#angst plot

[chloesimaginationthings]

Gregory knows he looks LIKE HIM in FNAF..

[callmeizukunotdeku]

one of my favorite brands of Jason and Tim angst is when Jason realizes that Bruce had been treating Tim like his replacement, not as Robin, but as Jason

Robin's a mantel, a mask that gets passed down from one brother to the next

Jason is a person. full stop.

just,,, something about making Jason's thinking shift from "Bruce replaced me by getting another son" to "Bruce found a kid that looks like me and he acts like the kid is me"

and Jason trying to bring this up with Tim, who knows better and expects worse just replying "at least, now that you're back, he's stopped calling me by your name"

and Jason is like "no, no, you should be asking so much more from him; this is Batman for god's sake"

"yeah" Tim agrees "I asked him to keep me around even though he doesn't need me any more. he seemed to be fine with the idea"

"need you? tim that's a fully grown adult he doesn't need you to do anything for him"

and Tim just gives him a you haven't seen the half of it look and Jason remembers that technically he's right

tim didn't need to do anything, he needed to be someone. and now that Jason is back, he doesn't need to be anyone anymore

but how much of himself did he lose trying to become someone else?

[kthologue]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

synopsis. two weeks have slipped by since you disappeared from the emperor’s life. the palace whispers of his unraveling, but no one dares to name the madness consuming him.

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips

notes. not proofread once again, but at least all 8k words are finally done. until the epilogue!

series masterlist | chapter 2/2

It has been two weeks since your disappearance. 

Nobody knows where you’ve gone to. Or why. 

Synchronously, the palace had fallen into a hush. The kind that stretched beyond walls and courtyards, embedding itself in the bones of the imperial court. Servants whispered behind their sleeves. Nobles watched the throne with cautious eyes. The emperor, Japan’s strongest man, was unraveling. And nobody knew why.

The stench of alcohol clung to Gojo Satoru. Expensive sake pooled in ceramic cups, the scent sharp and sickly, mixing with the musk of sweat and silk. The chamber was a mess, toppled dishes, shattered glass, the remnants of a feast he hadn’t touched. A single candle flickered on the lacquered table, its wax melting into a slow, steady pool. The shadows cast by the flame twisted along the walls, stretching long and jagged, like ghosts reaching for him.

Gojo slumped against his seat, his white hair, usually snowy white, now fell in wild, overgrown tufts, obscuring his vision in uneven strands. His ceremonial robes, woven in silk and embroidered with the insignia of the Gojo Clan, hung loose around his frame. His fingers twitched over the rim of an empty goblet, a silent tremor betraying the rage simmering beneath his skin.

His breath was slow, methodical. 

Himiko entered without announcement, the sound of her embroidered slippers tapping against the floor. Her robes shimmered under the candlelight, crimson and gold, a deliberate echo of the imperial crest. She was the picture of regality: poised, calculating, her scent perfumed with jasmine.

“You’ve been drinking again,” she observed, her voice smooth yet edged with unspoken frustration.

Gojo didn’t bother lifting his head. Instead, he chuckled, the sound devoid of mirth. He tipped his goblet back, only to find it empty. A scowl twisted his lips as he tossed it aside. The metal clattered against the floor, rolling to a stop against shattered glass.

“Would you like a prize for your deduction?” His voice was hoarse, his throat burned raw from drink.

She ignored his bitterness and stepped closer, fingers trailing along the lacquered table, grazing over his discarded robes. The action was slow, deliberate.

“Tell me, Satoru…” she murmured, her voice as soft as silk, as sharp as a blade. “Why do you waste yourself like this?”

His fingers curled into a fist.

Himiko’s eyes flickered, catching the movement. She stepped closer, her presence heavy in the candlelit chamber. “You were born to rule,” she continued, her words laced with honey and venom alike. “And yet, you let yourself fall into ruin over a woman who no longer wants you. A personal servant, much less.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“She has severed all ties with you,” Himiko pressed, her tone almost pitying. “After your stunt in the ceremonial hall she will never bat an eyelash at you again. And now, her clan whispers of rebellion in the capital. The elders demand retribution.”

Gojo’s breath was slow, methodical.

“The Gojo and Zenin clans must unite,” Himiko continued, watching him carefully. “For the first time in history, we will restore order. We will fulfill your destiny.”

She leaned in, her touch featherlight as her fingers trailed down his chest, the brush of her nails just barely felt through his robes.

“And,” she whispered, voice dipping lower, “you will have me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The candle’s flame flickered, the shadows shifting along the walls.

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath. His head tilted back against the chair, his gaze hooded, unreadable. The weight of something unseen pressed against him, pushing him deeper into his own destruction.

Finally, he spoke.

“Fine.”

A victorious smile curled on Himiko’s lips.

But then, the doors burst open.

The impact sent a gust of air through the chamber, causing the candle to flicker wildly.

A new presence entered, stepping through the threshold like ink spilling across the pristine floors. Dark robes trailed behind him, blending into the shadows. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes gleamed with something knowing.

“Your Majesty,” Geto drawled, his voice smooth, stepping forward. “You called.”

Gojo frowned, his gaze shifting. “Suguru.”

Geto gave a short, practiced bow, the movement fluid. 

The Emperor stares at him, “You are my most trusted ally.”

