so hard to be brave, to stand tall in a world that felt too big and too cruel. You feel the years slip away, and you whisper to him like you did then, telling him it’s okay, that he’s safe, that he’s loved.

Slowly, the tremors in his body begin to ease, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes are red, and there’s a vulnerability there that you haven’t seen in years. “I’m sorry, Gen–san.” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I….It must be harder on you.”

You shake your head, cupping his cheek with one hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” you say firmly. “You’ve been so strong, Megumi. But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He nods, his eyes closing for a moment as he takes a shaky breath. “I just… I miss him, Gen–san.” he admits, his voice breaking. “I miss them. Tsumiki…..I…I miss them both. And it’s…It’s my fault. If I had…”

“I know you do.” you whisper back. “I miss them too. And it’s okay to feel that way. But it was never your fault. You understand? This is not your cross to bear, hm?”

He looked at you, as though he was still unsure. But he nods again, and this time, when he opens his eyes, there’s a spark of something new there, a flicker of resolve. “Thank you.” he murmurs. “For… for being here.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “Always.” you promise. “I’ll always be here for you, Megumi.”

And as he leans into your touch, you realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to understand that he doesn’t have to face the world alone. That he has a family, even in the darkest of times, and that you’ll always be there to catch him when he falls. When he finally calms down, you look at him with a tender gaze. You rub the small of his back and coo towards him. You tell him over and over again that it’s going to be okay.

THINGS HAVE CHANGED IN THESE MANY YEARS. But all the same, you were still just trying to get by without your husband. Just as you have done in the past fourteen years. Sometimes you can’t believe that it has been that long. Fourteen long years without his voice, his laughter, his warmth beside you in the dark of the night. Fourteen years of waking up every morning and remembering all over again that he’s gone.

Some days, it feels like he was just here, like you can still hear his footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his voice calling your name, teasing you with that easy smile that could always make your heart skip a beat. Other days, it feels like a lifetime has passed, like his memory is slipping further away with each breath you take, each step you take forward.

And sometimes, all you have to do is look at the world around you and see how much it has changed, even without Satoru. The world didn’t stop for his absence — it kept moving, kept spinning, kept evolving. The streets are filled with new faces, new buildings rise where old ones once stood. The skyline of the city looks different, the energy of the people has shifted, and even the quiet corners where you used to find solace now feel foreign and unfamiliar.

You think about the way he would have laughed at the way the world has moved on without him, how he would have been amused at the thought of being left behind by time itself. “Can’t keep up with me, huh?” he would’ve jokes, that mischievous grin spreading across his face, his bright eyes twinkling with that endless, boundless spirit of his.

But he isn’t here to see it — he isn’t here to laugh or joke or comment on the little changes that make up this new reality. And that’s what hurts the most, you think. The small moments that go unnoticed, the daily routines that feel emptier without him, the tiny, insignificant details that made life with him so full.

You were certain that today was one of those days — a day where the past and present seemed to blur, where the weight of what came before felt particularly heavy. The morning sun filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the table. You watch as the young clan leader, Gojo Satoshi, sits across from you, his posture a mix of youthful excitement and a hint of nervousness that he tries to hide. His eighteenth birthday has finally arrived — a day you’ve both been anticipating with a blend of joy and bittersweetness.

For years, you’ve marked this date on the calendar, circled it with a smiley face as Satoru used to do. You remember the way he’d talk about this day like it was a grand milestone, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he imagined all the things Satoshi would accomplish. And now, here it is — the day that seemed so far away, so impossible to reach, yet somehow arrived faster than you ever thought it would.

Your son had taken some time off from his responsibilities, from the pressures of the Gojo clan, just to be here with you. He’d insisted on it, saying he didn’t want to spend this day anywhere else. There’s a maturity in him that catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet strength that reminds you so much of Satoru, and yet he’s entirely his own person, shaped by all the experiences and lessons that life has thrown at him.

At times, you catch yourself taking a moment to look at him. He was the spitting image of his father. Every bit of him was Satoru. From the way his eyes gazed at you, to the way he laughs. Everything was him. You think if your husband would be here now, it would have been hard to tell them apart. But, he was all you have of Satoru. And you were still grateful for it, even if it makes you cry sometimes.

“Mom.” he begins, and there’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that he doesn’t show often. “I… I’m glad I could be here today. I know it’s… a lot. For both of us.”

You smile, a warm, gentle smile that you hope hides the ache in your chest. “I’m glad too, Satoshi. I’ve been waiting for this day. Your father would have wanted it to be special.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — a shadow of the loss you both carry, the empty space that Satoru left behind. You know this day is as much about celebrating as it is about remembering, about honoring the promise that Satoru made to him, to all of you.

And that’s why you’re here, sitting at the kitchen table, a letter in your hand — a letter you’ve kept safe for years, one with Satoru’s handwriting on the envelope, his familiar scrawl that brings a sting of tears to your eyes. The letter he wrote for Satoshi to open on his eighteenth birthday, a letter he wrote knowing he might not be here to read it himself.

You hold it out to him, your fingers trembling slightly, and Satoshi’s eyes widen. He recognizes it immediately, having seen it once before when he was a child, when you tucked it away with a promise that it was for another day, a day when he was older, stronger.

“Is this…?” he asks, his voice trailing off, almost afraid to finish the question.

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “It’s from your father.” you say softly. “Megumi found it cleaning your father's office. It seems....your father wanted you to have something special when you're older."

For a moment, Satoshi just stares at the envelope, his fingers brushing over the edges, tracing the curve of his father’s handwriting. You can see the emotions flicker across his face — curiosity, sadness, a deep, yearning love. He looks up at you, and there’s a silent question in his eyes, one that asks if you’re okay, if you’re ready for this.

You give him a small nod, even though your heart feels like it might break all over again. “Go on.” you encourage. “Open it.”

With a deep breath, Satoshi carefully tears open the envelope, his hands steady despite the tremor you know he must feel. He pulls out the folded paper inside, and as he begins to read, you watch his face, the way his expression changes, softens, as he takes in the words that his father left for him.

There’s a chuckle, soft and low, that escapes his lips, and for a brief moment, it’s like Gojo Satoru is in the room with you both, his presence lingering in the air, his laughter echoing in the corners. Satoshi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he shakes his head, murmuring, “Of course he’d say that…” under his breath.

You can’t help but smile, a tear slipping down your cheek as you remember Satoru’s sense of humor, his way of making light of even the heaviest moments. You wonder what he wrote, what silly remark he must have made, what words he left behind to make his son laugh on this day.

But then, the laughter fades, replaced by a softer look, a look of longing. Satoshi’s eyes grow misty, and his smile wavers, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands clutch the letter a little tighter, his fingers pressing into the paper like he’s holding onto a lifeline.

“I miss him, a lot.” he whispers, his voice breaking, and in that moment, he looks like the little boy he used to be, the one who would climb into your lap and ask when his father was coming home. “I miss him so much.”

Your heart breaks all over again, and you reach across the table, pulling him into your arms. He doesn’t resist, burying his face in your shoulder, and you feel his tears soak through your shirt, hot and heavy. You hold him close, your hand running through his hair, whispering soothing words even as your own tears fall.

“I know, Satoshi.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “I miss him too… every day.”

He clings to you, his body shaking with quiet sobs, and you let him cry, let him mourn, let him feel all the things he needs to feel. You know that this pain will never truly go away, that there will always be a part of both of you that aches for the man who isn’t here, for the father and husband who left too soon.

But in this moment, you also feel a deep, abiding love — a love that stretches across time and space, that binds you together even in the face of loss. You know that Satoru is with you, in every laugh, in every tear, in every beat of your hearts. And as you hold your son, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his love, you know that Satoru’s spirit lives on, in him, in you, in all the days to come.

You feel Satoshi’s grip tighten around you, his shoulders still trembling with the force of his emotions. You hold him closer, pressing your cheek against the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar and comforting. He’s grown so much, become a young man with so much of his father’s spirit, and yet so much of his own unique strength.

“He would’ve been so proud of you, little dawn.” you whisper into his hair, feeling your voice catch in your throat. “Every day, he would’ve been so proud. I know he is… wherever he is.”

Satoshi pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and wet with tears, but there’s a light in them — a spark of resilience, of determination, of love. “I hope so, mom.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope I’m making him proud… and you, too.”

You smile, cupping his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his damp cheeks. “You are, Satoshi. You’re everything he could have hoped for… everything I could have hoped for.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you can see the way his expression softens, some of the tension easing from his features. “I just… I wish he were here,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “I wish he could see this… see me now.”

You nod, swallowing back your own tears, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. “Me too.” you confess. “Every day, I wish for that. But he’s still with us, Satoshi. In you, in me, in all the love he left behind. And as long as we remember him, he’ll never truly be gone.”

Satoshi nods slowly, taking in your words, letting them settle in the quiet space between you. You know it’s not enough to fill the emptiness, to ease the pain that sits heavy in both of your hearts, but it’s something — a small comfort, a small truth that you can hold on to.

“Happy birthday, Satoshi.” You greeted him with a small smile on your face. “You and your papa. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, mom.”

And so, you sit together in the soft morning light, holding onto each other, holding onto the memory of the man you both loved so dearly, trying to find your way in a world that has changed so much without him. You know it won’t be easy — it never has been — but you also know that you have each other, that you have the love he left behind, and maybe, for now, that’s enough to keep moving forward.

Just as you have for the past fourteen years.

Just as you will for the years to come.

YOU DECIDED TO VISIT THAT AFTERNOON. The pond is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, the soft murmurs of the water lapping against its edges. You stand at the edge, looking out at the calm surface, watching as the light dances across the ripples. The air is thick with the scent of earth and pine, and there’s a serenity here that you haven’t felt in a long time — a stillness that settles into your bones, grounding you in the moment.

This was land that Satoru bought a long time ago, back when the world was still full of possibility, when dreams felt tangible and within reach. You remember the day he brought you here for the first time, the way his eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked about the future, about all the things he wanted to build, all the memories he hoped to create.

He’d stood right where you’re standing now, his hands on his hips, looking out at the same pond with a boyish grin on his face. “This is it.” he’d said, his voice full of conviction. “This is where I’d be glad to build a family… a place to call home when everything’s said and done.”

You could hear the hope in his words, the unspoken promise of a life filled with love and laughter. He had dreams of children playing by the water’s edge, of long summer evenings spent under the stars, of a sanctuary away from the battles, away from the chaos.

And you had made that happen. For a while, you had built that family, that life, just as he’d wanted. You shared quiet mornings and loud, joyous evenings. You laughed, you loved, you lived. The memories still linger in every corner of this place, like echoes of a time that now feels so distant, so far away.

This is the place where you buried your husband — here, by the pond where he once stood dreaming of the future. It felt right, felt like honoring that dream of his, of giving him the home he’d always wanted, even in death. You wanted him to be where he’d always hoped to be, to rest in the place he had chosen for his family, his sanctuary. So you laid him to rest here, in the earth he once walked upon, beneath the trees that whisper his name in the wind.

But you chose this spot for a reason. So that he’ll always be home, so that he’ll never be far from the place he loved most. You wanted him to have peace, to feel the tranquility of the land he cherished so much. And maybe, in some way, you wanted him close, wanted to be able to visit, to sit by his side and feel his presence, even if it’s just in the whispers of the wind or the quiet ripple of the pond.

You sit back, closing your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, and you imagine his laughter, his voice, his hand in yours. You can almost hear him now, teasing you about being sentimental, about spending so much time talking to a patch of earth. But you know he’d understand. He always understood you, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

You look out over the pond, the way the water reflects the sky, and you wonder what he would think of the world now, of all the things that have changed. You wonder if he’d still choose this place, if he’d still find it as beautiful as he once did. You like to think he would, that he’d still smile and say, “Yeah, this is home.”

One day, you think. One day, maybe you’ll be here too, resting beside him, sharing this place forever. Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to him, and you’ll get to hear his voice again, feel his arms around you, and you’ll be whole again. Until then, you’ll keep coming back, keep whispering to the wind, keep holding onto the memories that this place holds.

And as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the water, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Because here, in this quiet place, he is still with you. Here, by the pond he loved so much, he is still home.

You’ve walked this path more times than you can count, but today feels different. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken words and memories that cling to you like shadows. It has been fourteen years now, and in a few days, it will be official. But it was your husband’s birthday today too, and you think that maybe that’s why. Satoshi is eighteen and your husband isn’t here to see it.

When you reach their graves, you pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The air is cool, the wind gentle against your skin, but there is a weight in your chest that feels heavier than any burden you’ve ever carried.

Two simple stones lie before you, side by side, as if they were always meant to be together — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Their names etched in the granite are stark against the soft earth, the bold characters cutting through the silence of the space around you. The sight is almost too real, too final, as if the reality of their absence is etched into the stone itself.

It was what Satoru wanted, you remember. He had told you that a long time ago, in a quiet moment, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading. “Promise me, if anything ever happens… that Suguru will be laid to rest too. That he’ll have peace.”

You’d nodded then, not thinking much of it, not wanting to entertain the thought of losing him. But now, standing here, you understand why. You understand why it mattered to him, why it was so important that they be reunited in the end.

They were best friends once — closer than brothers, bound by a shared past, by dreams of changing the world together. Even when their paths diverged, even when they became enemies in the eyes of the world, there was always something unbreakable between them, something that tied them together beyond the choices they made, beyond the mistakes and the betrayals. They were always two halves of a whole, two sides of a coin that could never be separated.

And now, in death, they are together again. You think it fitting, think it poetic in a way that only Satoru could have imagined. They both found their peace here, in this quiet place, far from the chaos and conflict that shaped their lives. And maybe, just maybe, they have found each other again, wherever they are.

You kneel down, your knees pressing into the soft grass, feeling the dampness seep through your clothes, grounding you, connecting you to the earth, to this place where they both now rest. You reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the characters of their names etched into the cold granite. The letters feel rough under your fingertips, each line a reminder of what was lost, of the lives that were lived with so much intensity, so much passion, so much pain.

“Satoru.” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat. It feels strange to say his name out loud, to speak to him as if he could still hear you. But you hope he can. You hope he’s listening, somewhere out there. “I’m back, my dearest.”

“I miss you… so much. Every day. I don’t know how to do this without you.” Your fingers move to Suguru’s name next, tracing the familiar curves and lines, remembering the way Satoru used to talk about him, the fondness in his voice even after everything that happened.

“And Suguru.” you add softly, “I hope you found peace too. I hope… wherever you are, you’ve found each other again. That you’re not alone. Stay together, hm?”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around you, and for a moment, you almost think you hear their voices — Satoru’s light and teasing, Suguru’s deeper, quieter, both of them laughing together like they did in the old days, when things were simpler, when the world hadn’t yet shown its darker side. It’s a sound that cuts through the quiet, a memory that tugs at your heart, bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

You press your palms flat against the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath your hands, grounding yourself in the present, in the reality of this moment. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you… either of you. I’m sorry it came to this.”

But then you take a breath, slow and steady, and you remember what Satoru always said — that life goes on, that the world keeps turning, even when it feels like it’s falling apart. And you know he wouldn’t want you to stay here forever, trapped in the past, in the grief that feels like it might swallow you whole. He would want you to keep going, to keep living, to find joy again, even if it feels impossible right now.

You sit back on your heels, wiping at your eyes, feeling the cool breeze brush against your cheeks. “I’ll keep going.” you promise, your voice is stronger now, more certain. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. For all of us. But… one day, I hope I get to see you again. I hope we can be together again, somehow.”

The wind blows softly, carrying your words away, and you imagine them reaching Satoru, reaching Suguru, wherever they are. You imagine them smiling, together at last, watching over you, waiting for the day when you’ll be reunited. And in that thought, you find a small measure of comfort, a small piece of hope to hold on to.

So you stay a little longer, just sitting there in the quiet, in the space between what was and what is, letting the memories wash over you, letting yourself feel everything — the love, the loss, the longing. Because here, in this place, they are still with you. Here, by their graves, you are not alone.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure, but it’s hard. The memories rush back all at once — the sound of Satoru’s laughter, always so full and carefree; Suguru’s quiet, thoughtful gaze as he watches you both, always the more grounded of the two. You close your eyes for a moment, letting those memories wash over you, trying to hold on to the feeling of them, even as it brings a fresh ache to your heart.

“I miss you.” you say, your voice breaking on the last word. “Gods, I miss you both so much.”

Your hand drops to your lap, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears spill over, hot against your skin, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of holding back the grief that’s been eating away at you ever since you lost them.

“I still can’t believe you’re gone, Satoru.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking… I keep waiting for you to walk through the door with that ridiculous grin on your face, like this was all just some terrible joke. I keep thinking I’ll hear your voice, calling out to me, asking me if I’ve missed you. Fourteen years and I still think like this.”

Your shoulders shake with a quiet sob, and you press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound. You feel the ache in your chest, the hollow emptiness that’s been there since the day he died. Every day without him feels like a wound that won’t heal, a pain that won’t lessen, no matter how much time passes.

“I miss you so much.” you repeat, your voice raw and broken. “I miss the way you used to make me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. I miss the way you’d wrap your arms around me, like you could protect me from everything. I miss your voice, your smile… I miss everything.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes as if to ground yourself. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know how to keep going.” you admit quietly. “I don’t know how to keep living in a world where you’re not here.”

Your gaze drifts to Suguru’s grave, and you feel another pang of sorrow. “I miss you too, Suguru.” you murmur. “I know you and Satoru are probably driving each other crazy up there… but I wish… I wish you were both here with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears falling more freely now. “I’m trying to be strong, to be the person you both believed I could be.” you say, your voice trembling. “But it’s so hard without you. It’s so hard to keep going when all I want to do is just… just give up.”

You close your eyes, bowing your head, and let the tears fall, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief feels like it’s drowning you, pulling you under, and for a moment, you don’t know if you have the strength to keep swimming.

But then, through the haze of your tears, you feel a small flicker of warmth — a memory, a feeling, a sense of Satoru’s presence. You can almost hear his voice, playful and light, telling you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living. And you know, deep down, that he wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep smiling, to keep finding joy, even in a world without him.

You lift your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “I promise I’ll keep going.” you whisper. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. But… one day…”

Your voice catches, and you swallow hard, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. “One day, I can’t wait to see you again.” you say, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t wait to be with you again, Satoru. I can’t wait to hold you and tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his headstone, your fingers trembling. “Until then… I’ll keep you in my heart.” you whisper. “I’ll keep you both in my heart.”

The wind picks up once more, rustling the leaves, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of peace, as if they’re both there with you, watching over you, telling you that it’s okay to grieve, to cry, to miss them. And as you sit there, letting the tears flow, you realize that they’re not really gone. They’re still with you, in every memory, every laugh, every tear.

“I love you so much.” you whisper, your voice carried away in the wind. “I always will, my love. Happy birthday.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope, a small, fragile thing, but there nonetheless. A hope that one day, you’ll see them again, that one day, this ache will be replaced by the joy of being with them once more. Until then, you’ll carry them with you, every step of the way, until your paths cross again.

epilogue

In the ethereal expanse of the afterlife, Gojo Satoru was causing a celestial commotion that even the most seasoned spirits couldn’t ignore. The gates of heaven, grand and imposing, were currently the scene of an unusual spectacle. Satoru was, quite literally, throwing himself against them, trying to push his way through the ornate barriers with a determination that bordered on absurd.

Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Haibara Yuta were standing a few feet away, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Suguru was leaning against a nearby pillar, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Nanami was rubbing his temples in frustration, and Haibara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"How long has he been at this?" Nanami asked.

"Since yesterday." Haibara snickered in response.

"I haven't had peace these past two days." Suguru sighed.

Satoru, his face pressed against the gates, was shouting, “GAH!? Let me out! I need to get back to Earth! They need me! I can’t just sit here while they’re struggling!”

Nanami, stepping forward with a calm yet firm tone, said, “Satoru, this is not a joke. You’re dead. You’re not supposed to go back. We’ve been over this.”

Satoru turned his head, giving them a pleading look. “But they’re my family! They need me! Can’t you see? I’ve got to be there for them!”

Haibara, trying to defuse the tension, added with a smirk, “Gojo–senpai, you know you can’t just break the rules. Besides, you have to admit, your dramatic exit would probably cause a cosmic mess.”

Suguru, barely containing his grin, stepped forward with a more practical suggestion. “Look, Satoru, there’s a much better way to be there for them without causing a ruckus. You can appear in their dreams. It’s a lot less disruptive and doesn’t require you to break through any divine gates.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up with realization. “Wait, really? I do that? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t want to listen to me at all. Plus, you were too busy trying to create a celestial catastrophe.”

Satoru paused, considering the idea. “I suppose appearing in their dreams is a bit more civilized. But—” he added, frowning, “—can’t I just pop back in for a quick hug or something? A kiss, more preferably.”

Nanami shook his head, still trying to keep his composure. “No, Gojo. That’s not how it works. You’ve got to accept that you can't do what you want now that you're dead.”

Satoru, with a resigned sigh and the roll of his eyes, finally stepped back from the gates. He still looks like a child when he pouts. “Alright, alright. I’ll do the dream thing. But I want to make sure they know I’m there for them.”

Haibara chuckled. “Great. Just try not to turn their dreams into a circus act. They need comfort, not more chaos, Gojo–senpai!”

Satoru grinned, his spirits lifting as he envisioned his new plan. “Got it. I’ll keep it heartfelt and fun. And maybe I’ll sneak in a few tricks here and there. You know, just to keep things interesting.”

As Satoru prepared to set off on his new celestial mission, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara exchanged looks of weary amusement. They knew that, despite his antics, Satoru’s heart was in the right place.

“Good luck,” Nanami said dryly. “And remember, no cosmic disasters.”

Satoru gave them a thumbs-up. “You got it! And thanks for the advice, everyone. I’ll make sure they feel my love, even if it’s just in their dreams.”

With that, Satoru faded into a swirl of ethereal light, heading toward the dreamscape to reach out to you and Satoshi. Meanwhile, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara watched him go, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement.

“Do you think he’ll actually follow through?” Haibara asked, still grinning.

Suguru smirked. “If anyone can turn a dream into a grand spectacle, it’s Satoru. But I have no doubt he’ll manage to bring some comfort, too. Well, somewhat."

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least we’ve managed to keep him out of trouble, for now. Let’s hope he sticks to the plan.”

And with that, the trio returned to their celestial duties, knowing that despite Satoru’s chaotic tendencies, his heart was always in the right place.

And just as promised, Gojo Satoru did indeed make his grand reappearance in your dreams and Satoshi's, weaving a spectral thread through the fabric of your nightly slumbers. The dreams, much like Satoru himself, were a mix of whimsical chaos and heartwarming moments.

In your dream, the scene was set in a familiar place — a cozy, moonlit garden that felt both nostalgic and surreal. There, amidst the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle rustling of leaves, was Satoru, his usual nonchalant demeanor softened by a warm, affectionate grin. He was seated on a bench, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with the same mischievous gleam you remembered so well.

"Soooo." he began, stretching out the word as if he were about to launch into one of his signature lectures. "Miss me much? I bet you didn't expect me to show up like this."

You could only laugh, feeling a mixture of relief and joy. "Satoru... this is incredible. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come."

Satoru’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "You know me, always keeping my promises, even from beyond. Besides, I couldn’t let you and Satoshi have all the fun without me."

He gestured to the garden around you, which seemed to glow with a gentle, ethereal light, transforming it into a place of comfort and tranquility. It was as if he had crafted this dreamscape himself, blending his penchant for the whimsical with the tenderness of his love.

As you sat together, talking and laughing, the conversation flowed effortlessly. He shared stories from the afterlife, which he portrayed with his characteristic humor and flair, recounting celestial mishaps and the amusing antics of his fellow spirits. It was just like old times, but with a surreal twist — his jokes seemed to float in the air like bubbles, and his laughter was a melody that danced through the night. And then when it was time, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into an embrace and a kiss.

Satoshi’s dream was equally enchanting. He found himself in a fantastical setting, a blend of his own memories and Satoru's imaginative touch. The scene was a vibrant carnival, full of colors and laughter. Satoru was there, dressed in an elaborate magician’s costume, complete with a top hat and a flowing cape. He was performing tricks, pulling stars out of a hat and making cosmic confetti rain down on the crowd.