“A honor that I hold dear, yes.” Suguru’s head is still ducked, waiting for permission to be lifted.

A strange tension filled the air. The kind that was razor-thin, ready to snap.

Gojo’s fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, the sound slow, calculated. Then, his foot lifted, pressing beneath Suguru’s chin, forcing his head up until their gazes met.

A pair of icy cerulean orbs bore into plum ones.

“You would never do anything to betray my trust, no?”

The room turned frigid.

Suguru’s entire body tensed, though his face remained still. The weight of those words pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. The deadly tone, Gojo’s battle tone, was one Suguru had only ever heard on the battlefield, when his friend was overtaken with bloodlust.

He felt his blood go cold.

“No, of course not.” His head remained low, eyes staring at the spilled wine pooling along the floor, the blood-red liquid almost taunting him. A warning.

“Then tell me that the rumors are false, dear friend.”

Suguru’s eyes flickered.

Gojo pressed harder with his foot. “Tell me that you did not let my [Name] leave.” His voice trembled, cold and sharp. “Tell me that you did not send her a carriage.”

Silence.

“Tell me that you did not leave her in the hands of another man after I had worked so hard to bring her back.”

Suguru said nothing.

And that was the confirmation Gojo needed.

His hands clenched. His chest heaved.

And then,

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

The chamber shook as Gojo kicked Suguru back, sending him crashing into a wooden table. Artifacts shattered, glass shards scattering across the floor.

Himiko shrieked at the violent display.

Suguru groaned, coughing as the pain tore through his ribs. He barely flinched at the glass buried in his side. Instead, he tilted his head, wiping the blood from his lip.

“She made her choice.” His voice was eerily calm.

Gojo froze.

His breath hitched, stomach twisting

“You don’t know that.” His voice was hoarse, cracking beneath the weight of his own grief. The emperor grabbed a dagger, well hidden in his garments and held it in Suguru’s direction.

Himiko scoffed.

“Why does it matter?” she demanded, stepping between them, fury flashing in her gaze. “She is nothing now! She abandoned you. She left you for another man–”

“Shut your mouth,” Gojo snapped.

Himiko stiffened, stunned by the venom in his voice.

“You chose me!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “You made your decision.”

“Because I had no choice!” His roar was thunderous, shaking the very foundation of the palace. His breath was ragged, vision tunneled. “But if I did,” He swallowed hard, the taste of regret thick in his throat.

His voice wavered, quieter now.

“If I did… it would have never been you.”

Silence.

Suguru exhaled, tilting his head. “I told you,” he murmured, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. “You should have let her go when she asked.”

But Gojo Satoru, Emperor of Japan, the strongest man alive, had never known how to let go.

“If you want to live, you will follow my next command carefully.”

The village was quiet in the way only forgotten places could be, tucked away between rolling green fields and a quiet forest.

Unlike the grand palaces and bustling cities, this place moved at its own pace, undisturbed by the heavy weight of politics and war. Here, the air smelled of damn earth and fresh rice paddies, of firewood burning in stone hearths, of crisp morning dew that clung to thatched roofs, mingling with the distant sound of laughter from children playing. The dirt paths were lined with modest homes, their roofs sagging under years of wear. 

It had been two weeks since your disappearance. Two weeks of living as someone else.

Gone were the weight of expectations heavy upon your shoulders. Your hands, once unblemished and soft, now bored faint callouses from work you were never meant to do. And you didn’t mind.

“[Name].”

A familiar voice, steady and unmistakable cut through the quiet morning. You turned, catching sight of Nanami standing near the well, sleeves rolled to his forearms. A basket of vegetables hung from his grasp, the crisp greens contrasting against his neutral-toned kimono. His expression, as always, was measured.

A quiet sigh left your lips, “You’re back early.”

Nanami stepped forward, his glaze flickering down to your hands, observing the red marks on your palms from the rough mortar and pestle. He frowned.

“You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’ll only injure yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced. But instead of arguing, Nanami placed the basket down and gestured for you to follow him back towards the small house you shared. The villagers were already accustomed to seeing the two of you together, and while they didn’t openly question your presence, there was an unspoken distance between you and them.

As you walked beside him, you caught glimpses of their gazes, wary, guarded.

You  adjusted the strap of your bag, “They won’t even look at me in the eye,” you muttered as the other villagers brushed past you without a second thought. “Why?”

Nanami didn’t look at you immediately, instead adjusting his grip on the basket. “They don’t know who you are.”

“That’s exactly why they don’t trust me.” You exhaled sharply. “I don’t blame them.”

A pause.

Then, Nanami glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s not just that.”

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

His steps slowed as the two of you reached the wooden house, a modest structure, small but well-kept. He set the basket down on the porch, and after a beat of silence, he gestured to you.

“Look at yourself.”

You frowned but obeyed, glancing down at your clothes. “And what of it?” You eyes trail down to the garments. The robes you worn, though simple, were still of a higher quality than the villagers. The stitching, the cut, the deep indigo dye that refused to fade even after days of wear. The silk made you stick out like a sore thumb, but surely it was not envy that caused the entire village avoid you like the plague. These fabrics were a gift from your former mentor Yaga, after all. You couldn’t simply dispose of them.

“The embroidery on your robes, the color… no one other than those of the Imperial Royal Family may be adorned in it.” He exhaled, voice lowering. “It all says one thing: you belong to the emperor.”