Satoshi watched in awe as Satoru performed, a look of wonder on his face. When Satoru finally noticed him, he winked and gave him a grandiose bow. "Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me? Hope you're enjoying the show!"

Satoshi’s heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing. He approached Satoru, who enveloped him in a hug that felt strangely warm despite being a dream. Satoshi felt tears well up in his eyes, but he laughed, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn’t experienced in years. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”

Satoru ruffled his hair affectionately, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “I know, kiddo. I’ve missed you too. But you’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you. And I know your mom is too. You both are doing great.”

The dream continued with a playful sense of magic and wonder, filled with laughter and joy. Satoru’s presence, though fleeting, was a gift — a reminder that his love and spirit continued to be a part of your lives, even if only in the realm of dreams.

As the night drew to a close and the dreams began to fade, Satoru gave one last, heartfelt wave. “Remember, I’m always with you. In every laugh, every moment, and every starry night. I’ll be cheering you on from here.”

When you and Satoshi woke up, you immediately texted each other about the dream. And back in heaven, Gojo Satoru was pleased.

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aquaquadrant · 1 year ago

Note

grbbrgrr. scurries toward you. I offer thee pathbubs fluff, fresh from my mind fortress.

Patho. falling asleep with dbubs’s clock to his ear.

gives you a cupcake skitters away

(offering received, considered, and accepted. however, i have substituted your fluff for angst. i hope this is satisfactory.)

~*~

"watch this!" dbubs shouts, before leaping off the cliff into the water below.

<player>dat -7063fdce-39ac-4a12-d836-a990c45b2bb0

patho leans back just enough to avoid being splashed. the water in this jungle lagoon is clear and blue, brighter than most bodies of water he comes across. tall, thick trees surround them on all sides, creating a natural barrier from the mobs of the jungle. it’s a beautiful place, and one of his favorites to visit when he’s here.

155 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 17/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 28 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,683.952 / 39.11563 / 253,589.263 block: -12,683 39 253,589 chunk: -791 15 7,849 facing: south (towards positive z)(1.5/5) client light: 6 (0 sky, 6 block) biome: error:crimson jungle local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 16/247 + 0/8

dbubs surfaces with a gasp, his wet bangs plastered to his forehead. “did you see that?” he crows. “that was- i must’ve done a- a complete 360 spin about five- no, ten times! world record, first try!”

“oh, yeah,” patho agrees with a smile he doesn’t feel. “yeah, that was very impressive.”

they’re almost out of time.

patho has known this since he woke to find a little weeping vine attempting to burrow into his arm, right at the seam where flesh meets metal. this is an event that only happens when he’s overstayed his welcome, and the jungle can no longer tolerate his presence without trying to claim him. that vine was easily removed, putting off the inevitable for a few more days. but he can’t ignore the sudden restlessness that overtakes him now, a buzzing in his very core that fills his mind with static and his limbs- organic and mechanical alike- with the powerful urge to move.

it’s hard to explain, his need to wander. it’s like every moment he’s not traveling, he can almost feel the infinite borders of hels expanding, spreading into new horizons, and the thought of staying put is unbearable. it doesn’t matter if he actually goes beyond the loaded chunks or not- a feat that’d take years, to be sure. just getting on the move again is enough to quiet the itch.

(it didn’t use to be this way. it didn’t start until after he built his communicator into his new arm, fusing himself with it- but he’ll never admit this, never confront the possibility that it might’ve been a mistake. it’s easier just to leave.)

besides, he still enjoys the various business he gets up to with the other denizens of hels. his services as a redstoner and a data analyst are in high demand, and he has a reputation to uphold. he can’t throw all that away to stay here. that just wouldn’t make sense. it wouldn’t be logical.

patho reaches for the clock at his hip. it was the first gift dbubs gave him. early into patho’s first stay, dbubs decided he needed a clock of his own, so he’d always know when it was time for them to sleep. based on its position, nightfall is only a couple hours away.

“well, c’mon!” dbubs pesters him, his haughty voice echoing off the smooth walls of the cliffside. “what’re you- what, are ya scared of a lil water? huh? just- you just try and beat my record, you- i bet you can’t!”

“alright, alright,” patho chuckles, shrugging his jacket off. “you asked for it…”

won’t be long, now.

~*~

that night, patho leaves his eye on.

dbubs, curled beside him, notices this immediately, and deep down, he knows what it means. it took a while- how long, he isn’t sure- for patho to grow comfortable enough to turn his cybernetic eye off while they slept. but ever since then, he does it every night… up until the last night. every last night, like clockwork.

already, dbubs can feel the familiar weight of sleep trying to take him. caught in the jungle’s day-night cycle, he has little choice in the matter; he sleeps every night without fail. but he fights it anyway, biting back a yawn.

“tomorrow,” dbubs starts quietly, “uh, do you wanna- i- i had this idea for a new build, a perfect build, of course, and i’m gonna need a- a super smelter, for- uh, for all the terracotta-“

“dbubs.” that solitary red eye gazes out from the dark. “you know i’m not made for staying.”

dbubs shies away from the words like an insect from sudden light. “and- and so i was thinking,” he continues, as if patho hadn’t spoken, “we could do a uh, you know, maybe a bamboo farm? for the- for the fuel? i- my perfect redstone prowess could make this easy- easily, of course, but um… i uh- euugh, you- you know they always say, sure enough, that two brains- uh, two geniuses, genii, are better’n one.”

“yeah?” patho breathes a soft, empty laugh. “is that what they say?”

“and- well, yes! yes, of course!” darkness creeps in from the edges of dbubs’s vision; he clings tighter to patho. “and… and uh… n’you can learn all ‘bout my new… new dbubs redstone clock… pat- patented design, a‘course…”

“of course.” patho’s lips brush across his forehead. “better get some rest, then.”

dbubs struggles to keep his eyes open, but it’s as if his lashes are lined with iron. he presses his face in the crook of patho’s neck, breathing him in, that redstone-and-gunpowder scent; bitter and metallic.

“don’t,” he murmurs, consciousness escaping him quickly. “please…?”

“night, dbubs.”

the jungle sleeps.

~*~

far from the jungle, patho lays down in a shallow cave carved from netherrack.

168 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 15/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 27 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -11, 987.629 / 30.91778 / 252,896.204 block: -11,987 30 252,896 chunk: -780 15 7,835 facing: east (towards positive x)(1.5/5) client light: 2 (0 sky, 2 block) biome: error:nether waste local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 5/247 + 0/8

he’s put enough distance between himself and the jungle that he’s confident he can sleep for a few hours before setting off again. the surrounding biome is one he’s well familiar with; barren and empty. with a wall put up to shelter him from mobs, he’s finally safe enough to turn his eye off.

that won’t be the case anymore, once he gets closer to the more populated chunks. the risk of being caught with one eye nonfunctional is too high. it’s just something he has to deal with.

(of course, he could’ve built a cybernetic replacement that simply functioned like the eye he lost, but he thought himself clever and built in a data processor to provide him with valuable information, giving him an advantage over anyone else in his field. so this is the price he pays for it.)

he reaches for his clock. there’s only a couple hours left before the sun will rise, unseen beyond the bedrock ceiling, and dbubs will wake to an empty bed.

but for now, patho tucks the clock to his ear and closes his eyes, letting the steadfast ticking finally lull him to sleep.

~*~

#hermitcraft #hels to pay au #HTP fic #helsmits #pathbubs #my writing

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licorice-tea · 11 months ago

Text

The Captain Who Loved Me (1/2)

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: Angst, Reader is hurt/unconscious (briefly), reader tries to run away from their problems, ends up in a dangerous situation, themes of fear/ danger!, fluff afterwards, sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors!

Word Count: ~1.6k

A/N: Hey… Sorry it’s been so long! My life has been busy, to say the least. Borderline chaotic, but I don’t want to make it out to be a bad thing when there are so many amazing things and people in my life right now. However, there have been a few personal events that have made me less motivated/ less focused on writing. I’m sorry for making you all wait for updates/ requests, but I genuinely am just lacking a lot of interest in writing fanfic at the moment. Still, J appreciate all of your support so so much <3 It makes my day when I go on this app and see that people are still enjoying things I’ve written! So, I hope you enjoy this one too. (Part 1/2 bc i want to do a shorter ending.)

Part 3

Law hadn't thought that when you said you would “go,” you wouldn't really try to leave. And in all fairness, neither had you. You just started walking away from him, way too peeved to even look back or slow down when you heard his stuttered “wait!” And when you got back to your cabin, you picked up a backpack. Then you had filled it with only the essentials (the same way you would pack to go inland for a day or possibly longer.) And finally, with no purpose in your plan besides getting away for a little while and clearing your mind, you headed below deck to the Soldier Dock System.

Franky named this deck the Soldier Dock System because, as he had once explained to you, all of the smaller vehicles housed within the Sunny are like her soldiers. The memory makes you smile as you quietly open the door and close it behind you, then stroll along the small walkway until you spot what you came down here for in the first place: The Mini Merry 2. She bobs in shallow water and seems to call to you; “Get in! Let’s go!”

You’re too tired to make the right decision, so you quickly open channel 2 of the dock system, drop your bag into the passenger seat, and climb in after. An opening on the side of the Sunny lets in higher waters, which carry the Mini Merry out to sea…

“Have you seen y/n?”

Zoro’s head snaps up to the other swordsman. The two don’t converse much outside of what's necessary, so he's surprised to see the equally stoic man standing over him while he “naps” (keeps watch) in the crows nest. He shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch?”

“Yeah, on the ocean. Not my own crew mates.”

Law scoffs, and mutters; “Thanks for nothing.”

Zoro can tell the other captain is annoyed for some reason, and decides to throw him a bone. “Traffy!”

“What?”

“Check the lower levels. They might be hanging out in someone’s workshop… or whatever.”

Law regards Zoro with a suspicious gaze, but it soon turns to one of quiet thanks. He nods and leaves through the hatch in the crows nest.

Cool sea air hits him stronger than expected as soon as he exits the confines of the crows nest. With one hand and both feet planed (somewhat) firmly on the rope ladder, Law leans back to view the weather. A storm is brewing on the horizon, which shouldn’t be any problem for a ship as massive and advanced as the Thousand Sunny. The navigator/thief had briefed everyone on board on the gloomy weather that night after dinner, and though Law had been too distracted by thoughts of you, he had managed to pay a little bit of attention for the sake of important information. You hadn’t been at the impromptu meeting regarding the sea and sky’s conditions, so he had just assumed you were probably resting in your cabin already. No reason to worry over your safety if you were already fast asleep, right?

But as Law continues to survey the waters surrounding his temporary residence, he spots an anomaly. A tiny boat, rocking on the water as the ocean seems to send more violent waves its way. With squinted eyes, Law observes the miniature ship. It’s hard to see through the oncoming rain, but he can make out the lone passenger’s bent knees. They’re apparently trying to brace themselves as they struggle with the steering mechanism at the front of the boat, and their hair is whipped every which way about their face by winds that must be much stronger that far out at sea. It’s hard to make out their features because of the rain that comes down in sheets over their mysterious figure, but when he finally catches a glimpse of their face, Law’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach.

He watches in horror as, what he now recognizes as your ship, is tossed back and forth on the tumultuous waves. You look over your shoulder and back at the Sunny, before you lose your balance. But your head seems to be struck by something at the front of the ship during your short fall, based on the way you first wobble, almost find your footing by leaning forwards, then jolt backwards. Law yells your name at the top of his lungs, but you do not move.

When you open your eyes to find yourself tucked into your bed, you think nothing of it. That is, until the throbbing pain in the center of your forehead reveals itself to you. Then the memories of a storm all come flooding back: the freedom you had felt in your first few moments in open water, alone with your thoughts. How quickly that sense of calmness had turned to panic as the weather changed in an instant, leaving you to desperately try to steer back towards the Sunny in a boat no taller than yourself. Slipping on the small deck, only for your head to hit something and… black out. And you remember Law’s voice, too; he had sounded so distant that it must have been your imagination .

The soft creak of your bedroom door draws you from the rush of memories, and you look up to find Chopper making his way into your room with a tray. He doesn’t realize your eyes are open until he’s set it down on a bedside table, and climbed up onto your bed with a stethoscope in hand.

“Y/n! You’re awake!” he gasps.

You offer a weak smile and attempt to sit up, but the reindeer gently pushes you back down. “Chopper… What happened?”

“You had an accident during the storm 3 days ago-“

“3 days ago?”

“Yes, Nami briefed the crew on it. But then Traffy found you on the Mini Merry 2, a mile from the ship!”

“I- I didn’t know there would be a storm…”

Chopper frowns while placing his stethoscope on your chest. You take 2 deep breaths in and he nods to himself before simply sitting beside you. “What were you doing out there?”

You shrug, “I just wanted to clear my head.”

He pays your arm, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Traffy, but he cares for you a lot. He used his devil fruit to save you in the middle of the ocean, which… could have ended badly.”

This strikes a chord within you. Of course you knew Law cared for you to some degree, but knowing that he put his own safety on the line to help you in your time of need… Perhaps it was wrong of you to assume he was selfish and cold for refusing to admit what was so glaringly obvious to everyone else. What is now so clear to you, too.

He loves you.

“Oh… And is he-“

“He’s fine, but I prescribed him some much needed rest from coming in contact with sea water.”

Chopper finishes examining you and gives you some pain medication for your head, then leaves you alone to properly wake up and get yourself together. To no surprise, your alone time doesn’t last long as an influx of visitors find their way to your cabin.

First are Nami and Robin, who knew you were awake from hearing your voice through shared walls. They come with a small bouquet of flowers from Robin’s garden in a pretty little decorative vase, and each make themselves comfortable in your room. Though the door is closed, Luffy excitedly barges in soon after, followed by Usopp, then Chopper again. He scolds the two young men for disturbing your peace and possibly riling you up, but you assure the even younger doctor that it’s more than fine. Because, in your opinion, there’s nothing like your nakama’s company to raise your spirits. Zoro must have wandered in at some point and decided to take a nap on your floor, which you only realize when Sanji opens the door and hits the swordsman’s leg when he (gently) kicks it open. They resolve to only glare at each other for a moment before Sanji hands you a cup of something warm and sweet, “For someone warm and sweet.”

The 8 of you spend some time chatting and enjoying your company before you find the courage to ask, “Where is everyone else?”

“Jimbei is steering the ship-“

“Brook is keeping watch-

“And Franky is working below deck. Something about improving the Mini Merry 2… But that’s not really what you wanted to know, is it?”

You feel your face heat up as you meet Robin’s all-knowing eye and shake your head “no.” She smiles at you and giggles pass between your crew mates.

Your friends file out of your room (or are ushered out by Nami and Robin, rather, who insist that you should get some more rest.) But soon enough, there’s yet another knock at your door. Your breath hitches, as you feel you already know who’s on the other side…

“Come in.”

Taglist: @augustanna @lavanderdreamve @pinksaiyans @khaleesihavilliard @jennapancake @pinki-minki @loserbee14 @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @nyxlai @mrs-monkey-d-luffy @pi-crust @bookboyfriendssaveme @dark-swedish-suitcase-blog

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ghostsvacuumcleaner · 2 years ago

Text

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night.

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired.

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks.

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life.

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter.

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.”

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand.

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly.

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby.

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name.

Some things aren’t supposed to happen.

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own.

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours.

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. ��Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees.

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.”

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.”

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you.

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

#simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fic #simon riley fluff

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gingernut1314 · 1 year ago

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One Piece Reading List (Pt. 2)

I have a tendency to read really good fics that I want to re-read weeks later only to find I can't find them in the void. Soooo I came up with this little reading list solution--kinda like a GoodReads vibe lol. I want to be able to share what I’ve read and be able to show my absolute love for them!!

Here is part 2! I recommend every last fic on here because they are amazing and they and their authors deserve all the love in the world!!!! 🩷 🩷

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 1

Buggy: 🤡

Problem @tiredemomama

A little Funny Business @somanyratsinthewalls

Still Sexy? @writingoddess1125

Buggy falls asleep in his throne again @hey-august

Keep drinking @hey-august part 2

The Sweetest Thing @galaxycunt

Bubbles @the-anxious-youth

A favor for the captain @hey-august

Tender love and care @sordidmusings

You've Got the Same Dream as Me @lostfirefly

Say Yes @galaxycunt

Mihawk: 🟡👄🟡

Bodyguard!Mihawk @discordantwritings

Kiss the Swordsman @cinnbar-bun

Crocodile: 🐊

Finding out you're stronger than them @standfucker

Shanks: 🍺🧑‍🦰

A sharp tongue @undiscovered-horizon

I was enchanted to meet you @alisonwritesimagines

The night is sparkling, don't you let it go -> fluff ending Please don't be in love with someone else -> angst-ending

Shanks with a calm, introverted s/o @heyitsdoe

Sanji: 🧑‍🍳

"I can teach you if you'd like" @vinsmokc-sanji

Luffy: 🍖

Luffy only shares with you @usoppsstar

I Remember Thinking I Had You @mydearlybeloathed part 2

Ace: 🧯🔥

Cream @bby-deerling

Cuddles @muenbear

Usopp: 🤥

In my eyes @itjazzbicch

You Called? @kibblz-n-bitz

In The Moment @stray-kaz

Zoro: 🗡️🥦 ⚔️

Cuddling with Zoro @bowsa-jr

Nami: 🍊

Enjoying a Day off @madwomansapologist

Zeff: 🍽️

Cooking is a language of love @tiredemomama

My Lovely Patron @turtletaubwrites Part 2

Multiple Characters: 🏴‍☠️

How to deal with 3 warlords (while pregnant) @dexlexia

Sit, like a chair @sinning-23

What turns the monster trio on @mvrtaiswriting

Roommates @thebisexualdogdad

OPLA hot older guys headcanons @i-am-vita

Random things I think OPLA Characters would do @phntmeii

One piece (live-action) characters: tops, bottoms, switches? @gotheskin

[Cross Gild headcannons] The way he... @hey-august

One Bed Trope - NSFW (Cross Guild x GN!Reader) @hey-august

Dance with me @stray-kaz

Masterlists:

Paperultra's Masterlist @paperultra

Rorywritesjunk's Master Post @rorywritesjunk

One Piece Masterlist @miloonmetis

Mo's Masterlist @somanyratsinthewalls

One piece masterlist @sinning-23

Fics and fanart @empressofmankind

One Piece Masterlist @madwomansapologist

Z0r0z's masterlist @z0r0z

Short Honey Badger's Masterlist @short-honey-badger

We've All Got Needs @turtletaubwrites

#i love you alllll #I enjoyed every last fic on here greatllyyy #and will be re-reading them #one piece #one piece live action #one piece anime #fic rec #bigggggg fic rec #divider by saradika graphics

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milliesfishes · 11 months ago

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꣑ৎ౨ৎFairytales (Part Three)꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: fluff, angst, forced marriage, slight violence pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: last part of fairytales :) author’s note: I hope you enjoy! I spent awhile on this one <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

One can never catch freedom if they chase it.

You wished your story had begun with 'Once Upon a Time' so there was guarantee of an ending wrapped up in a pretty bow. Oh, the ideal. You and your knight riding away into the sunset, newly married with the brightest of futures waving from the horizon like a rosy sunset.

As of now, that ending was no more than a daydream.

Three princes had arrived from kingdoms not too far, vying for both your affections and your hand. You hardly took it seriously. After all, this was but one of many instances where men with more royal blood than brains attempted to charm you over dinner.

The king's displeasure with you was tense for the entire event, and you did your best to ignore the storm brewing in Nicholas. You imagined that it was Billy sitting across from you instead of a prince, telling you about his day or teaching you about the stars.

He hadn't written since the night in the woods, where you'd felt like you came alive for the very first time. Never before had you been able to just be with him until then. Before there had always been a look over the shoulder, reminders to speak in hushed tones. That night though, released from your title and your jailer, you breathed easy.

It was the complete opposite of how you felt in the present moment, laced into a dress that was pushing your breasts up to your neck and making your waist collapse in on itself while you tried and failed to pay attention to what your unwanted suitors were saying.

As you feigned interest, your hand came up to the silver heart charm on your collarbone, tracing the little embedded design. You'd sent letters, of course, and the doves had come back empty handed, so you knew they were getting to him. But he hadn't sent so much as a single word back. Was he safe? You thought over the content of your writings, trying to imagine if something had made him upset. But all you could recall were the usual things you talked about (dreams, hopes, wishes, how much you loved him).

The night concluded with little fanfare, and you bid each suitor good night at the king's side. When the doors shut, you curtsied and made to go off to bed in the hopes that Billy's dove would be waiting for you, but the king held out a hand before you could escape.

"The princes," he started, eyeing you warily. "What did you make of them?"

It was clear as water what he was asking. Lifting your chin, you said in demure tones, "I am unsure of any decision at this time, Your Majesty."

Nicholas huffed through his nose, then seemed to lighten, eyes trailing up and down your figure. "You are aware of the alternative if you fail to choose a suitor." He seemed slightly pleased about the situation, and your body tensed, hand going up to play with your necklace once again. "With your history, perhaps it would be best to move forward with that."

In that moment, any hopes of this being a game shattered. The lust in his eyes conveyed something that made you want to tear at your eyes and crawl out of your skin. If you didn't know any better, you would say he had purposefully sent for men he'd known you would disdain, to make his desired outcome more possible.

But as you stared up into his eyes, you knew you would do anything to avoid that fate.

He raised his eyebrows at your silence, a tiny smile creeping up his lips and nearly making you shiver. "I will speak with the archbishop tomorrow-"

Mind working quickly, you blurted out, "What if we hosted a ball?"

The outburst made him pause. Brow furrowing in confusion, Nicholas squinted before responding, his voice dry. "A ball?"

"You've...you've been wanting to host a gathering," you managed, the words tumbling from your mouth as you tried to find footing on a solid reason. Anything to delay it. Anything to delay it. "And besides, it would give me an opportunity to...get to know my...suitors...better. Or perhaps find a new one among the invited nobles."

He appeared taken aback by your suggestion. Never before had you expressed a single modicum of interest in the men presented before you. And normally you wouldn't have offered up the chance of more time with them, but this situation was precarious. You would take a night of dancing with supposedly well-bred princes if it prolonged any suggestion of marriage to such a vile man.

Nicholas appeared incredulous. You held your breath, sure he would say no. He would see through your thinly veiled plan and insist you marry him at once.

He surprised you when he said, "I will allow it." Your shoulders slumped just slightly, but stiffened again when he said, "But if by the conclusion of the evening you have found no one to at the very least court, we will move forward with the second option."

Swallowing, the weight of the responsibility apparent on your shoulders, you nodded, aware this was likely the best possible outcome. "Fine."

"Good." Nicholas caught sight of a courtier motioning to him from the nearby door and waved you off. "Best you retire for the night. We will discuss details come morning."

How easy it was for him to decide and discuss pressing matters of your future as if they were nothing more than the weather. You envied him for that.

Clutching your skirts, you hurried quickly up the stairs like a storybook maiden to her tower, heart racing when the door was shut behind you. The sun had long sunk into the earth, darkness engulfing your space. Stars winked at you through the window, the moon peeking out a corner. Deciding not to ring for your maid, you squinted at the little table beside the door and lit the candle sitting in its golden holder.

Lifting it to observe your surroundings, you nearly had the fright of your life when you saw Billy casually sitting on your window seat, stroking the neck of his dove, which had a little envelope attached to its foot.

Putting a hand to your heart, your shoulders moved up and down as you breathed in, recovering from the shock. "You frightened me."

"Sent this hours ago." Billy nodded to the dove, fingers making quick work of untying the message. He set the bird on the windowsill, watching it fly away briefly before turning back to you. "When I came to our spot you weren't there. I was gettin' worried."

"It was a long day," you said apologetically, setting the candle down on your vanity surface and beginning to remove pins from your hair. Out of the corner of your mind you saw his shadow stand, and before you knew it a pair of arms were wrapping around your midsection, his familiar scent steadying your heartbeat like a comforting hand.

Setting a handful of pins on the table, you removed your tiara and shook out your hair, then turning to bury your face into him. He kissed the top of your head, one hand rubbing your back, callouses catching on the silk of your dress. "That bad, huh?"