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed.

Nanami studied your reaction before exhaling, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It was always him,” he murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“He never let you out of his grasp.” His voice was quiet but weighted. “Even now, when you’re here… Gojo still lingers.”

The name alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your robes, suddenly feeling suffocated by it. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, from the golden cage he had kept you in. And yet, here you were.

Still marked by him.

“Well then I need to get myself new clothes,” your hands fidgeting with the rich fibers of your clothing.

“No need,” Nanami pauses his ministrations to look at you. “I’ve already talked to the local seamstress and requested a much more appropriate wardrobe for you.”

For the first time in weeks, you feel a smile form on your face, “Just what would I do without you, Nanami?”

“I wonder the same thing,” he mutters, but you can hear the jest in his voice. He turns away to hide the small smile on his lips.

“Oh, you!” You point straight at the curve of his lips, disregarding the dirt on your hands. He tries to wave them away. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you are an eunuch you would make a damn good husband.”

“That’s… highly inappropriate for you to say,” a flush of pink makes its way to his face.

“Loosen up,” you shrug. “We’re not in the palace anymore.”

“There could be listening ears.”

“Here?” You scoff. “No way. They’ll never find us.”

A gust of wind passed through, rustling the trees. The scent of rain hung in the air, thick and heavy.

You followed him onto the porch, sinking down onto the wooden steps. A comfortable silence stretched between you both.

Nanami turned his head slightly. “Did you ever love him?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. But the answer…

Your hands tightened in your lap. Your chest ached.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I did.”

Nanami hummed, as if he already knew.

You bit your lip, gaze distant. “And that’s what makes it so hard.”

Nanami nodded, his usual sharp demeanor softening. “Love is never simple.”

You turned your head, looking at him with something close to curiosity. “Have you ever been in love, Nanami?”

For the first time that morning, you saw the corner of his lips twitch upward in something resembling amusement.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

You raised a brow. “What would you call it, then?”

Nanami exhaled, resting his elbows on his knees. “An unfortunate attachment.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. The sound was warm, familiar, a reminder of a life before everything unraveled.

The tension in your chest eased, just slightly.

The wind blew again, carrying with it the distant laughter of children, the sound of a woman calling her husband home, the rustling of bamboo trees swaying in the breeze.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that this could last.

That this small, quiet life could be yours.

The village was peaceful that evening.

The last remnants of sunlight bled into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep amber and violet. The rice paddies stretched far into the distance, their golden stalks swaying gently with the breeze. Smoke curled from the thatched roofs of houses, the scent of simmering miso and fresh grain filling the air. Children ran through the dirt paths, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, their innocence untouched by the quiet storm that lurked on the horizon.

You stood at the entrance of your small home, eyes trained on the fading sun. A cool wind brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. Something about the stillness of the evening set you on edge, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Behind you, Nanami finished setting the table, his movements practiced and efficient. “Come inside,” he called, his voice steady as ever. “It’s getting cold.”

You hesitated, something in your gut twisting.

You had felt this before. A warning. A shift.

Slowly, you stepped inside, closing the wooden door behind you. The candlelight flickered, casting soft shadows against the walls. Nanami had prepared a modest meal, steamed rice, pickled vegetables, miso soup with tofu. You sat across from him, but the unease in your chest remained.

Nanami noticed. He always did.

His gaze flickered up, studying your expression. “You’re unsettled.”

You exhaled, pressing your palms against the warm ceramic of your bowl, seeking comfort in its heat. “It’s… too quiet.”

“The village is always quiet at this hour,” he pointed out.

You shook your head. “Not like this.”

A pause. Then, Nanami set down his chopsticks. “You sense something.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you?”

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the wooden table in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“There have been whispers.”

Your breath hitched. “What kind of whispers?”

He looked at you then, and something in his gaze was heavier than before.

“The kind that don’t reach villages like this unless they are meant to be heard.”

The food in your mouth suddenly tasted like dust.

Nanami continued, voice even but firm. “Travelers passing through have spoken of movement in the capital. The Zenin and Gojo clans are consolidating their forces after rumors of resistance in this region.”

Your stomach twisted.

The Gojo and Zenin clans consolidating must only mean one thing. 

Your fists clenched beneath the table. “It’s him, isn’t it? He married Himiko—and now they’re coming for us, calling it treason.” No matter how powerful Suguru was, you knew his silver tongue and lofty rank could only shield you for so long.

Nanami studied you for a moment. “There’s no confirmation.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “It doesn’t need confirmation.”

Because of course it would be him.

Who else could unite the two most powerful clans in Japan? Who else had the power to move an entire army without resistance? Who else had enough obsession to still chase you after all this time?

Nanami sighed, his expression unreadable. “If it is him… then this village may not be safe much longer.”

The air around you grew suffocating.

He was coming.

The weight of that realization settled deep into your bones, into the very marrow of your being. The small, fleeting life you had begun to carve out here, the quiet mornings, the warmth of the village, the laughter of children, the routine of simple tasks. It was all temporary.

Because Gojo Satoru was coming.

And he would burn the world to the ground to take you back. Out of cruelty. 

You pushed your bowl aside, suddenly losing your appetite. “We should leave.”

Nanami’s gaze darkened. “Not yet.”

Your brows furrowed. “Nanami–”

“If we leave now, we confirm the suspicions of anyone watching,” he said, voice low, calculated. “We need to be smart. We need time.”