"It's the king," you murmured into him. "I wasn't aware of how serious he was about marriage..." You shuddered slightly, and Billy's arms tightened around you. There was a blanket of silence that covered you both for a moment, sheathing you in a comfortable place where you couldn't be disturbed. Hesitantly whispering into this void, you said, "I managed to put him off."

"Smart girl. 'Course ya did," he muttered, brushing some of your hair behind your shoulder. Though his motions and words were casual, you could hear the uncertainty behind them. "What'd ya do?"

"I convinced him to hold a ball," you sighed, pulling back from Billy and facing the other way, folding your arms over yourself. "To find a suitor. Whether it be one of the ones I met today or some other nobleman. But I..." Tears stung your eyes as the suddenly very real possibility fell upon on you. "I'll have to marry either way. I don't want to, Billy-" the rest of your sentence was lost to tears, and you covered your face with your hands.

He gave you a moment before you felt his hands on your elbows. Turning and clutching at his shirt, your body shook as awful images swam before your eyes. You in a white dress, on the arm of some faceless stranger, or worse yet, the king. Someone else kissing you, someone else...

Billy's hand came to hold the back of your head, pressing it to his shoulder as he let every crystal tear that rained down your cheeks sink into the fabric of his shirt, leaving little dots in the blue fabric. His body began to sway slightly, rocking you back in forth in a soothing motion that stirred the beginnings of quelling your fear.

There was no outside world in his arms. Though time seemed to speed up when you were encased within them, you hid there as long as you were able. He was a vision in your darkness.

You lifted your head from his chest like a rabbit poking its head from a hole in the ground. He thumbed the side of your cheek, leaning in to kiss your nose gently. The brim of his hat poked your forehead, and you looked up at him with hearts in your eyes.

Then you were pulling him down easily, hesitating before pressing your lips to his. It was a whisper of a kiss that he returned, but when you nudged your nose against his cheek, he took the cue and deepened it.

Billy's hands were at your waist, squeezing lightly as his lips dragged over yours. He held your waist against his, making you arch your back at the feeling. But his hand came to support you, splaying over your spine and the other on your head guiding your mouth forward to meet his.

Hands finding the handkerchief around his neck, you tugged at it, beginning to step backward. Billy followed, chasing your lips as he pressed hot, needy kisses to them. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you let yourself fall back, bringing him sprawling down on top of you. The plush mattress swallowed you, surrounding you both in the pink covers, embroidered with little flowers. He did the gentlemanly thing and rolled you over so he was on the bottom, and you weren't crushed by his weight.

Billy held you by your waist, one hand on your back gently pulling your body into his. You pushed his hat away, off the bed, shifting so your legs were on either side of his waist. He paused briefly, lifting you under your arms to sit upright as he did too. Looking into your eyes, he let his hands slide down your sides, skimming the edges of your breasts. You searched his eyes, trying to read them when the only light was still flickering on your vanity table.

"How far d'ya wanna go, baby?" he whispered, catching your lips in the softest brush. "This ain't...this ain't just kisses."

You pawed lightly at the buttons of his shirt, eyes focused on them though you knew his were firmly set on your face. Fingers hooking on the first fastened one, you breathed, "I don't want anybody else to have me this way. Just you." Lifting your eyes to meet his, you reached for his hand, lifting it to cover your heart. "I want you to have me first."

Billy tenderly lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingers. He murmured against them, "'m happy just bein' with ya, sweet girl."

"I want you to be the only one who's had all of me." Your breath hitched on the last word, and he opened his eyes. Though the air was black, you swore you could see the oceanic blue of his eyes through it all. Every word that fell from your mouth you meant. You were tired of wearing his love like a secret.

Leaning against him, you nudged your nose against his. "You have my heart and my mind and my soul. Take the last part. I'm giving it to you."

Billy's silence was filled with awe. He just looked at you for a moment, and you were unfortunately reminded of the way the king did earlier. But it was in comparison. Nicholas' stare was wicked and conniving, looking to devour you like a step to his pedestal. But the man in front of you, your love, your life...his gaze held a feeling bigger than the whole sky and everything in it. Billy touched you as if you were precious, like he didn't deserve you. And the fact that he didn't think he did meant he was the only one worthy.

You leaned up, kissing him softly and closing his hand over your breast. He nuzzled your cheek once, hand sliding to the back of your dress and beginning to fidget with the buttons. Your mouth was busy on his, and so you couldn't convey how impressed you were when he managed to undo the top part, pushing it down your chest.

Your undergarment was white, edged with lace, with a little rose in the center. Billy took one look at you and dove in, lips trailing down your jaw and falling down your neck, fastening to your collarbone in slow, hot kisses. Head tilted back to give him better access, your hand tangled in his hair, encouraging him to keep going.

Reaching around yourself, you pulled your shoes off and tossed them aside, eager fingers unhooking his buttons. Once his shirt was off, you looked at him fascinatedly, curiously running a hand down his chest and looking up at him questioningly. He smiled, touching your hand on him. "'s okay. You can touch me. Wantcha to."

He held you close as you explored him, patiently endeared. Billy leaned in to kiss you carefully, murmuring against your lips, "You're beautiful, darlin'. M' pretty girl."

Billy turned you over, setting you down against the covers and slowly working your dress off your body, his hands worshipful. The way he looked at you was nothing short of adoring.

The movements of his lips ebbed and flowed as he took his time with you, holding you close as he made you feel things that were sacred to him only. He was your light, your love, the best love you had ever known.

When it was all over, he laid beside you, hair messy, eyes soft. His arm was absentmindedly flung above your head, fingers brushing through your strands. It was a symphony of affection, the way he looked at you. Lying facing him, knees tucked slightly up with one arm covering your breasts and the other hand clasped with his free one between you. Your thumb traced his fingers, and he let you.

"Did it feel good?" he whispered, and you smiled at the concern in his tone.

Nodding slightly, you shifted, snuggling closer to him and enjoying the image of him, bare and settled on your rosy sheets. Even though he contextually didn't, for a moment he belonged here. In your bed, with you. "It was wonderful," you breathed, eyes sparkling.

Billy bundled you in his arms, kissing your temple and soothing a hand over your back. He murmured, "My angel."

It was sunrise before he left, not immune to your pleas for him to stay, but also wary of the setting. You sleepily watched him dress, burrowed in the covers of your bed, his spot still warm beside you; sheets rumpled, blankets folded aside. The brand-new morning light bathed him in an incandescent glow that made you question whether he was real.

He began to button up his shirt, and with every movement, you could feel the impending doom of his departure. When he retrieved his hat from the floor and tugged his boots on, you sat up, saddened and holding the sheets to your chest.

Billy sat on the edge of the bed, giving you an apologetic smile. "'M sorry, baby."

"It's okay," you said softly, thankful to even have had a few hours asleep in his arms. Billy stood, retrieving the nightdress you hadn't put away from the morning before, draped over a nearby chair.

He bunched it in his hands, holding it open. "Lift your arms f' me pretty. Don't want 'em to find ya sleepin' like this." You smiled, still half hazy from your previous unconscious state, raising your arms so he could pull the nightdress over your shoulders and guide your hands through the sleeves. When he'd pulled the garment down to at least your thighs, he gave you a fond look, pulling you in one last time and kissing your forehead, his nose brushing your hair. "I love you."

You picked at the embroidery on the covers, managing a sweet smile as he stood up, running a gentle hand down your face, lingering as long as he could. When he was halfway out the window, he blew you a kiss, softly saying, "I'll write."

And then he was gone, the sun peeking over the horizon where his body no longer blocked it.

The lively spirit of the night was present in everybody except for you.

You'd had your feet stepped on more times than you could count, nobles and lords feeding you lines that were meant to be charming but came across as unflattering. Standing there, in your pale rose gown that fell off your shoulders, cascading in ruffles to the floor in a full skirt, you had never felt more alone.

The music was wonderful, the dancing animated. Young women were chattering with surrounding nobles, and you wished them all the best. The king was seated on his golden throne to the right of you, and his stare was apparent, though you could not see it. Your hand, as usual, was on your heart-shaped necklace. Its previous owner was present, and when she had come to greet you as was custom, she had eyed it curiously, letting some subtly snide remark pass her lips. The whole interaction only made you miss Billy more.

You were painfully reminded of the night you'd met, of seeing his azure eyes under his mask, of the way he'd made you laugh in a way nobody had been able to since your father had departed for his battle.

Bowing your head and looking down at your feet, you took in a breath. The night was nearly half over, and you'd gotten through the first part. Perhaps you could find someone inconsequential to dance with. Looking up, you craned your head to see if there was a nearby gentleman you could approach, maybe pretend to flirt with so he'd ask you to take to the floor. Anything to remove yourself from the king's side.

From where you were standing, high upon the podium of a grand double staircase where partygoers came up one side and exited the other, a motion in the crowd was visible. Someone had arrived.

Your plans to find a dance partner were briefly scrapped as you smoothed your skirt, preparing a gracious nod in your repertoire. Expecting a lord of advanced years with a girl your age hanging off his arm, you lifted your chin.

Eyes widening, hand falling from your necklace to hang limply at your side, the sight was not at all what you had foreseen. Instead of an aged duke, the refreshing sight of Billy greeted you. Only he didn't look like Billy at all.

His hair was combed and smoothed, his usual outlaw's clothes replaced by ones of a finer manner. He looked so handsome, so at ease, like he'd been born into this world. As he walked through the crowd, heads turned, but his eyes were focused on you.

Ascending the stairs, he folded a hand over his chest, bending in a gallant bow. You had seen him do it so many times, which is how you realized this one was slightly mocking as he looked at Nicholas. It warmed your heart, and you held back a giddy smile.

"Your Majesty," he greeted the king. Then, turning to you, he lifted your hand to his lips, a spark in his eyes as he kissed it. "Princess."

You bent your knees slightly; a little curtsy. "My lord." Allowing the tiniest smile to lift your lips, you showed him your recognition.

Nicholas frowned at the newcomer. "You appear exceedingly familiar," he began. "Were you in attendance at the masquerade hosted here last year?"

"I was, sir," Billy nodded, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Nicholas wouldn't know that he likely knew his face from wanted posters.

"I remember him," you cut in, giving Billy a secret smile. "He was a wonderful dancer if I recall."

"If it isn't too bold," Billy responded. "Might I have a dance now?"

"You may," you said modestly, still holding his hand. He let go and offered his arm, which you gladly took.

Sweeping you up in a dance, Billy smoothly followed the steps, nearly making you swoon. As you twirled and clasped his hand, you whispered, "How ever did they allow you in?"

"It's amazin' what a little cleanin' up will do to a man, darlin'," Billy grinned, dipping you slightly. "Nobody's recognized me yet."

Laughing slightly and shaking your head, you squeezed your hand clasped around his. "I can't believe you've done this."

"But you're happy I did?" he questioned, twirling you again.

"Very," you nodded, smiling brightly.

The dance ended, and you curtsied to his bow. Billy kissed your hand again, the only part of you he could kiss at the moment without arousing suspicion. He held your hand between your bodies, searching your eyes. "Needa tell ya somethin'. Can we talk, sweetheart?"

"Of course," you nodded, letting go of his hand. Looking back at the king, you saw him whispering to a courtier, not sparing you a glance. Taking Billy aside, you stepped out into the empty hallway, hoping the king was still occupied. Truthfully, you weren't allowed to be alone with a man without a chaperone, but you were long past that with Billy.

The second you were alone he had you in a kiss, holding the side of your face. Pulling back with a smile, he murmured, "You're beautiful. Prettiest girl I ever saw."

"You look handsome," you whispered, fingering the collar of his shirt. "Where did you find these?"

"Few from a noble's house," he smiled. "Few from townspeople kind enough t' help me out. Told 'em I wanted to dress up for my girl." Billy settled his hands on your waist. "They remembered ya from the festival."

Giggling, you threw your arms around him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. Frowning, you drew back. "You shaved."

"Couldn't show up for my princess all scruffy," he mock-frowned. "Wouldn't be right."

"Oh!" you traced his newly smoothed cheek, eyes following your finger. Then you caught his eye again. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

Billy looked you over, seeming to take you in as a spectator does a work of art. He brushed your hair behind your ears, pecking your forehead once. "I had a thought, baby, after the festival. 'n when you mentioned the ball I saw an opening. I'm already pretendin' to be a lord tonight. What if..." he swallowed, his hand finding rest on your cheek. You leaned into it, smiling softly. "What if I pretended a little bit more? 'n we went to the king 'n you told him you found someone?"

Lips parting slightly, you blinked a few times, astonished by his suggestion. He looked nervous for your reaction. Then, your face collapsed into a relieved smile, and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. Through the sudden motion your tiara nearly fell off, but his hand came up instantly, steadying it on your head. You sniffled, weeping because he'd somehow managed to find a way to fix it all. "Oh, Billy."

"You wanna do it, sweetheart?" he questioned as you pulled back to look at him.

Nodding quickly, you squeezed his hand. "Yes. Yes, I want to."

Billy brought both his hands up to your face, kissing your forehead once, his touch full of joy. "By the time he figures out who I am it'll be too late, sweet girl. Maybe even by the time your father comes back."

"He'd like you," you smiled, knowing it to be true. Then your face fell slightly. "He'll be so upset to see what Nicholas has done to his people."

"I know, baby." He kissed both your cheeks, nudging his nose against yours. "But it's gonna get better."

"There have been whispers about him returning soon," you said softly, holding his wrists. "But I am unsure of their truth. I don't know if Nicholas would tell me if he received any word." Biting your lip anxiously, you felt panic start to overtake you. "Being out with you that night...seeing all these good people whom the current king has wronged, I... it's so awful, Billy-"

"Hey, hey, baby," he murmured, folding his body around yours in a comforting way. "It's okay. 'S all okay. That's what my men 'nd I are tryin' to right. We can only do so much but sometimes it's enough." Billy kissed your hair, burying his nose in it. "When your father comes back it'll get better."

The guilt of the crown was weighing on you, everything suddenly washing over your being. The chance of your birth had spared you, and that was the only difference between you and the women you'd met at the festival. You loathed yourself for not seeing it sooner- the effect the king's practices had on these good, hardworking people. So much so that they had to celebrate in secret the traditions of their town.

And the fact that Billy was at the center of it all made you feel blind. How could you have not seen it so clearly before?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears choking your voice. "I'm sorry I've been too privileged to see everything outside the castle walls. I do so want to help..."

"Oh, my baby," he muttered, hand holding the back of your head. Billy rubbed your back, rocking you back and forth soothingly. "Sweetheart...you've already done more than you know."

"By being naive?" you asked bitterly, hiding your face in his chest.

"By lovin' me," he whispered, and you lifted your eyes, clutching at his shirt. Billy's eyes were tender as he said, "Sweetheart...the idea that the princess could love an outlaw like me is unthinkable. Most would never think it possible. But you..." he shook his head, seemingly in awe. "You never judged. Your heart was open. That's more than most of the people in that room-" he nodded at the doors to the ball and you followed his eyes. "-could ever say."

"I wish to do more," you said softly.

Billy leaned in, pecking you once, then again. "You will. By marryin' me. That, sweet girl, that severs the line separating us."

You looked up at him with bright, loving eyes, feeling the truth of his words. Billy meant it. He had never said a thing to you that wasn't sincere. In a rush of passion, you pulled him down for a kiss, showing him how much it all meant to you.

It was needy, his hands gripping your waist as the rushed intensity of your love was mounted to this level. Soon, you wouldn't be separated, free to love in the daylight. He would be yours, golden and loving and free.

The doors burst open, and you automatically clung to Billy, terrified. When the king came forth, you were frozen, before remembering your lover's ruse. Straightening up, you still held his hand. "Your Majesty. This is-"

"I'm very aware of who this is," the king replied cooly as a pair of guards filed in, pulling Billy away from you and holding him stiffly by the arms, much to your horror. "Imagine that. An outlaw sneaking into the ball."

"He's a suitor like any other," you protested, going to Billy and taking his hand. You tried not to let your fear show.

"Hardly, for a woman of your status," the king glared. "I assume this is who you have been sneaking out to see? How common." His fierce gaze nearly pierced you. "Your night is finished. Take him to the dungeons."

"No!" you cried out, not caring if anyone behind the doors to the party heard. Billy tugged on your hand, trying to calm you, but your emotions were already in control. "Please...Your Majesty, he has done nothing wrong."

"The list of charges against his name would suggest otherwise," Nicholas replied cooly, stepping forward and grabbing your arm like a snake sinking its fangs into skin. "I hope you've had your fun- any chance of choosing for yourself is over. We are going back inside and promising you to the first prince I see."

Your breathing quickened, tears springing to your eyes. "Don't do this...let me go-!"

"I have been more-" Nicholas yanked you forward so you stumbled into his body. You immediately tried to distance yourself, his proximity making you shiver in the worst way. Gritting his teeth, he used his leverage on your arm to shove you to the ground. Your skirts spread around you, making a pathetic scene. "-than generous, allowing you to dally for this long. It is about time I took control you wretched-"

"Don't you-" Billy began to struggle against the guards, who stood steady, when the king began to insult you. Looking around at the chaos of the situation, your lower lip trembled. The love of your life bound and about to be imprisoned, and you the same in different circumstances. Mind racing, you saw only one solution, and it wrenched itself from your throat.

"I'll marry you!" you burst out, and everything stopped. Billy's movements hindered, and the king's grip on your arm loosened. When you had their attention, you steadied your breath, though tears were welling up in your eyes. "I will marry you if you let him go free. Just this once. He has not committed any crime on these premises. Let him go..." you turned to Billy, meeting his desperate eyes. "And he will never return."

"No!" Billy shook his head, beginning to resist the guards again. "Sweetheart-"

"Silence." Nicholas' voice was firm. He huffed a breath, looking slightly off put, but pleased nonetheless. The expression frightened you. He reached a hand down, smoothing over your bare shoulder and making goosebumps sprout from your skin. Nodding slightly, he said, "We will be married as soon as possible." Signaling to the guards, he barked, "Take him to the gates."

"Wait," you spoke up suddenly, and he turned to you. Fidgeting with your hands, you whispered. "A moment alone? Please?"

The king raised his eyebrows but gave a single inclination of his head. "For my future bride, yes." Waving a hand at the guards, he said, "Five minutes. And then make sure he leaves." Nicholas turned and left after that, giving Billy one final look of haughtiness. It was his childish last play. I have what you want.

When the doors were shut behind him, the guards stepped to the side, releasing Billy, who rushed to you immediately, kneeling beside you. In his arms before you knew it, your body shook, tiara falling from your head and landing with a soft thump in your skirts. He didn't bother to fix it this time.

"Sweetheart...my baby..." Billy was running his hands over your body, checking for any sign of injury. When he found none, he drew you tight against him, kissing your hair over and over. "My girl...you shouldn'ta done that. Shoulda just let me get caught, I woulda found a way out..."

"No," you shook your head tearfully. "He would have had you executed. I couldn't let him."

"My best girl," he murmured into your head. When you drew back to look at him, you could see that his own eyes were wet. "I'll find a way back to ya, I'll-"

"You cannot ever come back," you sniffled, voice hitching on your sobs. "I will be under strict watch once I marry him. It is too much of a risk. Please Billy, you have to promise me you won't ever return."

"Don't do this," he begged, holding your face in both hands. He kissed one cheek, then your nose, then your lips. Your eyes stayed open, and you felt a wave of pure sorrow descend over you at the longing he exhibited. "We'll find a way, baby. You 'n me, it's always you 'n me-"

"Billy?" you choked, and he stopped. Reaching up, you pressed a kiss to his lips; more passion-filled and full of light and all the most wonderful things than any you had shared before.

He returned it, and you swore you could feel his tears on your cheeks. Billy's lips caressed yours in a way you knew you would remember forever. Daylight no longer.

A guard cleared his throat, and you drew back slowly, knowing your time was up. Billy grasped at you as if he was committing your being to memory. "I love you, sweetheart. I'll never stop."

"I love you," you breathed as the guards moved forward, taking your lover by the arms and pulling him away from you.

You stared at them until they disappeared completely, then unsteadily picked up your tiara, settling it on your head. The princess once again. Not his princess.

Getting to your feet, tears falling, you made the journey to your room. Shutting the door, you wept openly, body wracked with your sobs as the gravity of what you'd lost overcame you.

Your love, your one love, detained by your only hate.

Marriage can either be a promise or a punishment.

Looking in the silver framed mirror in your bedroom, you held back tears at the sight of your reflection. Your dress was a stark white, though you knew with satisfaction that the virginal color was no longer appropriate. A tiny pink rose dotted the center of your neckline, your one say in the making.

The sky was grey, matching your somber mood with the promise of rain. At least it would match your tears later on tonight.

The king had insisted on marrying within a week, which surprised you. Knowing him, you would have thought that he'd want to show off, throw the most lavish ceremony anybody had ever seen. But instead, there were but a few witnesses to be present.

Turning your head to look around at your room, the pink no longer seemed cheerful. Once you married Nicholas, this would no longer be your space. Knowing him, he would force you to sleep in his bed. There wasn't a more dreadful place you could imagine.

Something caught your eye, and you moved toward it when you saw what it was. Your veil dragged behind you like a death sentence. A letter. The one from Billy you'd missed after spending the day with princes.

Snatching it up, you broke the seal, eager to read what were now his last words to you. Your eyes scanned the page, and impossibly, you felt more tears on your face. You'd cried so much over the past week, and the last line of Billy's letter made water push its way into your eyes once again.

My love, my life, my darling, I love you no matter what.

Covering your mouth, you turned away, eyes closing. Maybe you would appear at the alter with a tearstained face, but that was the least of your worries.

You couldn't do it. You couldn't promise yourself to a man you utterly despised when there was a man you loved right at your fingertips. Hang the law, hang Nicholas' will. You would run away with Billy wearing your wedding dress if you had to.

Scrambling to your desk, you grasped for your pink feathered quill, dragging stationary over and scribbling a quick note to Billy. You would bribe one of the maids to bring it to the place the doves were kept and send it.

There was a shuffling at your window and you jumped, eyes wider than the moon when you saw Billy of all people stumbling through. Leaping to your feet, you shook your head. "No. No! Billy you can't be here they'll hang you-"

"Darlin', listen," he interrupted, cutting you off and coming to grasp your elbows, his eyes excited. "I heard from a few folks 'round town- your father was spotted riding in. He's on his way home."

Gasping, you searched his eyes, finding truth. As if he'd ever lie to you. "He's coming home?"

"He's comin' home," Billy repeated, and you threw yourself into his arms, elated by his news. After nearly a year of being absent, of leaving you unintentionally to the mercy of a horrible man, your beloved father was returning. Though, you supposed, if it hadn't been for your father's departure, you never would have met Billy. And then the realization of what he'd done found you. He'd heard about this and then ridden all the way to tell you.

Smiling, you opened your mouth to say something, but then your face fell. "He...he didn't write me," you whispered, brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought he would have..." And then it hit you.

Billy frowned, holding you around your waist. "Sweetheart? What'sa matter?"

Staring at him, you took in a breath as you uncovered the truth. There was only one person who could have intercepted your father's letters to you, only one person who had motive.

A tidal wave of awareness overwhelmed you, filling your body with adrenaline. Despite the raging storm on your insides, you took in a breath, standing up straight. Calmly, you took his hand, giving him a sweet smile. "Come with me."

Still looking confused, he said, "Baby-" but you cut him off with a shake of your head, tugging his hand and pulling him along behind you, taking your bouquet of pink roses in your other hand.

"Trust me." you kissed his cheek, and he visibly melted, following along behind you and making sure not to step on the train of your dress.

The stares of the servants you passed in the hallway were ignored. You knew the two of you made an odd pair- the princess in her wedding dress and a famed outlaw. Nobody stopped you though, likely due to the look of raw determination on your face.

Kicking open the door to the chapel, you could feel Billy tense beside you, but he did not falter, staying at your side. Standing at the alter, you saw Nicholas turn, his face descending into a frown.

Taking a step forward, he nearly growled, "What is he-"

"My father is returning," you announced, your voice echoing in the nearly empty expanse of the palace's religious space. It would have been peaceful if it were not for your simmering anger.