You hated that he was right.

Silence stretched between you both, filled only by the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Then, Nanami did something unexpected.

He reached across the table, placing a hand over yours.

The touch was brief, steady, grounding. “We will figure this out.”

You stared at him, at the sharp angles of his face, at the unwavering certainty in his gaze. And for the first time since the unease settled into your chest, you believed him.

But still, deep in the back of your mind, you knew this was only the calm before the storm.

The night, you dreamt of him. 

Not the kind of fleeting, disjointed dream that dissolves like mist upon waking, but the kind that wraps around your very soul, warm and golden, refusing to let go. It was the kind of dream that felt real, so heartbreakingly vivid that, for a moment, you were no longer lying in a modest village home with the scent of burning wood creeping in from the outside world, no longer burdened by the weight of the choices you had made. You were home.

Not the home you had made for yourself in exile, but the home of your past, a home gilded with silken screens and quiet whispers, with polished floors that gleamed beneath lantern light, and with delicate tapestries woven with the history of an empire you had once believed could be yours. The place where you had once walked with the quiet assurance of someone who belonged, where your voice had been heard, where your name had been spoken with reverence rather than secrecy.

It was spring. The season of renewal, of beginnings, of hope.

You found yourself beneath the vast expanse of the sky, the air thick with the heady perfume of blooming wisteria and the faint, refreshing scent of the nearby stream that wound through the imperial gardens. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their pale petals drifting lazily through the air like whispered promises, catching in your hair and dusting the ground in a carpet of soft pink. The wind carried the sound of distant laughter, the gentle rustling of leaves.

And above you–

Satoru.

His silhouette was bathed in the afternoon light, the golden hues catching in his white hair, making him look almost otherworldly. He leaned over you, one arm braced against the soft grass, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare, the other resting lightly beside your shoulder. His robes, though still of the finest silk, were simple today, stripped of the heavy embroidery and rigid embellishments that marked him as the heir to the most powerful clan in the land. The imperial crest was absent from his attire, and for once, he was just Satoru.

And his eyes.

Brilliant, piercing cerulean, sharp and knowing yet warm in a way that only he could be. You had spent so much of your life searching for the ocean’s reflection in them, for the endless sky in the depths of that unrelenting blue, and now, after all this time, they looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever truly mattered.

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“You’re staring,” he mused, his voice smooth as silk, his amusement evident in the lazy drawl of his words.

You huffed softly, turning onto your side, the grass cool beneath your palms. “I’m admiring,” you corrected, your tone just as light.

Satoru chuckled, his laughter as rich and effortless as it had always been, a sound that made the world feel lighter, that made you feel lighter. “Is there a difference?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him.

You sighed, exasperated but fond. “One makes you sound less arrogant.”

He grinned at that, finally shifting to lie beside you, stretching out as if the entire world belonged to him. And in a way, it did.

But in this moment, he belonged to you.

“Pft,” he blows a raspberry into the air. “Let me bask in it, will you? You never give me this kind of attention.”

The wind stirred the branches above, sending another cascade of petals drifting down around you, a few landing in the silver strands of his hair. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing them away, your fingertips barely skimming the silk of his robes as you did. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched you with that same unwavering gaze, as if he were committing you to memory, as if he were terrified you might disappear before his eyes.

“You know,” he murmured after a moment, his voice quieter now, as though he, too, did not want to shatter the fragile peace between you, “I wish we could stay like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because so did you.

More than anything, you wished for a world in which this moment, this feeling, this love could exist without consequence.

But you were not foolish. You had always known the truth.

This was never a love that could be without suffering. You were only a concubine, after all. A spoil of war. Not fit to be made an empress. 

You swallowed, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “We can’t,” you said, though you hated the way the words tasted on your tongue.

Satoru turned his head to face you more fully, his expression unreadable at first, before something flickered across his features, something softer, something pleading.

“Who says?” he asked, and his tone was so quiet, so unlike the brash, overconfident man you had known, that it made your heart ache. “Tell me who says we can’t, and I’ll destroy them.”

You laughed then, a small, sad sound, because you knew he meant it.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious.” He propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand coming to rest just beside your wrist, close enough that you could feel his warmth but far enough that he wasn’t touching you. “What’s stopping us? The court? The elders? The weight of the empire? Let them have it all. I don’t need any of it.”

You turned to look at him fully now, your chest tightening at the raw honesty in his face, the way he looked at you as if you were his entire world.

And maybe, once upon a time, you had been.

But the world did not belong to you and Satoru alone.

You reached out, letting your fingers trail lightly over his knuckles before pulling away. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, though a part of you desperately wanted to believe that he did.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to grab your hand and never let go. “I do.”

And maybe, for that moment, he truly believed it.

But deep down, you both knew better.

The empire would never let him go.

Just as it would never let you be his.

The breeze picked up again, scattering more petals through the air, the scent of cherry blossoms thick and sweet, overwhelming. You wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. You wanted to pretend that this could last, that you could stay in his arms and never worry about what came next.

But the moment began to waver, the edges of the dream blurring, the sunlight dimming.

And then, suddenly, the gardens were gone.

The warmth, the laughter, the scent of cherry blossoms… all of it melted away into smoke.

Your dream had shifted to another scene.

It was of the familiar scene of the bustling city just outside of the Outer Palace. The capital city had always been lively, but today it seemed to hum with an extra spark. The streets bustled with merchants peddling fragrant spices and embroidered silks, laughter echoed from the open-air teahouses, and the golden rooftops of the imperial palace gleamed under the afternoon sun like something out of a story.

You had just returned from your weekly errand, fetching a fresh batch of pastries from the emperor’s favorite bakery. The baker’s son had been in high spirits as usual, teasing you for being the only person in the city who could make the imperial kitchens jealous with how often you snuck in outside food.

But it wasn’t just the pastries you carried today.

A tiny, delicate flower rested in the palm of your hand, given to you by a child, a sweet little girl who had tugged on your sleeve just as you were leaving the marketplace.

"For you, miss!" she had chirped, eyes bright with admiration.

You had accepted it with a beaming smile, ruffling her hair before she scurried back to her group of friends, giggling and chattering about how pretty the imperial concubine was.

The city loved you.

Perhaps it was because you were one of them, despite the palace silks and the golden embroidery of the Gojo clan stitched into your robes, you had never let your status turn you into something untouchable.

So there you were, practically glowing, a flower twirling between your fingers as you strolled through the palace gardens, utterly unaware that your mere existence was about to ruin the emperor’s evening.

Because at that very moment, Satoru Gojo was staring at you with the expression of a man moments away from declaring war. He had been waiting at the gates of his own palace unceremoniously, counting down the seconds until you made it back, only for his bright spirits to be crushed.

By a flower.

A single, wretched flower.

In your hand.

And you were smiling.

Satoru didn’t even realize he had stopped in his tracks. His mind, sharp and dangerously quick, was already cycling through the list of punishments he could bestow upon the unfortunate soul who had given it to you.

Banishment? Too lenient. Public humiliation? Getting warmer. Immediate execution? …No, too messy. Forced labor in the outer provinces? Perfect.

His hands flexed at his sides. His jaw ticked. His vision tunneled.

He was going to make an example out of whoever had dared…

And then, you turned, your eyes meeting his.

And you smiled even brighter.

"Your Majesty!" you called, voice light with amusement, as if he weren’t currently five seconds away from storming the dungeons and demanding names.

You all but skipped toward him, the flower still twirling between your fingers, completely unaware of the absolute existential crisis you had just caused.

Gojo’s icy blue gaze flickered between your face and the flower, as if trying to determine which offended him more.

"What," he began, his tone deceptively casual, "is that?"

You blinked. "A flower?"

His eye twitched.

"I can see that," he muttered, before stepping closer—close enough that the sheer heat of his presence sent a shiver down your spine. "I meant, who gave it to you?"

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Why do you assume someone gave it to me? Maybe I plucked it from the fields myself."

Satoru let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Ha." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Try again, sweetheart."

Your lips twitched, but before you could answer, a voice piped up–

"It was me!"

Both of you turned to find a child, the same little girl from earlier, standing at the edge of the gates of the Outer Palace, her face alight with pride.

"I gave her the flower!" she repeated, puffing out her chest. "Because she’s the prettiest lady in the whole city!"

Silence. A long, long silence.

Gojo stared. You suppressed laughter.

His entire body visibly relaxed.

The tension in his jaw disappeared, the storm in his eyes cleared, and for a single, fleeting moment, the Emperor of Japan looked genuinely speechless.

And then, he scoffed.

"Well, I suppose I can’t punish a child," he muttered, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. "What a shame."

You finally let out a laugh, shaking your head as you knelt beside the girl. "Thank you, little one," you whispered, tucking the flower into your sleeve.

The girl giggled before scurrying away, leaving just the two of you standing in the palace once more.

Satoru watched you carefully, his arms still crossed, his signature smirk just barely returning to his lips.

"You looked like you were five seconds away from passing a death sentence," you teased, eyeing him with amusement.

His expression didn’t waver.

"Oh, I was."

You rolled your eyes. "And what would you have done if it wasn’t a child?"

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as if considering. "Well…" His smirk sharpened. "Let’s just say the baker’s son would have found himself mysteriously exiled to the coldest province in the empire."

You froze.

Your stomach dropped.

Because oh– oh no.

He knew.

Satoru watched, relishing in the way your posture stiffened, the way your gaze flickered just slightly, as if calculating whether it was worth denying it.

"Your Majesty, I–"

"You what?" He raised a brow, leaning in once more, his voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

"You think I wouldn’t hear about the little romance rumors floating around the palace?" He chuckled, voice laced with something possessive, something undeniably jealous. "You think I wouldn’t know about the way the baker’s son looks at you?"

You swallowed. "It’s just gossip."

"Is it?"

Gojo’s voice was far too amused, far too smug, because he already knew the answer.

And then, just because he could, he lowered his voice even further, leaning in until his lips were barely a breath away from your ear.

"Promise me you won’t leave me."

Your heart stopped.

You turned to him, but the moment you did, he pulled back, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with itself.

"Don’t look so surprised," he mused, turning on his heel and walking away, hands tucked into his sleeves.

Then, over his shoulder.

"After all, I won’t let anyone take you away."

And then you’re awaken.

Your chest heaved, your skin damp with sweat, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

The room was dark. Cold.

How cruel your mind was to remind you of such warm times.