Nicholas faltered, seeming shocked. "How-"

"You wanted to marry me as leverage," you spat, chest heaving as emotion overtook you. "To keep your power after my father returned. That's why you insisted on doing this so quickly, why you withheld his letters to me. Because you knew that if I knew he was coming home I would never marry you." Letting go of Billy's hand, you took another step forward, still holding your bouquet. "I will never-"

A sharp noise sounded in the pews as Nicholas brought his hand to your face, the force of the move sending you sprawling to your knees, bouquet dropped to the tile. You collapsed into your skirts, holding your reddened cheek and keeping your head down.

"Fuckin' bastard," Billy swore, getting to his knees and gathering you in his arms. You looked up at him, eyes wide, observing him glare at Nicholas.

He reached forward and yanked you from Billy's arms, making you stumble as you resisted. "Whether your father is returning or not, he isn't here now." Beginning to drag you to the front of the church, he gave a shout. "Guards! Arrest him!"

You cringed, waiting for the sound of boots on the checkered tile of the church floor. But they never came.

Looking up, your eyes darted from Billy to the nearby soldiers, waiting for them to seize him. Their stillness was eerie to you.

Finally one stepped forward, stick in his hand clicking as his brow furrowed. "Is it true that the king is returning?"

Reigning in your breaths, you nodded, stilling in Nicholas' grasp.

The man lifted his chin, looking at his fellow guards, who wore similar expressions. Then they all dropped their staffs, moving nearly in sync.

Bracing yourself for the sounds of your lover being captured, you were frozen with shock as they moved right past him, the one who'd spoken gently pulling you from Nicholas' grip.

He looked at the men, mouth slightly open as he watched their actions. "What-" A punch from another guard cut him off, and he fell to the ground, mouth bleeding onto the chapel floor.

The guard who had spoken nodded approvingly, commanding, "Take him away. The true king will decide his fate once he arrives."

A mix of relief and joy was filling you to the brim, and so too did the knowledge that Nicholas' reign of terror had finally ended. You turned to the guard to thank him, when he addressed Billy. "You provided the funds for my wife to receive help when she was ill." He began to walk you over to your lover, and you immediately latched onto Billy, burying your face in his chest. Your arms came around him, and the guard's next words were muffled as he said, "We had seen the both of you in the garden before. But the former king's word meant little unless it was a direct order."

Billy said something back to him, and the sound of footsteps retreating was heard, the shouts of Nicholas in the background silenced by the shutting doors.

Lifting your head to look at Billy, you felt a wide smile overtake you, and pure, unfiltered joy became your north star. He leaned in, pressing a series of kisses to your face and holding you tight in his arms. "Are you alright, baby? You hurt?" His hand felt your afflicted cheek, and you leaned into his touch.

"I'm okay," you whispered, seemingly unable to stop smiling. "I'm okay, Billy. For the first time in so long."

He shook his head in grateful disbelief, leaning in and raining soft kisses all over your face. "It's over, baby. It's all over. Oh my girl...my sweet girl..."

You wrapped your arms tight around him, feeling lighter than air, higher than the clouds. There was no title or rank now, only the clarity of the battle finally won.

Billy didn't seem to want to let go of you as he whispered into your hair, "Let's getcha back to your room 'n into somethin' else. Look so pretty, but I wantcha to be comfortable."

"You'll stay?" you questioned, looking up at him with doe eyes.

He smiled, chucking you under the chin and kissing your forehead. The spark of love in his eyes had become a raging wildfire. One you could cozy up next to for hours so long as you were in his arms.

"Darlin', I ain't ever leavin' again."

Sunlight was glorious.

Succumbing to its glow, you breathed in the fresh air, opening your eyes to fix upon the delicate willow leaves. The careful breeze made them brush slightly against each other, and your lips turned up slightly at the sight. Peace was settled over your being, gracing you and whispering that everything was okay.

Rolling your head to the side, your smile expanded, lips parting a bit as the sight of your lover greeted you. He'd been staring at you the entire time, his gaze lovingly devoted. No longer was he forced to exist only in the quiet nooks and hidden gaps between the weight of your royalty.

You reached your hand out, the ring on your finger glistening as you took his hand, clasping it in yours. Billy pulled you closer with it, letting go to lift you up onto him, legs slotted between his. He kissed your hair, breathing in the scent of the natural rose perfume the garden offered. Resting your head on his chest, you let the steady beat of his heart relax you even further.

"My wife," he murmured against your head, and you felt his gentlest of kisses raining on your skin. "My sweetheart..."

Giggling, you lifted your head. "Just because we are allowed to be together, it does not mean we can be so...open."

"Agree to disagree, darlin'," he said into your cheek, lips pressing into it. "Everyone knows we just got back from our honeymoon. 'Sides, we're alone out here. The roses don't mind a little lovin'."

Sitting up on his hips, you braced your hands on his chest before he came upright as well. "But someone could see us."

"Ahh, let 'em." He trailed kissed down your neck to your collarbone. "The king seems all too happy to have me as an in-law. We won't get in trouble."

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and just resting your head there. "He likes you."

"He likes that I make his daughter happy," Billy corrected, grinning.

"No, he does like you," you leaned up, kissing his cheek. He kept his scruff limited, but you still were able to enjoy the scratch of it. "You're so good. Better than many a man of the nobility."

He rubbed your cheek with his thumb, pecking your other one softly. When you were alone, it seemed to be hard for Billy to stop kissing you, even for a second. His nose poked your cheek as he trailed his lips over your face.

Snuggling closer, you burrowed your body right against his, so you were nearly one person. Billy cooed, holding you against him with a gentle hand on your back. "Sweet girl..."

"He's expecting us for dinner soon," you commented, still thinking of your father.

Billy chuckled, his fingers lightly running up and down your spine. "We'll make it in time. I wanna look at my wife some more."

"You look at me often," you laughed, looking up and giving him a chaste kiss.

"I've had to look atcha for so long in darkness," he started, suddenly rolling you over to an onslaught of giggles. Billy held himself up by his elbows, gaze almost permanently fixed on you. He brushed his lips over your nose. "Don't know if I'll ever get used to seein' ya in the sun. It's like seein' an angel." The last few words were spoken in a sort of quiet awe, and you couldn't help your soft smile.

"I love you," you breathed. You only got two words out before he kissed you, the last one spoken into his mouth.

"My princess," he muttered worshipfully. "I love you."

As the sun began to set, you let him soak up every last bit of the image of you in the light, kissing every inch of your face and torso. He was the hard-earned prize of your fruitful fantasies of knights and rescuers. In every way he had saved you, not treating you as a damsel in distress, but as a woman worthy.

In the blue of his eyes you found solace, in the space of his arms comfort. Billy had shown you your own personal world of stars, of things you had want of. He gave it all to you, every bit. The world was no longer limited, and you were not enclosed in the gilded cage of before.

He wrote your 'Once Upon a Time', sealing it with a storybook kiss and a flourished end. Your happily ever after.

Previous Part

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blackjackkent · 6 months ago

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Prompt fill for @marigoldbaker from this ask meme: Light and Dark Metaphors Hector/Karlach - "radiant smile" Some Act 3 Heclach fluff/angst for your reading pleasure. <3 Hope you enjoy! Ty for the prompt. :3

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Hector feels the mattress creak under him, the gentle shift of the covers along his skin. He cracks one eye open and squints around the inn bedroom. It's still dark, the outline of the bedposts a barely-visible grey on grey.

“Where're you going?” he mumbles.

"Shhh. Don't worry, Soldier." Karlach is sitting up on the edge of the bed, leaned forward a little with her elbows on her knees. "I'm right here."

He rolls over drowsily, resting a hand on her bare back. She twitches slightly at the unexpected touch, then relaxes at once and leans subtly back against his palm.

"It's early yet," he says softly. "We don't have to go. Not for a little while..." He's still comfortably warm, half-asleep, floating on the memories of the previous night. It's the first time they've had a place to themselves, not even in the same inn as the others, and if he lies still enough, perhaps he can avoid jarring the illusion that it could last forever.

"I know," she answers. "Not going anywhere. I just... wanted to watch the sun come up."

"Oh." He opens his other eye, and then pushes up on one elbow to look past her shoulder. Sure enough, the window next to the bed faces east, and he can see the slim line of red slipping over the horizon.

With a soft grunt, he sits up and scoots sideways on the bed to sit behind her. She leans back against him at once, pillowing her head into his shoulder and neck with the peculiar little twist of motion - now habit after a number of months - necessary to avoid sticking her broken horn into his cheek. He lets out a soft sigh of contentment and wraps his arms around her waist. "Comfortable?" he asks.

"Mm. Perfect," she agrees. There's still a touch of drowsy thickness in her voice, and she snuggles back tight into his arms without taking her eyes off the window. "Used to get up early, mornings before the Hells," she goes on after a little while. "Just to see the lightshow over the roofs. Drove Fytz crazy when we roomed together a while. She hated being up before noon."

Hector idly presses slow a kiss under her jaw. "You would have made a good monk," he says teasingly. "Vigils at strange hours..."

"Hah." He feels her shake gently with the laugh. "Gods, can you imagine? I think I'd've gotten thrown out in a week. Never could sit still."

Another kiss against her neck just over her collarbone. "Mmm. What if we'd met in the monastery and had a torrid love affair?" he asks, mock-dramatically.

She pretends to think it over. "Guess maybe that could have kept me around. Although I think, more likely, I'd’ve seduced you right out of that library and into my bed. Massive monk scandal.”

“I like the sound of this,” he murmurs in her ear, and she shivers pleasantly against him. “You could make me do anything, you know…”

“Remind me to test that theory later…” She reaches back to run her hand slowly along his thigh. “Get you to clean my tent of all the mud it picked up in Rivington…” She trails off and tilts her head, looking back towards the window again. “Gods, look at that…”

He follows her gaze. The sun is breaking properly over the horizon now, throwing the silhouettes of the buildings down the hill into sharp relief against a rising wave of brilliant red and gold. The city sleeps, bathed in the flame-colored light; for a moment it feels as if they are the only two people awake in the whole world, watching Lathander’s touch sweep between rooftops and over cobblestones.

Hector turns his head, watching Karlach watching the dawn. There is a small smile on her face, brilliant as the rising sun itself but… cautious, as if she fears that too much joy might shatter the moment apart and send it careening back out of her reach.

It makes his heart ache in his chest to see it. Karlach was made to be loud and joyful and wild, but the world has taught her that such things do not last. If he were able, he would give her everything it has tried to take away from her and more so, and see to it that she never had to fear again. But he cannot, because he too is acutely aware that time is ticking implacably away from them, and all they have are these brief moments, these brief touches, this brief love.

“It’s beautiful,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, unable to tear her eyes from the view. “No city like it. Not anywhere.”

“I believe you,” he says.

A long pause. She breathes out heavily and leans back against his chest. He presses his face into her hair and holds her close, feeling the slow rhythm of her breathing, the familiar whump-whump pulses of heat under her skin. And together they sit, unmoving, skin against skin, until the sun climbs fully into view and the brilliant colors begin to fade into more subtle daylight.

Then Karlach shifts, turns her face into his neck and presses a kiss under his ear. “All right. Back to bed with you, Soldier,” she says softly. “We’ve got a little time left, thank the gods.”

#ask meme #marigoldbaker #hector carlisle #karlach #karlach x tav #tav x karlach #ty for the prompt friend!#feels like it's been a minute since i wrote heclach <3

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archonsoflove · 2 years ago

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Ships included in order of appearance:

Tartaglia / Zhongli

Cyno / Tighnari

Alhaitham / Kaveh

Il Dottore / Pantalone

Zhongli / Reader

Tartaglia / Reader

This is a long one! I'll be updating it regularly as I read more that I enjoy ~

exodus 20:3: you shall have no other gods before me (Explicit)

Childe finds out that the alcohol in Liyue is a force to be reckoned with. It leads to much more than just a hangover.

ajax's adventures with Dog-Lizard (Fluff)

That’s got to be the weirdest looking dog Ajax has ever seen in his life.

after hours (Explicit)

A man is approaching him with a bundle of hardware, straps, and coiled ropes in his arms. He’s wearing a tailored suit — definitely expensive — but missing a tie, and his shirt is unbuttoned far enough for Zhongli to see a nasty set of scars that run across his chest.

He’s very attractive, a little intimidating, and not at all what he’d imagine an accountant would look like-

law and order (Explicit, ft. Neuvilette)

This can’t be the accountant, can it?

There seems to be more than meets the eye when it comes to the Chief Justice and the God of Contracts. A simple trip to Fontaine with Ajax for a vacation turns into something more than they both anticipated.

ceci n’est pas la perfection (Explicit)

After Zhongli asks Childe to marry him, Childe panics and runs away to Fontaine to sort out his feelings. Rejected and confused, Zhongli chases after him to try to understand why.

contractual obligation (Explicit, ft. Lumine)

“You drew up a contract for what?” Lumine stares at her lunchtime companions, jaw working, no further words coming out. When she’d received an invitation to lunch from Zhongli, she hadn’t expected much.

fishbowl:heaven (Suggestive, Angst)

Childe, a world-class professional runner, is reeling from a diagnosis with a terminal heart condition. Stuck in bed with a failing heart, he can’t run, travel, or do anything that gave him purpose before. His career and life appear to be over.

To help him adjust, the doctors prescribe Childe virtual reality therapy. He doesn’t expect much to come of it until he meets a mysterious fellow patient, Zhongli.

etched in stone (Explicit, Fluff, Slice of Life)

I Lie Awake In The Night Just To See Another Dawn (Explicit)

A trip through the ages as Zhongli and Childe learn what it means to love each other.

Childe has returned to Snezhnaya, Liyue has moved on from Osial's reawakening. But war on the borders lying between Fontaine and the land of ice looms ominously on the horizon. While war seems inevitable, and politics begin to shift, Zhongli knows he will follow Childe to the ends of the earth, even if it costs him the highest price.

old instincts die hard (Fluff, Hurt/Comfort)

Is the life of one mortal worth the death of a God?

After spending the greater part of his life all too used to the threat of a blade being drawn against him, Childe has learned not to trust a hand raised toward him, lest it seek to strike while his defenses are lowered. But now in a fresh relationship with Zhongli, he finds his old instincts standing in the way of enjoying something more with the man he's come to adore.

Childe's guide on what to do when your lover turns into a pint-sized dragon overnight (Fluff, Humour)

red thread (Explicit)

When Childe and Zhongli first began their relationship, Childe thought he was prepared for whatever Zhongli might throw at him. Draconic heats, Adepti courtship rituals, scales - he was ready for anything. However, waking up next to a tiny, chubby dragon was not something he thought he’d have to consider.

Childe's face burns. “Zhongli,” he hisses. “This is the theatrical performance you wanted me to attend?”

red heart, orange sun (Explicit, ABO dynamics)

wait, is this play about us? (Explicit)

Four occasions that make Childe’s heart race, for a variety of reasons.

dragonheart (Fluff, Implied MPreg)

Zhenyu's next best-selling light novel has finally arrived in Inazuma! Childe definitely was not expecting to star as the main protagonist when he picked up the new collection, though...

a wasp in every fig (Explicit)

A tsmok of the north meets a dragon of the east.

venus caelestis (Explicit, NSFW Art)

Zhongli tries something different, and Childe is a very, very good boy.

the heart beats in its cage (Explicit, Angst)

childe hasn't spoken to zhongli in 3 weeks, but through the misfortune of becoming afflicted by an aphrodisiac, he finds himself at zhongli's door in search of help

an age of gods and monsters (Mature)

“So, pretend I’m her. Just for the night, one night, you can have her back.” Childe curled his fingers into the front of Zhongli’s shirt. He hoped he sounded self-assured, not desperate.

my all (Explicit, Angst)

When Liyue faces an inevitable catastrophe, Childe finds himself back in the past to retrieve the Gnosis that Zhongli has lost. Perhaps if he returns to the present with it, both Liyue and its Archon can be saved.

tame the thunderclouds (Explicit)

Childe asks Zhongli for one last dinner before leaving Liyue. Zhongli accepts.

more espresso, less depresso (Fluff)

it is a privileged sight for zhongli, to bind the eleventh harbinger and force him to his knees.

set in stone (Explicit)

There's a quaint little coffee shop that catches Childe's eye as soon as soon as he arrives into town. The man that works inside is more exhilarating than any drink Childe has ever tasted.

promises and proposals (Explicit)

What do you do when you write about a certain six thousand year old consultant so much in your letters that it somehow convinces your entire family you're not only dating each other, but that you're also engaged?

lithic oath (Explicit, ABO dynamics)

Childe and Zhongli have been happily dating for nearly a year, and they’re just as in love as ever. Zhongli is perfectly satisfied with the state of their relationship, but an unexpected development between two of his closest friends spurs him to consider his future plans with Childe. And just maybe he’ll need to pick out a ring one of these days.

as the sun gazes upon the moon (Explicit)

Liyue Harbor is the last place on Teyvat that Ajax wanted to see a second time, but the Tsaritsa's orders are absolute.

Childe is lost to the abyss for a week.

calm my head (Explicit)

hook, line, and sinker (Explicit)

Zhongli wants to try something new, and Childe would simply agree to anything when he's caught between his thighs.

off the record (Explicit)

Childe once saw a glimpse of his nerdy Uni roommate Zhongli, and it was over for him. Cue the pining, the moping, the fucking around to forget the sight of those rock-hard abs hidden underneath those sweater vests. Just one problem: Zhongli thinks exactly the same.

stone endures, and the tide will always return (Explicit)

An important meeting is coming up. A last minute change radically alters Zhongli's plans.

the fox of feiyun slope (Explicit)

The cobblestones of Liyue Harbor have been replaced by asphalt, the buildings by sleek skyscrapers and storefronts. Rex Lapis is a figure in the history books, nothing more, and the Harbinger Tartaglia is barely more than a footnote in his long and storied legacy. No one believes in the old Archons anymore.

night time; tea leaves; good company (Explicit)

A certain fondness for a client was good; it made the job easier and the quality of the work more genuine. Zhongli had never once gotten attached. He didn’t expect this boy to be the first.

frame the wallflower (explicit)

Lonely nights are best spent over pots of tea in good company. In terms of tea, Zhongli already knows what he likes. In terms of company - he makes a discovery.

Childe, a young CEO of the multi-billion dollar company “Fatui”, is dealing with more inappropriate gestures and remarks in regards to him being single than he cares for. Zhongli, a consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Home, is going through a financial crisis, with every possible liability hitting him at once.

wrapped up in pure gold (Fluff)

When ranting to each other over drinks one night, they come to the most absurd solution to both of their problems: pose Zhongli as Childe’s boyfriend and sugar baby, just until everything settles, of course. Childe has more than enough money to spare, Zhongli doesn’t mind helping a friend in need, and their arrangement is flawless. At least, it appears to be that way.

nodus tollens (Explicit)

Childe accidentally proposes to Zhongli. Zhongli accepts.

one of us dies tomorrow (Explicit, Angst)

In all his years in the Fatui, Childe has never had problems following through with his archon’s orders. That is, until The Tsaritsa sends him his final mission--to leave Snezhnaya and marry the Geo Archon, Rex Lapis.

swore to stone and spoken (Explicit, ABO dynamics)

Tomorrow, Tartaglia will take Rex Lapis's gnosis or die trying. Today, Childe gets a final chance to tell Zhongli how he feels. No misunderstandings, no betrayal, and no doubts.

erosion (Mature)

It's been some time since the whole "nearly destroying Liyue" thing. Zhongli has decided he wants their pair-bond to be mutual and asks Childe to mark him. Childe has an existential crisis.

slow embers (Fluff)

There are two things that make Childe who he is--one is his Archon, with her icy fingers and arctic voice and eyes that see into every part of him. The other, as it turns out, is Zhongli.

why does my baba call my teacher baobei? (Explicit, Fluff)

Childe returns. He and Zhongli go on a food tour.

“Guili… over here!” a gentle velvety voice rings through the huddle of parents greeting their children.

man i love fishing (Explicit, Comedy)

Guili perks up at the sound, screaming “dada” and drags Childe towards the most ethereal man he’s ever laid his eyes on.

before it winds down into memories (Explicit, Angst)

Childe’s disastrously down-bad for the MILF next door.

pick me up, take me home (Fluff, Angst)

Childe has his doubts, but Zhongli reminds him that he’s loved.

ganymede (Explicit, Comedy)

Zhongli and Childe finally reunite, but Zhongli didn't expect his beloved to arrive bearing injuries instead of a long-awaited embrace.

“Can we get a room with two beds for the night?” Zhongli asked.

phantom lines (Explicit, Fluff)

She looked through her book of reservations before furrowing her brow. “I’m sorry, gentleman, but the only room I have left is our Honeymoon Suite.”

some kind of resurrection (Explicit, Comedy)

In which Childe has insomnia, vandalizes public property and runs into a mysterious funeral consultant on his first night in Liyue.

between the raging tides (Explicit, Hurt/Comfort)

After overhearing a fascinating story about an obscure temple tucked into some corner of Liyue Harbor, Childe had only meant to have a little fun at Zhongli's expense; he'd earned at least that much after the Osial Incident. Unfortunately for Childe, his track record at outmaneuvering Zhongli isn't exactly stellar.

i wake with your memory over me (Explicit, Reincarnation)

“Isn’t this backwards, Morax?” There’s a mocking edge to Childe’s tone. “Since when do gods get on their knees?”

the white cicada society (Explicit)

Zhongli has lived, died, and remade himself eight times when he sees him again.

The murders aren’t limited to the one Bank. They’ve been trailing down the Liyue border, getting closer and closer to the city. The Tsaritsa has a new mission for him: to figure out who, or what is targeting Fatui forces.

divine intervention (Explicit)

Against his best wishes, Childe is forced to see Zhongli again at the morgue. It becomes clear that he’s going to need a guide, and Childe resolves to quash his pride, and their differences to request his help to navigate Liyue and solve the case.

jade without blemish (Explicit, Mutual Pining)

“The only thing that can counter the mark of an Abyss Lector is the essence of an archon,” Zhongli explains, not meeting Childe’s eyes.

a kiss to show my sincerity (Mature, Fluff)

The Emperor and Empress of Liyue were known throughout Teyvat as a loving and powerful couple. But behind closed doors, it was all an act. Needless to say, a certain Snezhnayan diplomat's trip to Liyue did not go as planned.

“Childe?” Zhongli walks over. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he croaks, pretending he didn’t think that Zhongli looked outrageously pretty in his clothes.

“Your face is red. Have you fallen ill?”

introspection (Fluff)

“No, no, no. I’m fine. I’m peachy. ” He says, like a liar.

"Ah... a lizard."

As far as stupid things that Childe has said through his life, this easily contended for the top position on the list.

between dreams and nightmares (Angst, Mutual Pining)

A dragon. This was a dragon. Which is arguably also a lizard.

What I Cannot Put into Words, I Offer You in the Weight of Gold (Angst, Pining, Fluff)

When the Abyss clings onto a person, it follows—and in this case, it follows Childe to his station in Liyue, leaving three of his companions with a puzzling missing person’s case and, for Zhongli, unresolved feelings that weigh on his old soul, alongside a series of strange dreams.

meteor shower (Explicit)

Childe processes just how different Rex Lapis, God of Contracts, and Zhongli, Wangsheng Funeral Consultant, really are. They coincide at the worst of times, and it does some truly awful things to his heart.

How would it feel to fall in love again? To be held, live in the present, and enjoy a mortal life?

Care to Learn More About Wangsheng Funeral Services? (Explicit, Comedy)

If only a God could ever experience such pleasures and luxuries. They are short-lived and not worth it. At least that's what Zhongli had thought until he truly tried it. But the past will always come back to hunt the God. Happiness truly is a luxury.

the autumn winds are sighing (Angst, SickFic, Fluff)

“Zhongli…” Childe whispered as quietly as he could, which wasn’t hard due to the shock of the situation. It figured that between getting married to an Archon, becoming immortal, and having to deal with three other Archons circling around their business that it would be Zhongli’s fully mortal employer that would really pull the rug out from underneath his feet. “Did you agree to let Hu Tao give a commercial for the funeral parlor at our wedding?”