The early morning light filtered through the wooden shutters, casting long golden streaks across the small room. Outside, the village was already stirring with women gathering water from the well, the rhythmic pounding of rice in wooden mortars, the occasional laugh of a child running past. The scent of damp earth and fresh grass filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried herbs that hung from the ceiling.

Inside, you sat on the floor, weaving together dried reeds into a basket, fingers moving deftly despite the lingering morning chill. Across from you, Nanami was sharpening a knife, the slow, deliberate drag of steel against stone filling the quiet space between you.

It was a comfortable silence, one that had settled between you both over the past two weeks, a rhythm that neither of you spoke of, yet understood nonetheless.

“You’re getting better at that,” Nanami remarked, not looking up from his work.

You snorted softly, twisting another reed into place. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

You tossed a loose strand of reed at him. He caught it midair without even glancing, setting it aside with a faint huff of amusement.

Nanami tilted his head slightly, observing you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You blinked, realizing you had been staring. “Nothing.”

His brow arched slightly, but he let it go, returning to his blade. The light glinted off the edge, sharp and lethal. You watched the way his hands moved steady.

Something in your chest tightened.

“You don’t think this is going to last, do you?” you asked suddenly.

Nanami paused.

The scrape of the whetstone against steel stopped, leaving only the distant sounds of the village outside. Slowly, he set the blade down, his gaze meeting yours, level and unreadable.

“…No.”

A lump formed in your throat. You nodded, looking away. “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Then, a sound.

Distant, almost imperceptible. A strange sort of rumbling.

Your fingers stopped weaving.

Nanami was already rising to his feet, his entire body going rigid. His hand went to the knife on the table. His sharp gaze flickered toward the window, toward the thin slit between the shutters. His breath was slow, measured, but you could feel the shift in his presence, the quiet kind of alertness that came before a storm.

And then a scream erupted.

Distant. But close enough.

Your blood ran cold.

Nanami moved.

He crossed the room in two strides, yanking the shutters open. And what you saw fire.

Distant but spreading.

Smoke rising in thick columns from the edge of the village, black against the early morning sky. The distinct sound of hooves against dirt, of metal clashing, of doors being kicked in. Then, through the haze of rising flames, you saw banners. Not just any banners.

Gojo’s crest.

Your breath hitched.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the back entrance. “We need to move.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest, feet stumbling as you let him drag you forward. This was happening.

He had found you.

Gojo had found you.

Days before the raid, the palace pulsed with restless energy. Servants flitted through the corridors, their hurried steps echoing against the lacquered floors as they fastened armor, sharpened blades, and prepared provisions. The campaign was supposed to be routine, a small raid to quell rumors of insurrection in a remote village. Yet, the Emperor himself was leading the charge.

No one questioned it aloud. But the whispers wove through the palace like smoke.

In his private chambers, Gojo stood at the window, watching the courtyard below as soldiers mounted their horses, their banners snapping in the cold wind. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. His grip tightened behind his back.

"You’re awfully tense for such a minor skirmish," Himiko mused, lounging on the divan behind him. The golden silk of her robes pooled around her like a shimmering snare. She lifted a cup to her lips, watching him over the rim, her gaze sharp. "One might think there’s more at stake here than a simple village purge."

Gojo didn’t turn.

"One might."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Himiko hummed, setting her cup down with a delicate clink. "You’ve always been so stubborn. So unwilling to accept the order of things." She rose, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. "It’s a shame, really. You could’ve been content. You could’ve let go."

Her fingers brushed his sleeve. A touch meant to soothe. To remind.

His hand snapped up, catching her wrist before she could go any further.

Himiko stilled, lips parting in the slightest gasp. Not from pain, he wasn’t squeezing hard enough for that. But his grip was firm, unyielding. The weight of it said more than any words could.

A muscle flickered in Gojo’s jaw. "Do you think this is forever?" His voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made the candlelight tremble.

Himiko’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her gaze shifted. "I think," she murmured, tilting her head, "that you’re still bound by the same chains as always. No matter how strong you are, some things can’t be undone."

Gojo released her. The moment stretched, brittle as ice. Then he turned, striding toward the door, his long robes whispering against the floor.

Outside, his men were waiting. His horse was waiting.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, the one thing he had ever truly wanted was waiting.

He had wasted enough time.

The streets were already chaos. Villagers running, shrieking, clutching their children as armed soldiers stormed through the narrow paths. Houses were being torn apart, doors broken down. Soldiers clad in imperial armor barked orders, swords flashing as they cut down those who resisted.

Your breath came short, panic clawing at your throat.

Nanami’s grip on your wrist was firm. “Stay close.”

You barely nodded, your body moving on instinct as he guided you through the chaos. You ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing yourself against the wood as two soldiers passed by. Nanami’s body shielded yours, his presence grounding you even as your hands trembled.

A sharp whistle.

Nanami cursed, shoving you aside just as an arrow embedded itself into the wood where your head had been a moment ago.

You gasped.

Another whistle.

Nanami moved. He spun, his knife flashing, a throw, a sickening thud, a body crumpling.

Blood.

It hit the dirt in a slow, steady stream.

You stared.

Nanami grabbed your face, forcing your gaze back to him. “Focus.”

Your lips parted, breath shuddering. But you nodded.

He pulled you forward, weaving through the panicked masses. The exit. You needed to get to the forest to escape before it was too late.