It’s been two months since the storm, and Childe hasn’t seen Zhongli not even once, not since that fateful meeting with the Signora where the truth is finally unveiled.

the world is water (Explicit)

And what a fun little kick to the gut that is, the realization that not only had he been played by all sides, but he's also being tossed aside like trash now that his use had run its course.

Childe doesn't visit Zhongli until it's almost too late.

andante, andante (Fluff)

a cheating man's bouquet (Explicit)

higher education, falling in love, and genius invokation tcg. not necessarily in that order.

you're exactly what i need (Explicit)

a married man flirts with tighnari at the flower shop so cyno decides to put the man in his place the next day.

verdant304 (Explicit)

after sparring with Alhaitham, Tighnari tends to Cyno's bruises

After being pushed into a corner, Tighnari takes unsolicited advice from his university project partner Alhaitham and tries to sell lewd pictures of himself on the internet. That was the idea anyway, in practice he can't take a good picture to save his life.

a cure for denial (Explicit, ABO dynamics)

Luckily, his estranged roommate Cyno has a knack for taking really good pictures...

scientific curiosity (Explicit)

Tighnari asked for help dealing with his heat after being on suppressants for ten years. Cyno was more than willing to assist.

Led by the prospect of an exciting botanical discovery, Tighnari heads into the Avidya Forest and invites Cyno along. Little do they know just what kind of discoveries await them there.

i'll show you every version of yourself tonight (Explicit)

“When we have sex, you like to call me things,” Kaveh continues, trailing off into a whisper.

Alhaitham props his cheek on a hand, looking only slightly amused with where this is going. “What things?”

dancing in the refrigerator light at 2am (Explicit, Hurt/Comfort)

“Like… like, pretty– and such.” Kaveh’s pout deepens into a frown. “Do you mean it?”

tracing other people's poetry (Explicit)

The people of Sumeru are granted dreams, and Kaveh is given nightmares. Now, Alhaitham does whatever he can to help quiet down Kaveh's mind in any way he can.

Three or Four (Or Possibly Five) Easy Steps to Living Harmoniously With Your Roommate (Fluff, Comedy)

Alhaitham has yet to identify this feeling that resides in his chest, this heavy and all-consuming, unpredictable feeling, whenever Kaveh is involved. He wants to open himself up and crack his ribs into tiny chucks, to remove them from their places and peer inside his heart so that he may finally learn what lives here.

in a language he understands (Fluff, Angst)

Kaveh devises a plan to get Alhaitham to smile by being aggressively nice to the man (and also maybe if he makes Alhaitham happy, he can score a discount on his rent or something). Alhaitham thinks Kaveh ate some mind-altering mushrooms and is, understandably, confused and mildly afraid.

Kaveh used to think that Alhaitham had mastered the art of ignoring him. The man would remain unflappable as he continued to read his worn copy of The Origins of Enkanomiyan Language, even when Kaveh was a hair’s breadth away from shattering the windows of their house with his severity of pitch.

No amount of screaming, threats to throw things, or violently waving in front of him could get Alhaitham to pause in his thirst for knowledge. As it turns out, Alhaitham literally just turns his hearing aids off so he doesn’t have to listen to Kaveh.

Romantistique (Explicit, Fluff, Angst)

It’s for this exact reason that Kaveh has decided to learn Sumerian Sign Language.

ships in the night (Explicit)

As it turns out, the journey to falling in love is a long one.

between you and me, the universe slips by (Explicit)

Kaveh is tasked with securing the funding for Kshahrewar from the Acting Grand Sage. Things get complicated.

mortise & tenon (Explicit)

A month ago, Kaveh appeared, disrupting Alhaitham’s quiet life and became his roommate. In less than a week, Kaveh left the house in anger. When he returned, it was the night of Alhaitham’s birthday. A year later, Alhaitham will celebrate his birthday again. This is a story that takes place within the span of a year and a few months. A story where Kaveh finds a grandmother’s unfinished wish, completes it for her grandson, and finds love again.

forbidden fruits of knowledge (Explicit)

Beautiful, he wants to say, the word saccharine on the tip of his tongue. His initial assumptions are false—no marble pillar can shiver as beautifully as this miracle of flesh and muscles and tendons, wonderfully reactive. Kaveh wants to take him apart, unravel the threads of his relentless rationality until nothing remains of him but this humanity, all this softness that does not quite fit right with the rest of him.

Kaveh bites the inside of his cheek, his head full of images of all the possible positions a man can lie with another. It’s unsettling how vividly he can recall the pleasure of something he’s never done.

he talks the talk alright (Explicit)

He really should have known better than to use a suspicious knowledge capsule. Much less one called The Arts of Men: Advanced Techniques Vol. 1. What was he thinking?

Alhaitham tinkers with a pair of Akasha terminals. While Kaveh is away in the desert for a project, they use the devices to indulge a little.

discordant intervals (Mature)

the art of drowning (Explicit)

Dottore sulks during a celebratory banquet. In his enduring generosity, Pantalone offers him something to complain about—the threat of a good time.

After a gruesome mission, Dottore knows just what Pantalone needs. It goes without saying that relaxing is hardly the right word to describe the events that transpire.

exuvia (Explicit)

i am all your sweetest tunes (explicit)

His heat did not come around often and both of you took the opportunity to indulge in this fleeting time for as long as you could.

as gold as the ginko trees (Explicit, Plot Heavy)

Zhongli has been with many partners throughout the long years of his existence, humans and adepti and archons of all genders and backgrounds. But you...you’re unlike any he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t get enough of the taste of your skin, or the way you blossom under his touch. It’s intoxicating.

Life at the monastery has been nothing but peaceful, in no small part due to the protective seal that keeps the village safe. When the shrine holding said seal is destroyed, panic sets in as the village is now in danger of any Archon war aftermath.

The people are desperate for protection, and when Morax makes an appearance in your tiny village, the people are ready to make a deal no matter the cost.

tricks of the trade (Explicit)

tastes like heaven (Explicit)

When an operation goes tits up and you have to flee, you find a handsome young man to help with your get away. When you discover the fact that this handsome young man is not only an enemy agent, but a Fatui Harbinger you find yourself in more danger than you ever could have expected.

Childe is the accomplished one, between the two of you. He’s the one with twenty-three restaurants spread out across Teyvat, sixteen Michelin stars to his name, and a reputation of being Masterchef Teyvat’s toughest judge, despite being the youngest.

All this, and it’s your warmth he’s lapping at like he’s never tasted anything like it.

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a-crazy-magpie-witch · 10 months ago

Text

Sand, time between our fingertips

author note: Ok, so a dear friend of mine asked me to get back into fanfic territory, this time with some good ocxcharacter from Baldur's Gate 3

And, let's face it: we all should build MBD a shrine

Enjoy it @sleeeepy-demon

Tags: Melodic Black Metal x Astarion, oc x canon, soft fluff, some good ol' angst, snuggle, feels, some comedy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been very long while since he last felt like this.

Night time, a gentle breeze caressing his cheeks, and soft, white sand underneath his feet.

And while it felt like a dream, a pang of bittersweet melancholy would always follow: the memory of youth, carelessness... freedom.

Astarion could not recall exactly a true moment like it in his past, only echoes of it would reach his mind, among miriads of painful flashes of the torture and suffering millenia under Cazador's thumb, desperate to regain that carlessness and regretting the choices of youth.

Waves sussurating softly against the shore, his head was splitting and the carvings on his back burning; he could not stand the sight of his loss anymore.

Turning back towards the camp, he saw Melodic, knees to his chest, clear lilac eyes lost in the distant horizon.

The pale young vampire approached him, his usual sneer of disdain on his lips:

"And what might you be looking for in the distance?"

Melodic turned to the sound of his voice with quite an unusual look for him, a blend of surprise and... Something familiar.

Something Astarion didn't quite enjoy seeing on his party member's face as much as he thought.

Sitting one beside the other, silence claimed its place, deafening even over the tranquil seaside playing that evening.

But while sharp as the most vicious blade, an undertone of understanding and likeness was holding its unpleasant effect.

"I may not understand" began Melo, "but I do know what you feel now"

A look of surprise took Astarion's features, followed by a "tsk" of sarcastic nature.

"Of course you do"

"Astarion"

Mauve expert hands holding the now trembling vampire's ones.

"I know I may not be the most trusting on these matters-"

"What, besides eating the local flora like salad?"

"-yeah, but not the point!"

Melodic took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

"I may not understand it, but I see and now your pain. That monster will hurt you no more"

"And how can you be so sure of it?"

"Because... because it's in the sand"

Complete astoundment took Astarion last drop of attention, the ridiculously phrase lacking any sense in his eyes.

"No, no! Listen! It's like the sand of time"

"I'm not following-"

Frustration roared from the fellow tiefling, still not sure of how to put his concept into words.

"Look! Time leaves its scars, it's true. i know it"

"But it's just like sand between your fingers. Good, bad, even worse can never be eternal. Even if it seems like it"

Melodic took a handful of it and threw it, fine grains falling gently back.

"It's not the same, and even good escapes you. But-"

"-So does suffering."

Astarion scoffed at the simpleton analogy.

"And how should that stop Cazador"

"Because! You have us now!...you have me."

Melodic enveloping the man in his arms, chest against his shoulders.

"And we can make new memories together. Happy ones. Even if they run though our fingertips"

Astarions laughed a bittersweet cackle.

"You're so weird"

He felt warmth after centuries.

Caressing his lover's arms, all his worries and preoccupations flew away.

He would cherish these moments and care for them for as long as he could

Just like time, sand fleeting between his fingertips, but no more eternal sorrow to afflict it.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #fanfic #light angst #romance #fluff #If you don't bawl your eyes out #I will have failed #We stan Melodic Black Metal #original character #Melodic Black Metal Bg3

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ch4rryc0smos · 10 months ago

Text

REVERIE | 11

THE SKY DARKENS ABOVE YOU.

synopsis ┊kenji sato returns to japan, leaving behind everything he's ever known. and fate plays a cruel joke on him, when hazel vellichor walks back into his life, albeit not by choice. she makes a trip to japan, for a charity event, for another speech, and somehow; media wrangles her in for more drama. what they don't know is that she's ultrawoman, and kenji's ultraman, and there's more than to the eye here. they're well intertwined and every time they tug away, the knot gets tighter. everything leads them to each other, and now japan is in their hands, and they have to unravel every secret they refused to acknowledge prior to this. and they have to accept every role bestowed upon them, whether they like it or not. somehow, all of this leads to is them learning that there was always more to their friendship, and that they were truly two puzzle pieces, fit right next to each other.

genre ┊ childhood-friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, slight angst, tooth rotting & chaotic fluff, co-parenting (?)

pairing ┊ken sato x fem-self insert/oc, ken sato x public figure!self insert, ken sato x childhood-friend!self insert

warnings ┊ mild cursing, mentions of drinking, trauma, heavy topics (?), events in ultraman: rising take place alongside this story.

word count ┊1.6k

author's note ┊next part, hello! thank you for sticking around, if you still are here! i appreciate you, and of course, the new readers too <3 i hope you enjoy, happy reading! :)

prev. | next.

When Hazel boards their ship, she is left in awe. Emi is chittering but she’s staring, awestruck. The sight that meets her eyes when they land though is even more beautiful. Goddamn, she thinks she might be a bit breathless. And Ken is beyond amused by her reaction. She looks at him, a look that plainly says ‘can you blame me?’ He shakes his head. She smiles at him.

She watches the sun as it's slowly sinking below the horizon, becoming one with the Earth, and the water glistens. And she’s just left speechless. She turns to look around at Emi, who chitters. And she grins at the kaiju.

Later, she’s given a tour around the house, and Ken looks like he’s not seen it in a while, which Hazel learns that, he hasn’t. And when she notices a board in one of the rooms, and she notices pictures, of Emiko Sato, she doesn’t enter. But Mr. Sato and Ken do. She leaves them there.

She sits outside, watches Emi chase Mina, and the conversation she hears makes her heart clench. And she can’t really tell if that’s a good thing or not.

She doesn’t even realise when Ken’s walked out, and it’s a bit closer to the sun completely setting. But he sits down next to her. She spares him one glance, a small smile. He places a hand on her thigh, how he does when they drive back home from games. Her heart flutters. And she smiles. Apparently he knows exactly how to make her smile.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks. Hazel turns to him, raising an eyebrow at him. Of course he can, why is he asking?

“Yeah, sure, love. Go on.” It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the way his hand twitches on her thigh when she uses that pet name. She makes a mental note to use it more often.

“You know,” he starts, he has to stop, take a moment to weigh his words. Hazel places a hand on his, squeezing it gently. “I’ve spent so long distancing myself from everything I’ve ever known about my dad… essentially hating him.” He sighs when he says those words.

Hazel hums, “and?” She’s tilting her head at him, and their eyes meet. Amethyst and emerald.

“But then, all of the effort comes crashing down. Because of Emi, and for her, I’d do anything,” he’s speaking quicker with every word. Hazel places her other hand on his shoulder, and she leans closer, smiling softly. “Of course, I would, but it feels so… right, and wrong. Like, I’m so grateful for his help, believe me.” He continues.

“I believe you, Ken.” she squeezes his shoulder.

“But sometimes I still feel resentful, because… you know, he should’ve been there.”

“I know, baby.” She smiles at him, this time sadly. “I know. Goddamn, I don’t even talk to my parents anymore, not by will, at least. I understand,” she whispers. She can’t look up at him when she says this, she’s staring at her fingers. One hand is on his, the other falls to her lap, and she’s just staring at her fingers. “You’re allowed to feel resentful, but you know what makes the difference?”

Ken hums.

“That he’s trying. Mr. Sato is trying so hard to be better, and you don’t have to let him back in, not just yet, but he’s trying so fucking hard to mend those two decades of hurt, and that is such such a big step that he’s taking.” Hazel doesn’t know where these words come from. She doesn’t mention the hurt that her parents packaged for her, specially, stowed into her heart, asking her to carry it, for all her life.

“I don’t know if I can take such a big step, though.”

“You don’t have to. You can take small steps. Nothing amazing happens overnight, you don’t leap from step one to step twenty, Ken.” Hazel laughs, albeit a bit sadly.

“I know, I just. All my life, I’ve wanted to do things, for him.” He’s laughing too. Hazel finally turns back to him, and she smiles. She wants to reach up, touch his lips. But she decides against it. “Now that I have the chance, it’s like, the anger from then makes me not want to do it.”

“Do you know that it’s valid? You’re allowed to be resentful about it. For an eternity even, if you want. You’ll realise that,” Hazel starts, looking at the sky, at the sun that’s only peeking out an inch now. “One day, that resentment is dissolving, it’s getting less. That doing things for him, don’t feel so bad anymore, and it’ll feel really weird, but somewhere deep down, you’ve just wanted attention, from him. Not anyone else. And he’s trying to improve, which means he's willing to give you that.”

Hazel reaches up, a bit tentative as she places her hand on Ken’s chest. He turns to her, fully. And she’s facing him too. “Someday, you’ll realise that in here,” She taps a finger on where his heart should be. “There’s so much love for him, that all of this resentment, was just love, that really had nowhere to go, and anger is just a reaction, a reaction that essentially says, ‘hey, this isn’t right.’”

“Hazel, are you sure you’re a public speaker? Or are you a therapist?” Ken’s grinning, and he places a hand around her waist, pulling her closer. She might’ve tumbled onto his lap if her hand wasn’t on his chest, steadying her.

“A public speaker, darling.” She laughs. “Don’t flatter me, Kenji.”

“Say that again, I liked it,” he whispers. His voice is a warm breath against the shell of her ear, and she shivers.

“Say what?” she asks, even though she thinks she knows.

He’s huffing, “my name.”

“Ken?”

“No.” His fingers are tracing shapes on her lower back, and she thinks goosebumps erupt on every place he touches.

“Ken..ji?” she drags it out just to piss him off.

He’s frowning, but then he’s grinning.

“Yes, pretty girl. That’s me.” He presses his face into the crook of her neck, and Hazel thinks she might explode. But she pulls him closer, one hand still on his chest, the other weaves into his hair.

Pretty girl. It’s enough to get her heart racing.

She can’t even think straight when Ken’s looking up, and his lips are so close, and he’s asking her if he can kiss her. And it feels like they’ve never done this before. Because she’s sure she’s so red, she could be put next to a tomato and they’d be the exact same.

But she nods anyway, and before she knows it, he’s pulled her onto his lap, and his lips capture hers.

That night, when they go to the shore with Mr. Sato, and they’re sitting on the foldable chairs next to each other, Ken keeps on glancing at her, and then back at Emi. And Hazel just thinks he’s the cutest thing ever.

She’s watching Emi with this proud look in her eyes, and Ken’s talking to his dad. She’s so immersed in the way the moon glistens off the water that she doesn’t realise that there’s something being held up to her until cold touches her skin and she flinches, turning around to Ken.

He’s holding a fizzy drink, up to her. And he opened it for her. She takes it, her fingers brushing against his as she accepts it graciously, muttering a thanks. He grins.

She catches Hayao’s eyes from behind Ken, and smiles softly.

She actually feels relaxed, great. It’s been tiresome, recently. What with practically raising Emi, but she’s loved every second of it. Now that she gets to rest though, she’s beyond happy.

She laughs when Emi tries to use Mina as a ball. And her heart is warming with the talk Hayao’s having with Ken about finding balance. When they stand up, she watches. And it’s just such a bittersweet moment for her, but her smile says otherwise.

That is, until the smile falls. Emi’s screeching, and along with her, the other’s heads whip around to look at.

Ken’s asking her what she’s seen, and Hazel’s already stood up. She walks over to the baby kaiju. Her eyes go up to the sky, and she sees stars, but no, they’re red, and they’re moving rapidly. Towards them.

“Why are the stars moving?”

“Mina, scan for inco—”

“It’s the KDF.”

Hazel knows, and she’s trying to usher Emi back towards their ship. But the infant is tumbling forward, and she bends down, picking up bunny. Hazel is beside her, and she’s asking Emi to go to Kenji. But then the drones get closer right when she turns around. Hazel’s about to change, but with some words from Ken, Emi’s shooting them down. Hazel pats her arm, tells her she’s done great.

And she thinks they can finally leave, but that’s when everything really goes to shit.

Emi falls to the ground, and she enters what Mr. Sato says is a pupal stage. Hazel plants her hand against the pupa, and can feel the faint heartbeat.

As soon as the jet is practically fired up, drones start whirring around them. And they shoot.

Mr. Sato falls to the floor. Hazel’s quick to start rushing, but Kenji beats her to it. And he’s shaking there, for a moment, until he transforms. And Hazel’s left staring at Ultraman as he practically slices through the drones. Mr. Sato stirs, and this time Hazel does end up sprinting over to him.

The night doesn’t end wonderfully.

But they do survive.

#✎ hazel's works #ken sato x self insert #ken sato x oc #ken sato fluff #ken sato angst #ultraman: rising #ken sato #kenji sato #angst #fluff #ultraman #part eleven #childhood friends to strangers to lovers

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tteokdoroki · 3 years ago

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he’s like snowfall | s.todoroki ʚ !! ɞ

❧ ; SYNOPSIS. the idol group XHEROEZ is due to perform in america for the first time and as their beloved makeup artist— you’re expected to go with them. now... this would be the vacation of a life time, if it weren’t for their a-grade asshole vocalist, shouto todoroki.

❧ ; cpu characters. shouto todoroki x gn!reader.

❧ ; word count. 17.4K

❧ ; genre + rating. kpop idol!au, enemies to lovers!au, angst, fluff, smut, 18+, minors do not interact !!

❧ ; game warnings. - proceed with caution !! characters are in their twenties, todoroki being an asshole, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, handjobs, praise!kink, mentions of injury ( broken leg ), snow storms, being snowed in.

❧ ; streamer commentary. merry belated christmas? i hope you guys enjoy this fic, for me it was a little challenge to write since i dont write for shouto much!! but the plot was super cool to work with. this is a winter wonderland gift from emme’s server for @killerdabi !! <3 m.list. + tip jar. special thanks to @prinvil, @jirou-s + @bakugous-trauma for beta reading !! and to @shiggysvixen-archive for the idol group name <3

people always dream of being remembered for something when they die.

as shallow as it is, humans have an innate craving and desire to be remembered— to live their lives and go down in history for the impossible. whether that’s by breaking records or achieving the unattainable, humans crave recognition, humans crave a life that seems worth living to others.

like most people, you started out with a dream too— you wanted to dance, to sing on stage under twinkling lights and along with the harmonies of thousands of voices paired with your own. being an idol is all you’d ever thought of growing up and you did everything in your power to achieve that dream— you busted your ass throughout middle school and high school, saved up enough money to pay for your trainee days and to travel into the city every day for auditions and practice. even moving cities didn’t stop you, having to start all over again, but by fifteen, you’d signed up to a decent idol agency, worked hard on perfecting your vocals and dancing until you were sure you sounded like an angel from high heavens and you moved as fluid as the water rushing through streams and everything looked like it was going your way.

your debut was coming up on the horizon, the flavour of your chance to make your mark on the world just dashing across the tip of your tongue— the stage was so close, your purpose in life even closer and you could almost touch it.

at least until you couldn’t.

an injury to your right leg takes you out just weeks before your debut, the healing time far longer than your first ever performance scheduled for the big stage. the group you’d been preparing to be a part of to introduce themselves to the world while you recovered back in your hometown, blankets mounted high to block out your tears at night. you’re left dreamless and hopeless, unable to stand on your own two feet from then on— both physically and mentally. what good is a person who can’t support themselves? what life is worth living when you shoot for the stars and miss, crashing right back down to earth? the questions plague you every night, burn in your throat while you fight back tears and the urge to howl your pain at the silver moon.

however, the second company you’d started under after moving was severely understaffed and lacked organisation and maybe this was the universe giving you a second chance to grasp at your dreams. you helped where you could, using your natural and honed talent for dancing to help choreograph routines between attempting to do stage makeup on the trainees and other artists using tips from old fashion magazines you read on the trains home. if you couldn’t be on stage, then you’d damn well be right there beside it. when your injury gives out a year later and you can no longer keep up with the idols in dance, the stars are forgiving and the agency keeps you on as a makeup artist until you can have your surgery. while you don’t mind your job, prettying artists at the agency you had helped build from the ground— it's nowhere near where you want to be, there’s no glitz nor glamour, no millions of fans waiting to hear the part of your lips and a soulful tune reverberating in your throat...not as a makeup artist.

no one will remember you and your dedication from behind the stage curtain.

but if you could help others achieve their goals and dreams where you had failed, then so be it. you would push twice as hard, work even more just for them to break through earth’s barrier and float in the comfort of space and become one of its shining stars. that’s how you ended up working for the idol group, XHEROEZ— the underdogs of the idol industry and your little old company’s pride and joy. the members; kirishima, bakugou, deku and todoroki had debuted almost five years ago and found themselves on a quick rise to fame after their second mini album blew up the global music scene. never in history had anyone seen an idol group break down so many walls and gather so many records under their belt in such a short amount of time.

with world wide success, came many trials and tribulations that the group faced— but they had done well under countless years of pressure and hate, the company was so incredibly proud of them and you too believed that they would continue to do well for many years to come.

working closely with the boys since they performed for the world for the first time, you’d grown increasingly fond of them as the years went by— you’d met katsuki bakugou, the leader and main rapper of XHEROEZ, during your trainee days back in middle school, remembering him as the kid who worked hard and performed even harder during your trainee evaluations. he’d done so well for himself… not only become an idol but to lead one the world’s most famous boybands too, it was nice to see a friend succeed in that way too. you’d also trained with izuku midoriya, the main vocalist and visual too, he was as sweet as can be— in both his vocals even more so towards his staff and fans alike, you couldn’t help but love him. then there was eijirou kirishima, another rapper with the most incredible dance skills you’d ever seen. there were two more members just like him, a chaotic trio consisting of the red head, hanta sero and denki kaminari— both great dancers occupying the sub-vocalist and rapper spots. they were a group of wonderful boys who never made you feel bad for failing to reach past dreaming and push past the pain to get right up there on the stage. they were the closest thing you ever had to friends, working in the industry from such an early age you gave up most of your time for friends and being a kid.

you loved them so much, all of them.

but then there was shouto todoroki.

you could shiver at the mention of his name, a cringeworthy type of feeling running laps up and down the base of your spine every time you think about him, let alone breathe next to him. in your mind, shouto todoroki is the most insufferable person that you’ve ever worked with, taking the position of centre in XHEROEZ. you know that it's wrong to barely have a reason to hate someone, but there’s something about the dual haired idol that leaves you unsettled every time that you interact— he’s a nuisance to you but the perfect idol and performer to everyone else, he’s oh so talented at what he does, never makes mistakes, appeals to his fans with his quiet charms and angelic looks, suits every concept ever made so maybe you’re projecting a little…maybe you only hate him because he’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of being…but beyond the stage, behind the curtains— you’re convinced that he’s nothing more than a lazy and privileged celebrity.

you feel that he takes the idol life for granted, todoroki lacks motivation where his group-mates excel— you don’t even know why he’s doing this, living your life so selfishly and you hate it.

you hate him.

but it’s not like these feelings aren’t reciprocated, shouto’s made it clear to you that he doesn’t like you either, especially with the way he treats you compared to other staff—maybe that’s because you don’t walk on eggshells around him and cater to his skittish, bratty moods by treating him like a god in the way that everyone else does.

“you mind doin’ your job ‘n not diggin’ out my eye with that liner?” bakugou grunts from beneath your steady working hands—effectively pulling you from the depth of your thoughts and getting you to jump right back into the task at hand, fixing the blonde’s eyeliner.

rolling your eyes playfully, you pull back gently on the skin at the corner of katsuki’s own to draw a steady flick of black liner, humming in content at how it compliments the bloody and burgundy smokey shadow you’d done on him earlier. the boys’ most recent comeback had more of a sexy concept to it, so you were often doing darker, more sleek looks for their stage performances, like the music bank one they had scheduled for today. “there y’go, dummy,” you say, barely hiding the smirk on your lips as you flick katsuki’s forehead— exposed by the clip that keeps his hair out of his face so you can work. you pass the leader a hand mirror, letting him accept your work. “that better, pretty boy?”

the blonde idol grunts again but sneers gratefully at your handy-work on his eye-makeup. “shut the fuck up,” you’re close with bakugou, izuku too— having grown up together at your previous agencies, you were comfortable enough to joke like this with one another and you found that treating the boys as your own friends helped them relax before a show. “this liner better stay put on stage.”

“foul language and doubting my skill? who knew idols could be this mean, you sure you’re in the right profession, katsuki?” you taunt back, making the performer close his eyes so you can powder him up and set down his make-up. you can tell by the quirk of his lips that he’s going to reply but a voice you hate that you had grown to recognise cuts through the backstage bustle of the dressing room.

“sorry i’m late everyone,”

and in he comes, the devil himself in the form of shouto todoroki. your eyes flit upwards as you take in his appearance— his lean body that could be mistaken for that of a dancer’s, draped in casual sweats while his hair remains ruffled and his face is slightly puffy from sleep. todoroki looks a mess, arriving late for his schedule too— which only creates more work for the members and staff around him.

“is that the half ‘n half bastard?”

bakugou all but yells, face twisted into such a comical way that between hushed giggles, you almost forget to remind him to relax so that he doesn’t ruin the makeup you’d done for him. “will you ever stop callin’ him that, man? it was funny the first few comebacks but now it’s just getting old,” kirishima speaks next, keeping his tone airy and playful as he approaches you and his hot tempered band mate. throughout the group’s history, shouto had been recognised as the member with a split dye job and katsuki’s nickname for him seemed to stick. slinking up to bakugou, who’s pouting in his chair, eijirou crosses his toned arms over the armrest. you can tell he’s just come over from hair, since there’s a curler in the red-head’s bangs and his luscious locks— so adored by his many fans— have yet to be gelled and styled into place. “and keep it down, midoriya fell asleep in the stylist chair again,”

“todoroki’s still a bastard, even without his stupid half ‘n half hair. that idiot can never keep to the fuckin schedule!” bakugou scolds just loud enough for his other member to hear, todoroki rolling his eyes as he passes by you to check in with another stylist. you don’t miss the way he glares at you too, making you scoff and find distraction in touching up bakugou’s slight lip colour.

“whatever you say, bakugou,” kirishima hums at his leader’s words but easily distracts himself from the tension between his two members by watching you gently pat some glitter into the inner corner of bakugou’s eye for the finishing touch of his stage makeup. “oh wow! you think i could get a look like that for this stage, yn? y’always do such a great job!”

katsuki is quick to jump in. “trust me, y’don’t want them doin’ your makeup, they almost jabbed my fuckin’ eye out.”

pinching his ear with one hand and smiling gently, you point your brush in kirishima’s direction and shake your head. “next time eiji, i’m sure mina will do a great job on your make-up today,” you remind him softly, holding your smile until the rapper is called to his chair for the rest of his styling. you slump after that, poking a resting katsuki in the cheek with the same brush, pouting at him.

“what?” he spits, eyes still closed.

“i don’t wanna be done with your makeup” you whinge, poking the leader of the group again. “i don’t want them to make me work on todoroki next,”

bakugou cracks an eye open, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his lips— annoyance written across the rest of his face since you’re disturbing his only rest before the performance. “you still have kaminari and sero t’work on. good luck with that,” he offers up to you, but you’re not sure if you want to work with that chaotic duo either...they never sit still long enough for you to finish their looks. “dunno why y’hate half ‘n half so much either. he’s not a bad kid, he’s just got a bad fuckin’ attitude and a weird way of approaching things sometimes.”

mouth opening and closing, you don’t bother to argue with bakugou anymore— for he’s already leaning back in his chair to get some shut eye before the show. you hate that he’s right, that he makes you see how illogical it is for you to hold such a grudge against shouto todoroki...but you can’t seem to help it, a burning rage simmering underneath your skin every time the red and white haired male so much as breathes near you. you don’t dwell on the thought however, your magic hands and work was needed elsewhere, so you drift off deeper into the dressing room to try and pin down sero and kaminari for their stage makeup.

about five minutes before the stage, the CEO of your company, fierce wings entertainment — keigo takami, otherwise known as hawks, swings by the boys’ dressing room for a last minute pep talk. all six of the artists you work for gather in a circle around their boss, energy flowing and hearts racing at the thought of being able to sing their hearts out on stage for their fans. “try not to overwork yourselves on stage today, kids,” hawks starts sternly, looking each of the boys in their eye. “we’re jettin’ off to the states for biggest show of your lives tomorrow. the jingle ball. so imma need all of you in tip top shape!”

“yes sir!”

keigo grips the boys by their shoulders, shaking them a little more to emphasise his point. “it doesn’t matter if you don’t bank a music show win today, we’re onto bigger and better things right now.”

“we’ll still aim for a top spot, we didn’t work this hard for nothin’!” sero quips proudly, and denki throws a thumbs up into the circle in agreement.

deku nods too, seemingly shaking the sleep out of his eyes to psych himself up too. “we’ll try our best hawks-san! we won’t let you down!”

the energy is flowing, excitement trickling into the idol group and you stand on the sidelines— wishing so badly be a part of something like this too. kirishima puts his closed fist into the circle for a fist bump, boosting all of XHEROEZ’s morale for the show. “we got this guys, just remember,” he winks, showing off his toothy smile. “we can’t lose as much energy as todoroki, not when he doesn’t have any to begin with!”

the quick roast to todoroki is harmless and seems to send the group into a frenzy of happy and nerve calming laughter— just what they needed, although you don’t miss the way todoroki himself scoffs as the boys do their best not to ruffle his perfectly crimped hair. with a quick thanks from hawks and a congratulations for their hard work, XHEROEZ is ushered onto a stage with an audience of screaming fans waiting to hear their newest title track.

you watch them effortlessly perform their choreo and carry their vocals over the monitor in the dressing room, swallowing to keep the green eyed monster of jealously down in the pits of your stomach. that should be you, you should be up there on stage with hundreds of people screaming your name but instead, you’re here with a stupid broken body that won’t move the way it used to and a broken heart that just isn’t in your dreams anymore.

the boys are all perfect, moving in harmony and your heart jumps as todoroki takes over the screen, heavenly voice dancing through the speakers and taking you right to heaven. you hate that he’s so perfect, so flawless without even having gone to rehearsals. you hate him, you hate him, you—!

“you’re still up to the challenge in the states, right?” hawks interrupts your self-destructive and chaotic train of thoughts, a hand on your shoulder as he comes to join you watch the performance. “america is a whole new playing field for these boys, it’ll be nothing morning like back home.”

keeping your eyes on the monitor, you nod, not wavered by the blonde’s words. “yeah i am,” your voice doesn’t waver, but your face twists when todoroki appears on screen again. “i hope you’re not doubting me, keigo, sir.”

he chuckles in response. “no, never,” he’s not looking at you, but you can tell that keigo is amused. out of every artist and member of staff at fast wings entertainment— you had been with the company the longest and had shown your loyalty to him through the highest of highs and lowest of lows. he understood you, understood how you struggled when you couldn’t debut due to your injury and how it was to sit on the sidelines and watch everything you’ve ever planned for yourself be lived out by someone else. “i’m glad you stayed on with us...even after your injury. i really appreciate everything you’ve done for this company and for these boys. they’d both be nothing without you.”

your leg throbs at the mention of your injury but when you spare a glance at hawks, his head is tipped back and eyes are closed with his infectious grin. “yanno, shouto kinda reminds me of you in some ways. especially as a trainee,” hawks says quietly, patting your shoulder again. “he’s a perfectionist, don’t ya know?”

hawks leaves you then for an incoming phone call, something about the flights for tomorrow and you scoff to yourself, finding the fact hard to believe.

you and shouto todoroki were nothing alike.

how could you be? when his idol group was bringing back a sixth award for their comeback while you were just their lowly makeup artist.

you do rise to the challenge hawks had set for you, but almost thirty minutes late.

hitting snooze on your alarm at the start of one of the biggest weeks of your career had almost cost you a flight from japan to the US to help the boys perform at jingle bell— and now after a fight with your luggage and an angry phone call to your taxi driver, you were rushing through the airport to meet up with the rest of the team taking XHEROEZ abroad to perform. with a text to hawks you’d located the group just outside of a coffee shop, decked out in masks and shades to hide the identities of the idols as they lounge about and wait for their early morning flight.

relieved that you haven’t missed anything, you rush over, tailed by your stupid two-wheel suit case which bumps the back of your sneakers every once in a while. you look down to fix the damn thing when you suddenly collide with a warm wall of flesh— an even warmer, almost scalding liquid seeping through the fabric of your shirt but for some reason you find that you’re moving to apologise first.

“i’m sorry—“ that is until you look up. grey and cerulean eyes bore deep into your own while the green eyed beast of jealousy makes its home in your chest cavity— pressed up against bare bone and your slippery organs as they struggle to let the oxygen rattle through you. “shouto.”

the apologetic tone in your voice falls flat as you realise the dual toned idol was the culprit of bumping into you, dumping his sticky early morning latte loaded with sugar and cream and all sorts of syrups all over you. you see a smirk twist on his lips, just barely indicated by the quirk in the corner of his mouth and it makes you vibrate with a flash of red, in the shade of rage. you hate him.

“watch where you’re going,” todoroki says cool and collected, he utters your name once before bringing his cup to his lips— seemingly having saved half of his drink from ending up on you. “wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

it takes all of your strength and the will to keep your job to stop yourself from knocking out the idol group member. “you should watch it,” comes your malicious snarl, that only serves to fuel the kind of hold todoroki has over you. he stands up, straightening his back as he towers over you and hums with disinterest— as if your little interaction is entertaining him while it serves to piss you off more.

“why? i’m the one with an insured face. you’re the one with a job to do.”

god, that lazy cocky bastard was going to make you lose it.

mimicking his stance, you too straighten your back and puff out your chest a little bit, steeling your eyes as you counter him with your own argument. “well I’d be able to do that job if you weren’t always running late you little—“

“there you two are! we were beginning to think you were late!” your arrival to the scene is noticed by the sweetheart, deku, first and you smile brightly— or as best as you can— while he approaches, watching his own corner of his lips quirk down to a frown when he senses the tension between you and his bandmate. “oh.”

yeah, oh.

todoroki shrugs, seemingly more interested in bothering a tired bakugou than a tired you and fucks off elsewhere, leaving hanta to your rescue. god bless him and the baby wipes he’s being made to hold in his carry on. hawks gives a quick briefing of the days schedule when everyone is finally gathered together, yawns interjecting his fast paced speech as he does so. “there’s gonna be very little time between landing, checking in and sound check so be sure to eat up on the plane. use the company card.” his words only earning groans from the idols and their team.

“but plane food sucks,” kaminari whines, the only way you could tell it was him was from the signature twang in his voice fans seemed to love— for a black baseball cap covers his electric yellow hair. the sub vocalist flings himself over bakugou, amber irises swirling with fake tears as he begs the other blonde to do something about their brutal schedule.

sneering with annoyance, bakugou can’t help but agree. “we gotta find time to eat, boss. denki’s brain won’t last that long.”

“hey!”

“i’ll treat you to room service when we land, team dinner after rehearsals. is that a deal?” the CEO taps his bottom lip, grinning when everyone nods in agreement. “don’t forget, we’ll be vlogging the experience for the XHEROEZ youtube channel. feel free to record whenever you’re ready. cameras are on jirou, okay guys?” another nod from the idols.

all except for todoroki.

you don’t even have to be near him to feel the annoyance radiation’s from his body— hearing it in the scoff he lets out and the way kirishima’s sneakers scuff against the squeaky clean airport floor as he pushes the red head away, the rapper claiming that vlogging could be pretty fun. another way to connect with their fans.

rolling your eyes, you cross your sticky coffee glazed arms. “of course he wouldn’t wanna film,” your cool gaze meets shouto’s from between your fellow coworkers and the idols you work for, he shivers as if he’s gotten frost bite but you don’t break eye contact— elbowing katsuki to deliver the rest of your joke. “he’s too lazy to keep up with his usual schedule,”

the boys let out a chorus of ooo’s, deku swatting you for your words, kirishima pouting with his arms protectively around the aforementioned male while sero and kaminari burst into a fit of laughter— you barely gauge a reaction from their leader, who shakes his head at your antics. you would have taken this a win against your sworn enemy, but hawks quickly brings you all together for your flight leaving at terminal three and the cameras follow— given out to each of the boys and shouto’s on screen personality begins to shine while you make your way through.

you hate that, how easily he switches from being disinterested in his life, his career, to being so alluring— dishing out fan service left and right. it was hard for you to process, how fake his emotions seem towards the very people that let him live out his dreams. todoroki shared the camera with his green haired band mate, filling the device with clips of cute expressions and asking one another about the upcoming trip— which you ignore in favour of accepting your board pass as members of staff hand them out.

“so, who has the pleasure of sitting next to me?” you coo, checking over your plane ticket for your seat number before you tuck it into your passport.

husky laugher echoes in your right ear, hanta rubbing your shoulder warmly. “heh, well about that…” he trails off, barely whispering your name.

you squint. “what about it, hanta?”

the group of performers fall silent, no one wanting to own up to the games they’d played behind your back. “well you see,” eijirou buts in next after a prompt elbow in the ribs, turning to you with his signature sharp toothed smile. “you snore on the plane and…”

“we need to get a lot of rest for this flight…” izuku chimes in next, ever so sweet— his sunspot freckles stamped over the red hue on his cheeks making it hard to stay mad at him as he guides you onto the plane— shielding you from possible crazed fans even though it should be the other way around. as big as they were, private flights weren’t so affordable to the group yet so first class had to do for now, meaning odd encounters like this, even as security staff but in however. “so we…”

“oi dipshit!” seemingly having had enough of the prolonged explanation his band mates are giving you, your long time friend and rapper katsuki throws you an amused chuckle from over his shoulder. you’ll never get over how foul mouthed he is for an idol. “they played rock, paper, scissors t’see who’d sit next t’ya on the plane, ‘cause truth be told no one wants ta! you snore like a bitch.”

you gasp, nose scrunching as denial weaves its way into your voice. “i do not!”

“you do!” the members of XHEROEZ chorus, making you huff and cross your arms.

“you all suck.” comes your petulant retort. well deserved you might add, as it turns out, shouto todoroki had drawn the short end of the stick and you too— for you would both be seat mates for the next eleven and a half hours.

“don’t sleep on me.” the dual haired boy snarls as he throws his carry on into the overhead cabin, taking up the last space on your side. you shoot him a nasty glare, one that could have put him six feet under if only it could kill.

“don’t lose Rock Paper Scissors next time, asshole.”

———

arriving in the states did not go as smoothly as planned, which definitely caused your boss, keigo, some stress.

the fans in america are much more rowdy than those back home— of course all fan bases love the boys equally as much, but there were so many screams and attempts for signatures from the boys had put a little dent in the schedule as security had taken a while to help the team through the uncontrollable waves of people. it takes an extra hour to get through customs, there’s traffic between the airport and the hotel and another swarm as sleek black cars carrying japan’s most treasured idols slip through the main city of NYC to get to their hotel.

the boys, they love the attention, however— getting to greet their fans from another country is surreal and meaningful to them and the smiles never leave their faces all the way through check-in. after that, bags are dumped in rooms and they along with security and their CEO head to madison square garden for a rehearsal and to meet other artists part of the line up for this year. the rest of the staff, makeup artists and stylists, are free to roam the hotel until they get back.

a room in a five star hotel is not a luxury you could afford on your own, even with the salary you earn from working with one of the world’s biggest boy groups— the four digit numbers in your bank account wouldn’t even begin to cover the cost of the high thread count imported sheets that were neatly spread across the bed you would be staying in for the next few nights. you’d never been in a place as pretty as this, just walking through the reception as your jaw locked lower than usual, especially with the high ceilings and crystal chandeliers hanging above your head every ten steps. marble arches up high, accented by potted plants you’ve read help improve air quality, staff members and hotel clerks stop you every once in a while to offer you complimentary drinks and candy and you can’t help but be in awe.

you could never afford a place like this on your own and the very fact almost stings.

fuck it, it does sting.

because if you had made it as an idol, you would have been leading a life like this— where jetting off to new locations to perform and staying in hotels that cost more than your yearly rent for just one night would be the norm for you. you wouldn’t ever take opportunities like this for granted, counting them as blessings. but you’re here, on a job as a makeup artist and this could never just have been the result of your own hard work towards your dream. so instead, you fiddle with the tinsel taped to the underside of the desk at reception as you ask the clerk behind it whether or not the hotel does room service.

you hear him say ‘yes’ under the faint sound of christmas music played on a piano and head back upstairs to your floor, deciding to unwind and relax before your week gets too hectic. getting back to your room, you order a big american cheeseburger and fries to pair, deciding to take a hot shower to wash off the grime from your flight while you wait. the overwhelming scent of coconut milk and orchids do enough to melt the bad feelings from your brain too.

you’re halfway through throwing on a complimentary cotton robe when voices can be heard behind your door and you almost think it’s your room service order already.

“that rehearsal was complete shit,” you hear a familiar gruff voice call through your door— placing it as none other than katsuki bakugou’s, which means the boys must be back by now.

kaminari speaks next, tone mocking and playful. “s’only cause sho couldn’t follow the music, his rhythm was completely off!”

“because someone made me sit next to that god awful makeup artist of ours, i couldn’t concentrate because i barely got any sleep!” his voice seeps into the conversation buzzing between the members of XHEROEZ. it was common knowledge to anyone that neither of you liked each other, the rivalry you had seeming more one-sided on your end more than anything— but the way todoroki speaks about you now is more malicious than anything you’ve ever heard. cruel and uncaring, and it makes your stomach twist to know that he really just doesn’t like you.

the voices agree, sure your snoring is loud— they say— but they don’t think you’re god awful, they like you and that’s okay. it’s okay. at least the other boys like you, right? but todoroki doesn’t stop there, as they get closer, he only seems to grow hotter, angrier as he talks about you— a stark contrast to his cool and collected nature around you usually. “they’re so loud and inconsiderate of their noise, not to mention how they’re always picking a useless fight with me.” shouto might as well be singing his hatred towards you, mean and fervent words sewn together like lyrics to a song.

“don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? they do a lot for us, a little snoring can be ignored right?” god bless eijirou kirishima, for he defends you without a trace of doubt and your heartbeat picks up as you begin to lean against the door, waiting for todoroki to answer. why do you even care for what he has to say about you? you have no idea.

“not in the slightest,” the younger, dual haired idol retorts venomously, as if talking good about you leaves a bad taste in his mouth. they’re all right outside your door now and you can see the weight of someone you assume to be todoroki’s palm resting against your locked door handle— he hasn’t noticed yet and the other idols seem to warn him of that. deku softly reminds him that this isn’t his room, sero too but he’s too wrapped up in bitching about you to care. “what good have they done for me? if anything, my being an idol— us being idols, provided them with a job. not the other way around—!”

todoroki presses down on the handle again and you choose that exact moment to open the door, letting him stumble into your room— his last words being your final straw. your job, be it as it may, not what you wanted to do with your life...was a result of nobody else’s hard work but your own. you were the one that had gotten you this far, you had no help, you did it all on your own and god damn anyone who said your efforts were useless. you were proud of what you had achieved but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to hear someone else say you were practically worth nothing.

so you hoped it hurt shouto todoroki more to come face first with the ground while you towered over him.

the boys gasp, standing crowded around the door with sheepish expressions and apologies ready on the tips of their tongues but they all cease one they realise the force of your rage is directed at their vocalist instead of them.

“fuck,” todoroki says your name, no more than a whisper under his breath while his cool toned eyes gaze up into yours with something you can’t quite place, something that looks like remorse. “how...how much of that did you hear?”

when you gaze down at the idol, you notice the way he speaks to you slowly and the shine of his insured and shiny pink glossed lips as if to distract you with what his fans might like— as if you’re to be swayed by something like that when those same lips utter such poisonous and mean spirited words. you wonder what his fans would think if they heard shouto talk like that.

“you should be more careful with how loud you speak in public hotels like this,” you keep your voice even, don’t let your emotions slip through the cracks, not sadness and certainly not joy when you see todoroki’s bottom lip quiver nervously. “you wouldn’t want to get caught in an idol scandal, would you? you never know who’s listening.”

both todoroki and his band mates are left gobsmacked, perhaps they had been expecting a larger reaction out of you but you choose not to give either the satisfaction— slamming the door shut just within an inch of shouto’s fingers and sliding down the door to catch your breath, soothe your heartache before it starts.

the next time someone appears at your door, you wait for them to call room service before you let them in.

———

“what am i doing here again?”

you yawn, rubbing your eyes as a woollen hat not belonging to you is tugged over your head. bakugou tsks, standing half a head taller than you while he wraps you in a scarf. the other members of XHEROEZ are in similar states, yawning with their noses tucked into the fabric of their clothes to fight off the biting cold running through the new york air.

“is there something on the schedule that i missed? thought today was our day off.”

bakugou sniffs once, satisfied with his work. “s’not on the schedule. the boys and i are taking you out today,” you quirk a brow and he elaborates. “as an apology.”

flickering your stare elsewhere, you try not to think about the little show from last night or the awful words that trickled underneath your hotel room door. “for bitchin’?” the colour in your eyes finds izuku goofing off with todoroki and kaminari for their vlog and you see how seamless their bond is, something you craved for— to be part of a team like this.