A tall figure clad in white and blue, standing at the center of the destruction, untouched by the chaos.

Gojo Satoru.

Your feet froze.

His eyes locked onto yours instantly. Even from across the village square, even through the haze of smoke and bodies, you could feel the weight of his gaze. The way his body shifted the moment he saw you.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Nanami saw him at the same time. His entire body went rigid.

Gojo took a slow step forward. His imperial robes billowed slightly with the movement, the embroidery glinting under the firelight, his armor forged from precious metals glistened in the sunlight. His sword hung at his hip, untouched, as if he hadn’t even needed to lift it.

Nanami’s grip on your arm tightened.

Gojo’s expression darkened. His gaze flickered between the two of you visibly irked by the domestic dynamic that had recently developed.

His lips parted, his voice cutting through the carnage like a blade. “Found you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Nanami moved.

But Gojo was faster.

Before either of you could react, a blur of motion, a gust of force, unstoppable. Nanami was on the ground. The blond man coughed out blood.

Your scream barely had time to leave your throat before Gojo was in front of you, too close, too fast. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. Unyielding.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, the distant wails of the ravaged village melding into the wind. Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, willing yourself to remain still. The weight of the past, of every wound he had inflicted upon you, settled deep in your bones.

“Running from me again?” His voice was a whisper of thunder, low and dangerous. “I thought we were past that.”

You had been running for so long, but had you ever truly escaped him? Every step you took away from him, every sleepless night, every whispered prayer for his absence, and yet here he was, a specter that refused to fade.

Your heart leapt to your throat as his fingers clamped around your wrist, tightening as you attempted to yank yourself free. His other hand rose, tracing the curve of your cheek with deceptive gentleness, the callouses rough against your skin.

“Did you truly believe I wouldn’t come for you?”

Your breath came shallow. “Gojo–”

His fingers curled against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his unrelenting grip told a different story. He had always been relentless, hadn’t he? No matter how much you tried to pull away, he found his way back, like a tide that refused to recede.

“Nanami,” he said coldly. “Do your job. Lead the men back.”

A moment of hesitation, a flicker of something like pity in Nanami’s eyes before he turned away. You were glad he did. Gojo had spared him enough not to strike him down on the spot. 

Soon, only the two of you remained, locked in a battle more ferocious than the ones fought with swords.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. Your attempts to struggle were fruitless; his body caged you, muscles honed by years of war making it impossible to flee. The warmth of him, the sheer familiarity of his presence, made something inside you ache against your will.

“Why do you run?” His voice was softer now, coaxing.

Your lips curled in a bitter smile. “Are you nothing more than a brute?”

His grip faltered, a shadow of hurt flashing in his eyes. But you didn’t care. His pain was nothing compared to the agony he had inflicted upon you.

“You claim to care for me,” you spat, voice shaking with fury, “yet you cast me aside like a discarded pawn. You chose another, again and again, and then have the audacity to crawl back to me.”

Your voice cracked, but your anger did not waver.

“You humiliated me. You shattered my world and toyed with my heart like it was nothing more than a trinket. I hate you, Gojo Satoru. I hate you so much it consumes me.”

The tears spilled unchecked, your body trembling as the dam within you finally broke. You were certain you looked wretched, but dignity was a luxury you had long since abandoned.

His silence was unbearable. The weight of his guilt pressed between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it soften you.

“You have hurt me beyond repair,” you whispered. “I always knew our love would bring pain, but I never thought it would be at your hands.”

Satoru swallowed hard, his large hands wiping away each tear as they fell.

“You lied to me,” you murmured, fists weakly beating against his chest. He lets you.

“I did.”

“You banished me.”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me.”

His grip tightened. “I do.”

Your breath hitched. “I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insisted, though the conviction was waning. Did you? Did you truly?

His lips brushed against your temple, his hands cradling your face with unbearable tenderness, “Don’t you know that you’re killing me? That your words pierce me like no other blade?”

You exhaled shakily. “Then why aren’t you dead yet?”

A broken sound left his throat as he pulled you impossibly closer, until your bodies were melded together, until his warmth became a prison of its own.

“Take it back,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

But you said nothing, staring past him to the charred ruins beyond. Nanami had rallied the men, but the damage had already been done. And so had the damage to your heart. 

“Your army is leaving,” you said numbly. “Why don’t you go join them, General?”

His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. And yet, as much as you wanted it to, the sight did not disgust you. Instead, a sick sense of satisfaction curled within you at his suffering.

“Not until you come back,” he declared. "Until you let me explain myself."

You laughed, sharp and humorless. It did not deter him.

He continues his plea, “You can humiliate me in the palace. You can strip me of every last shred of dignity. Do whatever you wish."

He pauses.

"Just come back.”

You tried to put distance between you, but his hold remained firm.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Your voice wavered. “I am not yours anymore. I haven’t been yours since you chose her. Since you cast me aside for the sake of your kingdom.”

By now, Satoru’s trembling lips had given way to the relentless shaking of his entire body, “I never touched her. My hand was forced. Nothing happened.” Somewhere amid your onslaught, Satoru had forgotten how to breathe. His chest rose in shallow, uneven gasps, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of words he couldn’t take back. His fingers curled into fists so tight they trembled, knuckles drained of color. He was unraveling right in front of you.