“f’bitchin’, was todoroki’s idea.”

the blonde leader doesn’t say much more as the cars arrive and security loads each of the boys into them in groups of three. you end up with katsuki, sero and todoroki and the drive was as awkward as you could probably guess. apparently at the dinner you’d skipped last night, the boys found out from hawks about your failed idol career and how it landed you a job in the same industry that failed to look after you and catapult you towards your dreams, they’d learned that without you hawks’ entertainment company would have nothing but a bad reputation and bankruptcy— you were one of the reasons they were even able to debut along with their senior artists and trainees.

so taking you out for the day, to experience this new city and live the idol life for just a day was their way of showing appreciation and despite it being shouto’s idea, he makes no efforts to actually apologise to you— in fact, he avoids you for the whole day. he separates from the rest of the group when you guys wonder through the art exhibits at the gagosian gallery while you goof off with the others, taking silly videos on the camera’s jirou had assigned them. you felt bad that she’d spend hours scrubbing you out of the footage to make sure you couldn’t be seen or spark any fan-theories on who that person was or were the boys dating? however it was more fun to cause chaos amongst the fanbase.

todoroki does the same when XHEROEZ gets a private session at the ice rink by the rockerfeller centre— shut down to the public only because of the weight of their fame and their dazzling smiles. kirishima’s shaky grip on the camera showcases the atrocious figure skating skills of his band mates, midoriya stumbles a little too much on the picks of his skates— stabilised by your arm while katsuki glides right across the ice as if he was born to. he could be a skater in his next life, hanta too but they both twirl a little too much and end up on their butts once they collide. kaminari chokes on his laughter and shouto missed out yet again.

in fact the only time you do bump into the dual haired idol is on your way out of the bathroom— a smile spread wide across your frost tinted cheeks because this is the most fun you’ve had in such a long time, not having to worry about the doubt on your mind...but then.

then seeing him, seeing shouto and his blank face, the lack of remorse or feeling in his cerulean and cloudy grey eyes brings it all back. how cold he acts towards you brings your walls back up and your happiness back down and even though this is his way of apologising, you don’t really feel that much better at all.

his words from the night before ringing in your head.

‘that god awful makeup artist of ours,’

'what good have they done for me?’

blinking, you don’t even realise how much time has passed and how long you’ve been focused on todoroki’s words for— frowning at yourself for focusing on him on the day that’s supposed to be about you. yourself, XHEROEZ and their security huddle around each other, in line for your first taste of american street food from a polite vendor— you let sero place an order for you, while you keep your gaze set on the landscape of New York City. the snow here is different to that of japan, it’s heavy and thick. rough as it falls and bites at your nose and cheek, coating cars and sky scrapers alike and drowning it in freezing white blankets. looking up to the sky you see nothing but familiar shades of deep grey for miles, it’s almost claustrophobic how much snow there is— like you’re trapped in a snow globe being turned upside down, shaking you from your comfort and throwing your emotions about the place.

beyond the puffs of your warm breath into the sub-freezing air, you notice a group of girls peering curiously at your group as they debate on the toppings to go on their hot dogs from the vendor. you smile, jutting your elbow into the puffy torso of midoriya ( layered up in some designer jacket you have no doubt bakugou told him to wear ). “you’ve got fans deku,” you say wistfully.

“hm? oh—oh!” the poor green haired bab almost drops his heated treat when he whips over to look at you.

“you should go say hi, it would make their day,” shrugging as you suggest it, deku looks down to you with a small frown, sauce on his freckled upper lip. “what?”

curls bounce as he shakes his head, littered with snowflake crystals. “n-nothing! it’s just that...if i go say hi, the others will want to as well, and then you’ll be left alone. with todoroki no doubt...he’s not one for these kinds things…”

ah. there it is.

“go say hi izuku, i can manage grumpy vocalist number two for a while.” you assure him, but it doesn’t seem to work and by now his band mates have noticed the shy group of fans a little further down the sidewalk.

“h-he’s not that bad yanno, not as bad as you think,” deku nudges the arm of your jacket just as todoroki approaches you both— leaving you alone with him and the snow to go make his fans’ day, their Christmas no doubt.

then there’s silence, an odd sense of New York City quiet— accompanied by people barking down the phone to colleagues and the honk of city traffic, a soundtrack to the city you reside in for a few days. one that’ll soon be filled with the cheers of XHEROEZ lovers across the state, maybe even the country and quite possibly the world. it’s just you and todoroki now, standing together awkwardly, listening to the world around you as you watch his friends interact with the people who appreciate them the most.

kirishima takes pictures with a few of the girls, kaminari doing his best to thank them while izuku insists they be in the little vlog. bakugou and sero manage a conversation in English, both having gone to international schools before becoming idols.

you take a chance and look up to shouto who stands beside you, snowflakes caught in the unfair length of his lashes, sitting high on his slightly scarred cheekbone that his fans still adore despite not knowing where it came from or how he got it. you won’t ask and it’s part of his charm, you guess. “you should be over there, with them.” comes your voice, hushed against the bustling city.

“i’m not one for fan service,”

you scoff, knowing just how todoroki acted on stage and on camera. not one for fan service your ass. “liar.” liar, pants on fire. you finish the rest in your head, knowing he’d tease you for being childish.

“you’re right,” he hums under his breath, turning to look at you with his hands in his pockets. “i lied because you wouldn’t be able to handle their reactions if i did go over there and give them the fan service they’re after. i know you hate it when i do it.”

how did he—? were you that obvious with your dislike for him?

“you must hate your fans then,”

“oh no, quite the contrary. i only save hatred for one special person,” todoroki jests, at least you think he’s joking when he pulls his hands out of his pockets to salute you before joining the rest of his idol group standing with the girls. for once, he hadn’t said something mean when opening his mouth to speak to you and for once you find a coy smile on your lips at this fact. maybe shouto todoroki truly was apologetic for what he had said about you yesterday, and perhaps if things kept going like this, you would be able to forgive him.

it was a step in the right direction.

with newfound, better spirits, you munch on your greasy american treats with the security guards while the boys do their thing, scrolling through your phone and not even noticing that one of the girls has approached you.

you only do so when she grips your wrist, eyes boring deep into your soul— nails almost digging into your flesh.

“uh—excuse me?”

“you should stay away from them, XHEROEZ.” her tone is adamant, clearly a crazed fan as she steps into your personal space just a little more. “they don’t need some chick like you getting in the way of their career and ruining their success.”

security steps forward to separate you from the girl but you hold a hand up behind you— thinking that you could maybe talk her down. “l-listen, i just work for them? i’m not,” her nails dig deeper into your flesh and you gasp. “i-i’m not going to ruin anything!”

“stay away from them, stay away from todoroki.” she threatens again, shaking your entire body just from her grip on your wrist and of course she’s one of his stupid little fans— if you coild even call her that. she grabs at you again but this time you flinch out of fear, worried for an impact that may never come. “you’ll get him into a scandal!” her mouth almost froths.

her hero, her idol— shouto todoroki pulls you away from her before that happens. “i think your behaviour could get me into an even bigger scandal than my makeup artist could.” he grits his teeth, getting his bodyguards to pull the girl away from you completely— hissing at them to do their damn jobs to protect you as well as them. she was sure to get blacklisted.

“t-todoroki! i’m your biggest fan! i was just taking my care of this for you—“ she exclaims, thinking her idol would be impressed but the girl’s face, one stricken with awe for the man she’d only ever seen on screen, drops as shouto turns against her, defending you with waves of heat running off of his body into the crisp air.

“you’re not a true fan if you think harassing my staff is the way to go. back off.” todoroki keeps his voice even and polite, dragging you away from the girl as he lets security deal with her. the idol looks at you again, his eyes flash with hostility again— at you, or the girl you have no idea why but it seems whatever fleeting truce you had gone with the wind.

your day out ends here, a chill in your bones at todoroki defending you, at a girl almost clawing your face off. not a word is uttered about it until you’re back at the hotel and hawks has the pr team back in Japan sweep the incident clean off of the Internet.

when you go to bed that night, you can’t get that look on shouto’s face out of your mind— trying to figure out if you should hate that he protected you or feel apologetic instead.

on the day of the show you remain a muddle of emotions— conflicted as to how you should feel about shouto todoroki.

he was an enigmatic spider with a complex web of emotions that you couldn’t seem to understand. did he hate you? did he respect you? the lines had blurred more and more over the course of this trip to the point where your brain throbbed just thinking about shouto todoroki— seeing him as more than just a personal projection of your failures. seeing him as a whole person versus the fraction that made you hate him.

could even say that you hated him now?

you shake the thought from your frazzle mind in order to finish setting up the rest of your kits, shades of foundation and eye shadows already spread across the vanity in the backstage area the staff at the jingle ball had prepared for you. the boys tumble out of rehearsals shortly after, high on the energy they feel from being on stage and performing— even if it was just for sound check. they practically glow under the white tinted artificial light up above and you know that their sheer joy will make your job very easy tonight.

XHEROEZ will be performing a six song set with a range of concepts, so you decide to go with something personal for each of the boys— drafting out the looks in your notebook prettily until you jump at the sound of a furious hawks’ voice.

“whaddya mean you don’t know where shouto todo-fuckin’-roki is?” the ends of the blonde’s words are clipped, the vein on his forehead pulsing with irritation— the tips of his ears flaring bright red and the CEO looks as if all of his feathers have been ruffled right down to the core. kirishima stands opposite him, face guilty and crimson eyes turned towards the floor while his band mates look on in shock. “anyone got any clue as t’where that brat might be?”

and of course, the man you feel so torn over is missing on one potentially the biggest days of his career— an instance that makes your stomach twist with, greed to perform and to have what he has bleed green into your guts in the shade of feverish jealousy. “i-i’m sorry boss,” eijirou close to whines, the ecstatic energy that had been building up in his body slowly trickling out. the room cools with the sudden dampening in the air and hawks pinches the bridge of his nose, waiting for the rapper to continue. “i woke him up just before we left! he said he was comin’ but i thought he was taking the other car today, so i didn’t push—!”

“‘course that kid sleeps in.” the boss’ shoulders drop with his sharp inhale of breath as his yellow gaze shoots to you and you curse when he utters your full name. “you’re up, can you grab todoroki from the hotel for me?”

“but why me?” you whine like a child at the thought of seeing him again. “why not someone else—?”

keigo sighs, patience running thin. with you, with everyone in the room and the selfishness of XHEROEZs’ vocalist. “you’re the only artist that has their station set up, we need all the managers and staff here to finish getting set up for the show that starts in four hours,” your boss is getting even more pissed off the more he reasons with you and you feel like the more he talks, the less choice you have.

in the end, you agree to go, with an hour to travel to the hotel and back— you manage to get up to todoroki’s hotel room, banging down on the door while his manager waits outside in a sleek black car. the drive had taken a little over half an hour, with a light stream of traffic settling through New York City due to the settling snow— so there wasn’t much time left to wake up the seemingly sleeping dual haired idol, and banging on the door wasn’t working out for you now. shoving your hand into your pocket, you pull out the keycard kirishima had given you— since the two were sharing a room and force your way in.

todoroki shouldn’t look like an angel while he’s asleep.

despite the mess of the room, in his place in his bed todoroki is illuminated by the bright and natural light shining through the curtain— his red and white locks are spread messily across his expensive pillows, cherry lips parted gently at he snores quietly into the room. he looks so pretty, so pretty you almost don’t even want to wake him up but he has a job to do, people counting on him for one of the biggest nights of the year. people are counting on you to get him there. in three short strides, you cross the room and reach the idol’s bed before attempting to shake him awake.

“todoroki, todoroki!” you hiss lowly, still quiet as if not to wake him when it’s essentially your major goal. shouto groans lightly, akin to a child trying to hide from their mom rousing them from their sleep. you try again and he turns away from you, only causing your irritation to spike. “shouto! wake the fuck up!”

he blinks, once, twice.

and then he sees you.

pretty face twisted into a scowl, hair out of place ever so slightly— brows furrowed and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is. “what?”

“w-what? wh-whaddya mean what?” you gasp, suddenly flustered as you realise how close you are to shouto, so close you can feel his breath on your skin and you topple backwards onto his bed— knees hitting the comforter glossed with his scent. peppermint candy-canes. “do you have any idea what time it is? how late you are? what were you even doing?”

“sleeping.” obviously.

todoroki’s lips quirk up into an amused smirk. you’re cute when you’re angry and bitter, even cuter when he’s sliding out of bed shirtless and you have no choice but to look at his toned dancer’s body— going from roaring at him like a pissed off wildcat to trembling like a little kitten. “sleeping? you’re due to perform at the Madison Square Garden in literally three hours and you were sleeping?” you squeak, chucking a shirt at him amidst your panic and throwing a bag together full of shoutou’s belongings he might need for after the show. “this is a career changing moment! life changing even! and you were about to sleep right through it—!”

“alright,” the idol cuts through your words as a messy mop of candy cane hair pops through his grey-blue cotton shirt— you note that it matches his eyes. roughly. “relax, i get it. i’m awake now, we won’t be late.”

something about the nerveless echo to todoroki’s voice is what tips you over the edge, setting off your fuse. “you know this is about more than just you right? there are fans counting on you, people waiting for you..” whirling around, the words are spat out through gritted teeth, accompanied by your narrowed eyes and an even deeper scowl. “oversleeping? that's just—it’s just irresponsible!”

todoroki doesn’t like that, how you suddenly switch on him— attacking him just millimetres from where his heart is, where his fans and career lie. “you’re calling me irresponsible? after you almost got yourself attacked by fans the other day?” he snarls back, making you freeze. making you gasp.

your movements pause as you throw open his hotel curtains, expanding the slit of white light that leaks into the room—he had protected you and now he was blaming you? the room is flooded with blaring white from the heavy layers of snow outside, blanketing the city in shades of crisp eggshell, dotting car tops and skyscrapers and sidewalks. the whole city is a city of snow. you can feel the chill draft seeping through the seal of the windows, stinging your fingertips and your cheeks until you have to be yanked away from the cold before it seeps into your bones.

“it’s cold,” todoroki growls into the shell of your ear, arms wrapped around your middle as he pulls you away. “you should be careful.” there’s a beat of silence where you’re both entranced by the snow falling from up above, shouto slowly letting you go and pulling his warmth away from you with it. “you’re an idiot,”

he says softly as your phone buzzes with a text message from shouto’s manager outside, there’s a light blizzard coming, stay indoors. it says.

so you don’t bother to move.

———

fifteen minutes later and shouto wanders out of the shower in an even more sour mood than before, sweats hanging low on his taut waist as water droplets cascade down his milky skin and drip from his two toned hair, illuminated by the white sky outside.

the entire duration of his shower, you’d spent sitting on his bed with your gaze fixated on the snowy view— trying to come up with alternative methods to get back to the venue with the time you have left, which is just under three hours at this point. you’d promised hawks you’d have todoroki back within one. while shouto moves about the room, presumably getting dressed, your phone pings with a message from katsuki— no doubt bored while he gets his hair done for the show.

blonde brat - 7:52PM: you got that half n half asshole yet?

you - 7:55PM: peppermint gremlin secured!!

blonde brat - 7:57PM: thank fuck. get back here.

tucking away your phone with a heavy sigh, you turn back to todoroki who’s flicking through his own device— perhaps checking his Twitter account or the weather as well. “i’ve been trying to figure out a way for us to get to MSG through the weather, i think if we—“

“i don’t care. just get us there.” he snaps in response, face falling the more he scrolls through his phone— he looks to you then, your brow raised and unimpressed and rolls his eyes. “gonna scold her for being irresponsible and inconsiderate too? my shower was cold, don’t expect me to be all fine and dandy.”

“you can just take a warm shower, when we get to the venue of course. don’t be a sourpuss,” you chuckle and try not to look while todoroki puts his phone down to tug on a thicker sweater, his abs rippling as he works. “we’re gonna bundle up extra warm and take an uber down there, if we leave while the snow is light we could probably make it—“

todoroki sucks his teeth, looking at you as if you were stupid. “have you seen the weather reports? i’m not going out in that. it’ll get worse.”

“that’s why we should leave now, while the snow is light and so you don’t have to disappoint your thousands of adoring fans,” you counter, rendering the idol temporarily silent as he rolls his eyes at you and finishes off getting ready. however, you end up being the disappointed one when you realise there aren’t any ubers or bolts available in your area. “you know what? we might have to walk it,” you say quietly as you make your way over to the door, pushing down on the handle and frowning when the door won’t budge. “what the hell?”

now fully dressed, the dual haired idol joins you at the door, still in a sour mood as he gives the door a push as well— grunting when it doesn’t open. “we’re not doing that— push harder.”

“i am!” you whine. “we need to leave if we're going to get there on time.”

“no you’re not, push again.”

you’re both fighting the door, trying to get out of the hotel room— banging on it with your shoulders and using all of your body weight to get through until the complimentary phone starts to ring shrilly from across the room. todoroki moves to answer, leaving you to struggle with the handle a little more.

‘dear guest, due to the unfortunate bad weather— our electronic keycard systems controlled by online software are currently down. we advise you to remain calm in your rooms while we manually unlock these doors.’

well fuck.

with the systems down, there’s effectively no way for you and todoroki to escape the hotel room— trapped together in an enclosed space with your impatience and frustrations rising.

it doesn’t help that the power completely goes out as well.

———

without power, the pair of you set up some of the scented candles hotel staff are passing under the doors to keep everyone warm— since it’s only a matter of time before the heating systems go down too. todoroki ignores you for the most part, giving you a cold shoulder chillier than the snow storm building up outside, so you use the peace in the room to send out texts to hawks and the other staff members, letting them know that you won’t be able to make it back in time for the show— your battery dies halfway through responding to bakugou.

“this is all your fault,” you say, nose tipped up like a snooty child and todoroki finally pays you some attention, expression confused as you speak to him. “if you hadn’t been so selfish, followed your schedule like everybody else! we wouldn’t have been in this mess. if we had just left when the snow was light like i said we should, we would have been there by now!”

shouto huffs, setting his phone down calmly while his face flashes with the flames of anger. “it wouldn’t have mattered what time we left, with this snow we wouldn’t even have a show! and i’m allowed to be selfish— to want to rest when i’m overworked. i needed the rest, so just can it, okay?”

you don’t understand, his argument is weak. today, this show, it isn’t just about him— there’s no room to be selfish like this in a team full of other people reaching for the stars— launching themselves into space to touch their dreams. it makes you sick to your stomach, the way he thinks— like everything is all about him. “your fans needed you!” you all but scream, voice tearing through the silence in the room— the volume and angry colour to your voice surprising you both. “god just...just give me your charger so i can get my phone back and call someone to fix this within the next two hours.”

“i don’t have it.” he blinks.

and you blink back. “what do you mean you don’t have it?”

“kirishima took it with him.” todoroki says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “where’s yours?”

“at the venue. the one we’re supposed to be at right now, idiot!”

“well then who’s the idiot now?”

you think that this is your last straw, throwing your phone onto todoroki’s bed with so much force that it bounces back up like the rage you feel brewing deep inside you to hit the idol all at once. “you know what? you know what todoroki?” you’re sure that in this moment you must look a picture of insanity to him, eyes twitching, face scrunched up in anger but you don’t care— throwing out all your inner thoughts and insecurities onto him. “you’re the laziest, most insensitive, piece of shit asshole i’ve ever met. people out there are counting on you, want to see you, want to be you and here you are lazing about because you must not give a shit about anyone aside from yourself.”

“god,” you continue, throwing your hand up in the air— irked by his silence. “you really don’t care, do you? you’re probably not even in it for your fans, but for the money and the fame and not what it means to be a true idol—!”

“are you done now?” the dual haired male cuts through your speech like ice through a water surface— his eyes frozen over, showing no emotion even if your words might have gotten to him. “you like to act like you’re above me…” he says your name so icily that you flinch as if a shard as nicked your skin. “but really you’re just as bad as me, picking on the idol you work for by projecting your insecurities onto him as if i’m some kind of rag doll. i’m everything you’ve ever wanted to be, everything you’ve dreamed of and failed at achieving. it’s pathetic, embarrassing. you failed at becoming an idol, then becoming a choreographer and now. even a makeup artist.”

“you only care because someone else is doing the shit that you can’t. i’m the pathetic one? try being you.”

each one of his words is like a sting to your beating heart, the venom behind them seeping into your veins slowly and poisoning you from the inside out. you refuse to cry in front of him, show him that everything he’s said about you is true and so you swallow the lump in your throat— biting down on your tongue, pushing it all down. it’s not until after everything is said and done that todoroki realises the harshness of what he’s said— reaching out to grab you and apologise as you turn away from him. hurt.

backing into a corner and away from him, the world goes quiet around todoroki as he tries to find the words he needs to make your pain go away. “save it, shouto. use your energy to hope that someone gets us outta here. so you don’t fail like i did.”

neither of you speak after that.

teeth chattering, you desperately try to sink into the warmth of todoroki’s old promotional clothes— the heating having gone out about half an hour ago. he’d looked it up on the internet just before his phone died, how to keep warm without power and most articles suggested layering up and spreading out blankets along the floors. the clothes, despite consisting of itchy fabrics and random stylised holes, carry a comforting scent despite belonging to a man with a frozen heart, you’re at least grateful for that.

“there’s uh, a little warm spot on this side of the room if you’re still cold,” todoroki calls from his own little sanctuary of warmth, as he puts down his guitar— where you’d practically banished him to.

you scowl, bunching up his many jackets and jumpers around you. “could’a mentioned that earlier.” asshole.

you sidle over to his side of the room, hesitantly letting todoroki guide you to a warm spot in the floor where hot water must’ve been running and sigh in relief— you don’t know how long it’ll last but you’ll take what you can get.

“we should probably huddle together—“

“no.” you cut him off.

“—for warmth.” he lifts his arm to invite you underneath the blankets he has and it’s so so tempting, to huddle up beneath them with him and tuck yourself into the comforting scent of todoroki’s chest but you’re scared it won’t be so warm and he won’t be so comforting if you do. “it said so on the thread we read—“

“fine.”

you curl into his firm side, blanket trapping you in against the idol but you don’t dare to move— face stiff against the muscle of his chest while you try to gather every string of warmth from him. it feels weird to be hugging shouto todoroki like this. the red and white haired idol reaches for his guitar again, slowly as if not to disturb you and hesitantly strums the same chords from earlier— as if he was figuring out a melody.

“i didn’t know that you played,” you whisper against the melody, breaking the pin drop silence in the sub zero air. todoroki scribbles something down on a napkin and you gasp. “or wrote.”

he looks down at you, eyes shimmering in the flickering candle light and there’s somewhat of a smile on his face. “there’s a lot you don’t know about me,”

“oh yeah?” you push, sitting up. “like what?”

todoroki pretends to think, brushing his dual tone hair out of his winter eyes before smirking at you mischievously. “i help to write some of the songs bakugou produces, bleaching my hair is never a probably because it’s naturally white, i like cold soba but hate when kirishima cooks it because it’s too bland,” he starts listing those, watching you carefully for a reaction— remembering the facts that make your face twist. “i like living at the dorms because i’m not close with my parents and hardly see my siblings, i get travel sick. my blood type is O, my favourite season is winter, my favourite animal is a snow leopard and i like the colour blue.” he finishes gently, fingers resting against his guitar strings.

“the last ones, you can read those on fan websites, everyone knows those,” you try to act nonchalant as if this isn’t the most todoroki has opened up to you without freezing you out after and he chuckles at your bluntness— tapping his nose.

“but aren’t they more sincere when they’re coming from me?” shouto asks, you can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not— you can’t decipher him at all, it’s like walking through a snowstorm with no clue which way you’re going. his mouth opens and closes as he strums idly, debating on the right words to say without creating a catalyst between you again. “i wanted to apologise,” he begins in a low voice, not looking at you, winter eyes locked away. “for what i said to you earlier, it was harsh and uncalled for. especially with what hawks told me. i know saying sorry doesn’t make it right but i truly mean it.”

your icy heart shakes in your chest, rattling against your ribcage— todoroki, apologising. it melts the outer shell of your heart, warms you up just a touch and you feel the words pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them. “i’m sorry too. you were a little harsh, but right about most things. i’ve failed at most things more than i succeeded and being stuck in one place made me take it out on you,” you take a deep breath and squeeze his arm. “and for that i’m sorry, for putting my disappointments onto you.”

“don’t be disappointed in yourself, you’re not an idol but you’re still in the industry— that in itself is hard enough,” todoroki whispers, squeezing you back in a weird expression of forgiveness.

a melody fills the air, tangled with his perfect soft voice as it dances perfectly with the chords from his guitar— your body sinks into his, relaxing with every sweet note escaping from todoroki’s perfect lips, taking you away from the raging storm outside, bringing you to somewhere warmer, safer.

“what’s your song about?”

“my fans,” todoroki says instantly, continuing to strum his fingers against the strings on his guitar. “my thankfulness towards them. i know that i lack sometimes, that i seem lazy and cold but i do love them. i didn’t want to be an idol, i joined hawks’ company to be a singer and ended up a part of a team.” the song climaxes as your gazes lock, not like any times before where they were full of animosity. this time, they’re tender, gentle. “i can’t let them down, not when they’ve helped me grow so much.”

you sit up, facing the opposite of todoroki as you struggle with your words— realising he’s completely different to the man you hated in your head. “i misjudged you, you’re so good to your fans and team. i’m sure that they love you.”

he only shakes his head fondly, still continuing to fill the space between you with his gentle spoken and meaningful lyrics— pulling you into him like an invisible force of gravity, grabbing you by the shoulders in a warm embrace against the cold frosty weather outside. your skin tingles, hot to the touch as your eyes mirror todoroki’s hooded ones, drawn in by each of his angelic notes while he shows off his vocalist skills. he serenades you, wraps you in all that is him, truly him and before you know it— you’re blindly leaning into the calm storm of shouto todoroki, lips falling against his as the strumming slows until it stops, guitar cast to side as you kiss for the first time.

it’s barely there at first, all most non-existent as your lips glide along todoroki’s— they’re softer than you anticipated, glossed and balmy as they move with your own in delicate lip lock. he’s heated, warmer too as his hands let go of the guitar to cup the curve of your face, tilt it upwards so he can reach deeper into your soul and pour his passion you thought he didn’t have into you. on the contrary, his hands are rough and not perfect like you’d thought, not like the rest of him— his fingertips digging into your cheeks are rough from playing guitar, calloused from what seems like years of practice as he drags you by the waist into his lap to kiss you more, tease you more.

your noses are pressed together, bumping every time you separate for air— chests getting ragged the more your lips touch and tongues slide over their chapped surfaces, your body flames with something new. how does he make you feel like this? your burning hatred simmering on its stove into something sweeter, loving and lustful as todoroki’s tongue is heavy in your mouth but in the nice kind of way, drooling against your own tongue as the kiss becomes more passionate, becomes hungrier like there’s a ravenousness you both have for one another, to be closer and show your true feelings.

“w-what...what are we doing?” you sigh breathlessly, body blossoming and unwinding under shouto’s touch that sears straight through the layers of his clothes that you wear— fingerprints burning your skin at your waist. a blush fans across todoroki’s nose and cheeks, pink and a few shades lighter than his hair as he licks into your mouth with wanton, tugging you this way and that as if your bodies could get any closer. they can’t, it’s impossible but he doesn’t care— angling your head upwards so he can lick at the honey strands of saliva hanging from the roof of your mouth to sedate himself, your sweetness trickling down against his tongue— making his eyes cross and his whole body shake just from kissing you. from kissing you. “s-shouto! what are we—?”

you gasp as he nips your bottom lip, slowly pulling the flesh away from you before pushing you onto your back— following you down and swallowing your nerves whole when your lips meet again, sticky from the spit you’ve swapped, glazed in your honey. “apologising,” he says finally, his own breathing ragged because of you. you have this effect on him. “let me show you how well and truly sorry i am.”

your mind is as frenzied as the snow drowning the city outside when your back hits the blanketed floor, the slopes of todoroki’s face above you are illuminated by warm candle light— burning your insides, leaving you content, leaving you weightless while he toys with the hem of your clothes— stormy eyes searching your own face for consent. you can’t even speak, thoughts racing through your mind, questioning everything. is this truly how he felt about you while you forced your resentment towards him? hated him while he searched for a hand through the blizzard? shouto waits for your word although your body says yes, slipping his hands under your clothes to rub at the flesh of your tummy and sending tingles across the skin.

“okay,” you nod and shouto smiles, so beautifully like a beacon of light amidst the dark stormy sky— you nod again and he tucks his red and white mop of hair against your neck, lips ascending on it thoughtfully, without leaving marks since both of you could get into trouble with the company— but they’re wet on your skin, shivers jumping down the junctions of your spine while shouto’s tongue, hot on your icy flesh licks from your collar bones up to your jugular and ends the shimmering trail of where your neck meets your chin.

how can you imagine what the cold outside feels like when the idol’s large body presses feverishly into yours? you feel his burning desire for him even through the layers of clothes you have on, you let his large palms knead your flesh and push at the expensive fabrics just to feel you more and more. goosebumps rising across your skin at the exposure to cold are are quickly erased by todoroki’s warmth and wherever he touches you, moving down to press kisses along your stomach the more he reveals to the world, helping you sit up to tug off the countless shirts and hoodies you wear once they reach your neck. your chest is his next target, wet tongue dragged from the cliffs of your collar bones to your nipples at attention, calling to him. “you’re so pretty,” he rasps, head laying on your chest, hair tickling your now naked skin and fingertips running up and down your sides. “you’ve always been so pretty, even when you were mad at me, even more so when you were smiling.”

you shudder under his breath that cascades over your skin. “i wonder how you’ll look,” todoroki says, lids growing heavy just by watching you and waiting for your reactions. “when i touch you the way you want, when you give into your deepest desires,” his fingers crawl across your chest to pinch at your nipples, smiling against you when you gasp and choke on air. “when you give in to me,” there’s a husky echo to his voice that you feel vibrate and shoot to your core— distracting you only momentarily from the feeling of his lips encapsulating your right nipple, rolling the hardened bud between rows of perfect teeth. he grunts, large hands spanning out against your stomach when you arch your back into his mouth, pushing you back down onto your makeshift sea of blankets. your face twists in a mix of pleasure and agony— forcing you to lay in place and take what he gives. “patience love, let me take my time with you. we have a lot to make up for,”

“shou—“ you grumble, body flashing with heat that wards off the snowy cold, face even hotter when the dual haired idol pulls away from your saliva slicked chest with wet lips and a haze in your eyes. “please shouto, please—!” you don’t even know what it is that you’re asking for, perhaps begging for his forgiveness so that he’ll touch you, give you more than just his tongue against your ribcage when you arch your back or his lips on your sternum. you need his touch where the fire is brightest, where your need for him is strongest. “shouto!”

“my name on your lips,” he coos quietly, mouth rolling over your unattended nipple while his hand toys with the abandoned one. “do you have any idea what it does to me?” todoroki lays between your parted thighs, pushing his obvious erection right up against the meat of them, causing a whimper to tear in your throat. you’re hit with the realisation that you never really say his name, only a combination of foul words and nicknames when you address him. “i wonder what you’ll sound like when i tend to you between these thighs, make you feel good down there.”

your entire body jolts at his words, thighs locking at the base of his spine, trapping his body against you and todoroki smirks with red cheeks and misted eyes— liking the effect he has on you. “i-if you get to touch me down there, t-then i get to do the same for you,” you’re adamant in what you say, hips lifting to bump against his swelling cock until he falters above you. “right?”

“how could i say no to that?” todoroki grins and you miss his crackle of heat against your body as he pulls back to yank off his shirt, hair flying out of place and milky skin painted with the flavours of a rose once his head pops through. both of your pants go next, todoroki taking his time as he pulls them off of you leg by leg, kissing up from your ankles to your thighs before allowing you to throw his off too. your underwear goes on the same breath.

and then there you are, naked and chest to chest— looking at each other dazed with your ice hearts banging against the ribs in your chest like the shutters against the windows because of the wind. yet the world seems quiet, completely stilled as your hands hesitantly cup the idol’s face to bush hair out of his blue-grey eyes, your frozen heart melting when he leans into your palm.

“why so quiet?” he asks you, voice barely above a whisper. “nervous?”

“no.” you say, thumb brushing his cheek.

his eyes flutter shut. “then what?”

“you’re just so beautiful…”

lips are on yours before you can take a second breath, he’s overwhelming your senses yet again— filling your void like the city is filled with snow while his hands dart between your trembling soft thighs, pinching them and teasing them apart until he’s pressed up right against your sex, already so wet and sticky for him. he growls lowly, rough padded finger swirling around your entrance, threading your slick between them and he laughs lightly at just how turned on you are—before he’s even touched you.

“s-shouto!”

“shhh, pretty one. wait a second, promise I’ll make you feel good, okay?” he says pushing his lips onto a mocking pout as your eyes brim with liquid silver— tears gathering in your lashes while your hands search for something to ground yourself, latching onto shouto’s bicep as he eases a single finger past your entrance, curling against your slippery inner walls.

crescent moons break against snowy skin, leaving red tracks in place while pushing another finger alongside the first, marvelling at the hot, manuka honey mess growing between your plush thighs— your hole is resisting around shouto’s thick digits, the blunt tips pressing against the sensitive spots along your insides causing squelching sounds to echo along the hotel walls, as marvellous and sinful as any one of todoroki’s songs. the way you yowl so desperately the more he explores you, the more eager todoroki is to please you— realising with the growing weight of lust lodging itself into his chest, that he would do anything for you. he would clear skies of their thunder clouds, brush away a hurricane for you until you could breach the clouds and see the stars— the ones you could just barely touch with your own two hands.

“there you go sweetheart, take it, just like that,” your cute little sex sucks his fingers in so well, dripping thick waves of your sweet nectar down them, gathering in his palm before he thrusts them, sendin you travelling up the blankets gathered on the floor— your eyes rolling and thighs squeezing around his wrist, locking him between them so he can keep bringing you this brand new, blinding pleasure that makes your tummy bubble.

you’re like a snowflake, melting underneath todoroki as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slick, tight little hole— your chest rises and falls with the flick of a candle, ropes of saliva caught on the roof of your mouth, tongue bursting over the seams of your lips as he prepares you for his taking, like a ripening fruit so fresh and juicy all for him. you’re so cute beneath him, a sweet little mess for him to clean up and ruin all over again— he can’t help it, barely fighting the urge to kiss you once again and swallow the airy moans that slip out of you with every twist of his fingers and brush of their tips against your pleasure spots. if you are the snow then todoroki is the blistering sun, sending his sunlight through your bloodstream, hot with the pure ecstasy— bringing you closer and closer, building it high in slow stacks until your limbs are trembling underneath the weight.

in the mess of limbs and locked lips you manage to slip your hand between your heated bodies, grinning against shouto’s mouth when his cock jumps at your simple touch— gasping his cock you get a feel for the weight of him, he makes up for length where he lacks thickness, clean as they come and incredibly hard while his tip drools into your soft palm, milky white staining your skin as you begin to jerk todoroki off. he hisses into the wet cavern of your mouth, chest bristling contently against your own, he likes what you do to him, how the softness of your hand sneds sparks of dopamine across his brain—causes his hips to jut forward ever so softly, smearing more of his pre against your skin. the pair of you shudder, playing with one another to the melody of your sweet whines and whimpers and your eyes drop to where you’re joined, hands glistening with evidence of your arousals and drool pools on the palette of your tongue just admiring todoroki’s crystal cut body and pink flushed face, his lips as he pulls away from you— kiss swollen and cherry licorice red.

he’s the one melting now, weak and like putty in your hands as you first his cock, his tip a shade of red as bright as his hair…but even still, todoroki doesn’t let up— continuing to pump his fingers against your velvet lined walls and bearing them down on the pleasure spot that increases the shake in your doughy thighs. todoroki’s cock leaks so much your hands slip and slide over him, creating the perfect fleshlight for him to fuck the more his hips buck forward into your closed hand. “f-fuck, sweetheart,” his breath stutters, caught in the ridges of his throat when you begin to thumb at his tip, movement guided by the hick globs of precum that bead there. you don't’ dare to stop pleasuring the idol, feeling pride swell in your chest to see a man of his caliber fall down a few pegs, the way he feels att the mercy of your talented hands.

“you like that shou?” you inquire, panting between your slurred words as wet sounds cut through the blizzard, your bodies grinding against one another— your fingers playing with one another and you’re sure the mess of sheets and blankets and clothes below are stained with the mixes of your arousals and teasers of your release and your hand slips further down between you both to grip at shouto’s balls, heavy with a load of cum and all for you. he flicks his wrist, harder, faster in return as you mutually bring each other one step closer to release—barely clinging onto the edge of your peaks.

cheeks practically glowing a shade of rose in the dark, todoroki drops his head to your neck— the strokes of his fingers against your pleasure spot becoming lazy but even more frequent, desperate to make you as close as he is. “‘m gonna cum f’you,” todoroki admits through the growls that reverberate between you both, lewdly fucking your fist as if itt was your tight sex. ”gonna fuckin’ cum, don’t stop okay? cum for me, cum with me,” he grows more and more demanding, but his body and voice tremble with neediness.

“cum shou, with me. please!” you beg, finding yourself in the exact same sate, practically falling apart on his fingers, the pleasure that had been building within you toppling over at the same time as todoroki falls off the edge into an earth shattering high. neither of you stop, let up as your releases splash out and paint one another, his cock twitching in your grip and staining your knuckles white with his hot seed. he mewls into your neck and you cry into the frosty air, orgasm trickling down shouto’s thick fingers and pooling between your fleshy asscheeks, leaving you both struggling and gasping for air.

it doesn't take long for todoroki to be at your neck again, gently nipping at the flesh while you come to. “‘m going to give you my cock now, okay sweetheart? you’ll be able to take it, right?” he questions you, peppering smooches along your neckline, wet and sloppy as he goes.

“uhuh,i-i’m ready,” you slur over the saliva in your mouth, mind pleasantly fuzzy as todoroki manhandles you into the position to take his cock just the way he wants, keeping you on your back, he uses a knee to spread you open again by the meat of your thighs— taking ahold of his dripping dick before he slaps it against your soaked hole a few times, moaning deep at the salacious, sticky sounds your sexes make as he grinds against you, already easing his bulbous tip past your entrance. he can’t help but chuckle huskily att the way your hole sucks him in so good, clenching around him as if to trap him inside— he fucks you with just the tip at first, watching you writhe and raise your hips as if asking for more. “c’mon, don’t tease!”

“patience baby, just like i told you before,” todoroki hums in amusement, caging you in as he thrusts all the way in, reaching the hilt and bottoming out inside of you. while the idol enjoys finally having his cock wrapped up in the warmth of your sloppy and sensitive insides— he finds the strength within himself to pull out of your adorably selfish hole to start a a deep and sensual pace, dragging his seed bleeding ip along your insides, setting a steady stream of thrusts that hit so deep you feel him in your guts. the force of his hips rolling into yours pulls pathetic bleats from between your wet and kiss swollen lips, your hands finding purchase on the hairs that sit on the nape of todoroki’s neck while you let him overrule your body, taking it over— mind, body and soul.

how could you have ever hated him so passionately, when he looks down at you like you’re a safe space in a storm? looks down at you with cool toned eyes that speak volumes of admiration. there are so many feelings in todoroki’s eyes and you uncover more with each rut of his hips into yours, creamy and lewd, the length of him leaving you completely filled as he moulds your insides into his shape. “y-you’re so good,” you tell him earnestly, struggling to catch your breath over his intensity and weakly lift your hips to match his rhythm, clenching around every ridge and vein of todoroki’s lengthy girth as it pushes and pulls at your spongy insides and bumps against pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had. “f-fuck you feel s’good, shouto!”

smiling down at you dopily, heart vulnerable and on his sleeve, shouto grips at your hips— working himself deeper inside your fluttering hole and stretching you out all for him. he wants you to forget any pain he’s caused you, erase anything horrible he’d ever said to you that replays in your mind because in reality, shouto todoroki adores you and every ounce of drive that he has and your praise makes him want to feel worthy of it, makes him want you to see the stars through the murky grey skies. there’s this same sense of adoration written behind his touches as todoroki guides your hips to move along with his, both of you moving in sync, bodies harmonising like a beautifully written song while he splits you open on his cock, having you ooze nectar down his shaft as it drips down to his heavy balls and ruins he clothes and sheets and blankets beneath you both. he fucks you hard just to show you how he really feels, what he didn’t get to say while you were both too busy hating each other to see the truth. you want his good, his bad, his scared and his safe all at once, and shouto is determined to give it to you, balls deep inside your creamy sex.

“sweetheart, y-you’re such a pretty little thing for me, making such a mess on my cock and a mess of my heart. aren’t i a lucky man?” the idol coos to you endearingly, hiking your leg over his broad set shoulders so he can press his body hotly against yours until you’re chest to chest and there’s barely any space between you, compressing the blizzard of emotions beginning to rage between you both. greed and desire spread like frost on a window pane along your skin as it meets in rhythmic claps, balls hitting the curve of your fleshy ass. “to have you like this, god i’m so fucking lucky,” shouto’s voice is tight in his throat as he takes you over and over again, your fingers losing their grip in his split dyed hair and your core locking around his dick at his praise, offering the idol no escape from being inside you. liquid arousal, clear and and sweat rolls in waves down your thighs, sticking to his pelvis while you choke his girth and pull more precum from the slit on his tip.

it smears along your insides, making everything honeyed and gooey every time todoroki jackhammers against that spongy spot deep inside you. “i’m the lucky one..” you babble mindlessly, arousal heightening with the temperatures of your bodies as they work with one another to reach cloud nine— hot enough to melt an iceberg. “get to see your eyes, your darlin’ eyes as you fuck me so good,” you have no idea what you’resaying, high off of the ecstasy that exudes from your pores, all because of him.

embarrassed, flustered and with new found vigor, todoroki swoops down to capture your lips an iron hot kiss— tasting the sweat gathered on your cupids bow and searching the mess beneath you both for your hand that had once been lost in his hair. your fingers slot together perfectly, just like he does between your trembling and achy thighs, and todoroki gives your hand a squeeze— lovingly, softly. “shut up,” he mumbles against your bruised and cherry bitten li-ps, fighting a grin when your strawberry tongue rolls against his own, memorising the taste of his mouth. “let me make you feel good, let me apologise.” he wants to make you cum, see the life pulse in your eyes while he ruins you on his cock for all the wrongs he’s ever committed against you.

there’s a possible blizzard outside but shouto todoroki’s never felt safer than he has, a tangled mess with you— fucking you raw, making love to you and soiling your coreunttil your screams of his names echo into the hotel room. you’re so beautiful under the candle light, lips parted and lashes against your cheeks and if he could he would give up everything, even being an idol to see you like this again. so he pushes his creamy dick into you deeper, deeper, as far as it’ll go until your back arches off of the floor and you’re keening into his sun-like touch as if you’re craving his warmth. something akin to love, closer to fondness bleeds into the air, intertwined intricately with unadulterated emotion as todoroki grinds his cock into you, angling it into that special place inside of your sex that makes your brain ttingle with serotonin and dopamine and everything in between while your toes curl and your fingers clench.

incoherent praises are whispered into the bruises on your collarbones that you both know todoroki isn’t allowed to leave, but neither of you can find it in you to care— walking the fine line between sanity and losing your mind as the knots in your stomach begin to unwind and loosen themselves. “‘m sorry,” he mumbles, not knowing if it's for the deep blues and purples blossoming under your skin or if it’s for how he treated you in the past, slamming his cock into your tight hole over and over again as you gush and leak about the place. “‘m sorry, i-i’m—”

“hush,” you cup todoroki’s face, tears of lust clumped in your lashes again and he feels the snow storm wrapped around his heart calming, both of you so deep in your own cloud of vulnerability to notice the weather taming itself outside. “i-it’s okay, you’ve made it up t’me. l-let it…let it go now,” shouto can only nod weakly, fighting back the whine of relief bubbling up on his lips. that’s all he needs to hear before he’s chasing both of your releases, running through the storm of emotions for them as his tip nudges against your pleasure spot over and over, the pace of his hips becoming inconistent and skittish, moans rising in octave with every step you take closer to release.

“cum for me sweetheart, let go with me,” shouto whispers, squeezing your hand as your dam finally breaks and your release floods from your body. the world of white flashes behind your eyes, arousal coursing through your veins as you cry todoroki’s name with all your might, sobbing through your aftershocks as you succumb to the twitching and the pleasure— painting his tummy with your cum. todoroki follows suit, quickly pulling out of your spasming hole and collapsing against you, rutting his cock into the soft flesh of your tummy, curse words a plenty spilling from his hot mouth— licked into your neck by his tongue before hot stripes of his seed land on your sweaty skin one after the other, potent and milky and glueing you both together before exhaustion settles into your bones and his body gives out above yours completely— shouto managing to roll to the side before he squashes you.

your first instinct is to giggle, loud and carefree when both you come down— your fingers drawing little shapes and patterns into shouto’s freckled shoulder. “that was nice,” you say with a tiny smile, meeting his content eyes. “real nice. where’d you learn to do all that?”

“i’m an idol, sweetheart, not a nun. just because we have no dating policies doesn’t mean we can’t get around,” todoroki explains to you and plucks your hand from his shoulder, interlacing your fingers lazily. “but i’m sure hawks wouldn’t mind making an exception for his favourite employees.”

“oh stop! he’ll have to with the bruises you left on me!” you laugh again but let the peppermint haired idol pull away from you with a kiss so he can clean you up, heading to the bathroom in search of a warm cloth and soap safe for sensitive skin. he washes you up quickly but carefully, taking care of your tender spots and kissing each mark he’s made ( eventually letting you do the same ) before he’s got you wrapped up in his arms again— naked amongst the sheets you’d laid on the floor.

there’s a question on the tip of your tongue and one lodged in todoroki’s throat but neither of you have time to ask if for muffled voices echo on the other side of the door— the lights of the hotel room flickering back on at the wrong time.

“bakugou! calm down!”

“don’t tell him to calm down, midoriya, you’ll only make it worse!”

“like you’re any better denki!”

“can it, sero.”

“hey that’s not very nice you guys—“

“will all of you numbskulls shut the fuck up?” bakugou interjects the group’s bickering, tapping a keycard against todoroki’s hotel room door before he kicks it open without stopping to look at the scene laid out before him. “all of you dipshits are fuckin’ useless, ya hear? ‘n you can tell that to your shitty manager hawks too—“

kirishima notices first, face turning as red as his hair before the other boys follow his gaze and react in the same way. “uh...bakugou?”

“what? shitty hair?” the blonde snaps back, following kirishima’s finger that points to a very naked todoroki and a very very naked ( also bruised ) you. “holy fuck—“

todoroki’s cheeks redden as he throws a blanket over your head to protect your last shred of decency— glaring at the other members in his idol to turn their heads away out of respect, but it’s far too late for any of that now. “don’t you dare tell hawks.” he mumbles bashfully.

“i’ll make sure you get the ugly makeup concepts for an entire month!” you squeak.

katsuki’s face looks like an awful cross between throwing up and committing homicide but instead pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales deeply.

“put some fuckin’ clothes on, i didn’t get these idiots and i driven out here through the last of the snow to see your dick hangin’ our half ‘n half,” he growls, still grossed out. “there’s an hour left till showtime s’let’s get goin’! and charge your fuckin’ phones next time. ever heard of a portable charger?”

you take the scolding from bakugou and leap up to get dressed as soon as he and the other boys are gone, todoroki makes you a promise to talk about what you two are and what you mean to each other after the jingle ball performance but yourself and most of the fierce wings staff ( including hawks himself ) seem to have a pretty good idea already, since you turn up to the venue dressed in shouto’s closed— the red and white haired idol practically latched onto your side, a scary and unusual sight for all parties involved.

however everyone’s suspicions are completely confirmed when todoroki sneaks a good luck kiss from you, just before XHEROEZ head on stage to blow New York City away.

in the end, the snow manages to calm down enough for everyone to perform— the fans gathered inside madison square garden for the night of their lives. todoroki is rushed into hair and makeup, but his eyes don’t leave you the entire time— a new sense of pride and adoration for you running through his veins before the members of XHEROEZ stumble onto the stage and give the world their all.

and for the first time, you don’t feel an ounce of regret— you don’t feel weighted down by the burden you put on yourself, reminded that you are not a failure even if you didn’t quite make it to the top.

you made it here, you’re by his side— supporting those who reached your dream from the sidelines and you realise that’s enough.

todoroki dedicates the last song of the XHEROEZ set to someone special, someone with your name that he doesn’t expose to the crowd but you can tell it’s for you by the way his mop of red and white hair tilts back towards the stage and his cool blue eye drops into a lazy wink— making your heart race.

not all dreams come true and not all attempts to make them do so are failures. you decide you’ll help todoroki touch the stars and have a taste for the milky way — carrying out his dream together, hand in hand.

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