“Everyone around me speaks of my destiny, as if it were carved into the heavens themselves. They whisper that I was born to rule Japan, to claim a throne, to take a noble wife like Himiko and secure a legacy of power.” Satoru’s voice trembles, raw and desperate, as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to commit you to memory. His hands clutch you tighter, as if you might slip through his fingers at any moment.

“But none of that means a damn thing to me. My destiny isn’t a kingdom—it’s you. It always has been. My place is by your side, not on a throne. I would spend a thousand lifetimes serving you, worshiping you, loving you. We were made for each other, meant to grow old together, to laugh and fight and dream until the very end. To pass down our love, our story—not to this damn empire, but to our grandchildren.”

His breath is shaky against your skin, his grip unrelenting. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking, “don’t take that from me.”

You wanted to. Wanted to reach for him, to piece him back together, but the raw ache in your chest held you still.

How many times have you stood here, waiting for him to say something, anything, that would make the hurt go away? How many times have you let yourself believe that his silence wasn’t a choice?

You swallowed hard, throat burning. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered.

His head jerked up, eyes wide, pleading.

“You don’t get to shake and break down and expect me to forget everything,” you continued, voice cracking. “You left me. You let me believe I didn’t matter.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, like the words had physically struck him. “I never–”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, stepping back when he tried to move closer. “Just don’t.”

The silence between them was thick, heavy with unsaid things. Satoru’s breaths came fast and shallow, his entire body vibrating with something between anguish and regret.

Still, you held on to the hurt. Let it press against your ribs, let it remind you that you weren’t just here to be broken all over again. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. But damn it, you wanted to.

“If it will ease your doubts, I’ll have her head in glass by morning.”

You shuddered. “I don’t want her dead.”

“Then she lives to see another day.”

“And the Zenins?” Your teeth clenched, voice shaking with restrained fury. “I tried to warn you about them, tried to protect you, but you chose to humiliate me instead.”

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, deliberate and lingering, as if etching you into his memory. “I am truly sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, edged with regret. “It was a foolish attempt to keep you safe from those damn elders. I may be the ceremonial head of this country, but their power is undeniable. Your banishment was my own foolish doing to protect you after my mistress was forced upon me. I knew I was lost when I couldn’t breathe without your presence in the palace. The days blurred together, and my duties felt like nothing but a slow death. So, I tried to bring you back as my servant. It was safer that way. You were close, within reach, but still out of grasp. At least you were there. But then... I ruined it all. ”

You hadn’t tried to bite his finger off yet. He took it as an unspoken truce, leaning in, his presence overwhelming, his warmth sinking into your skin. “Not that it matters though. I'm going to kill those geezers and have their heads strung in front of the palace.” A flicker of a smirk ghosted his lips, but his eyes held something far more dangerous.

“I may be a fool,” he admitted, his breath brushing against you, “but I am not weak. So don’t waste a single thought on them.” His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “No one, not them, not fate itself, will take you from me.”

A cruel part of you savored the power you held over him. But you wanted him to suffer longer before you gave the satisfaction of knowing that your heart had softened. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

His hands trembled. “We have a lifetime for that.”

"How arrogant of you to assume I’d ever choose to spend a lifetime with you." Your voice was quiet, but the weight of your words struck like a blade.

You shouldn't feel as satisfied as you did when you watched Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive crumpled. His breath hitched, his knees buckling beneath him as if the sheer force of your rejection had stolen the ground from under him.

Still, he reached for you. Desperation bled into his touch, fingers digging into your sleeves as though letting go would mean losing you forever. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and ease, was stripped raw.

“Then I don’t see a point in living.”

The weight of his confession clung to the air, thick and suffocating, and yet he only looked at you, as if the universe itself had been reduced to the space between his hands and your skin.

“And what of your crown?” you finally whispered.

His laugh was hollow, almost broken. “I’d throw it away if it meant keeping you. If it meant you will let me be yours.”

Then, as if surrendering himself entirely, both knees met the dirt. His hands, once accustomed to wielding absolute power, clung to your waist, not as an emperor, not as the strongest, but as a man begging to be allowed to stay.

His eyes burned into yours, pleading, unraveling.

And for the first time, you let him hold you. This time, you didn’t pull away.

A shuddering breath left his lips against your skin, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if he feared you might slip away the moment he let go. His grip tightened, not in possession, but in reverence.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of rain, of earth, of something on the verge of breaking.

"I expect you to kneel at my feet and beg for years to come." You murmured, fingers brushing against the strands of his silver hair. A handful of hair is gripped tightly, fingers digging in with purpose. "Perhaps then, I might even consider you once more."

His throat bobbed. "If that is what it takes."

This was not just an apology, nor was it a confession. It was surrender in the purest sense. The weight of his kingdom, his sins, his power. All of it, cast aside for you. It was the justice you deserved after all the pain you endured.

reblogs and comments are appreciated mwah!

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[grandkhan221b]

Ooops more TUA stuff actually I'm still not over this little guy. I've been reading reading fanfictions torturing him for the last 2 months 😊

@ the last pic I know it's beating a decomposed horse to take jabs at season 4, but I haven't seen anyone discuss how bad five's look was... His "Jerome" disguise actually fit him so much better

[nemesyaaa]

i will definitly read and support this fanfic 😊🫣‼️

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥

She was content and in love, she thought she married the one she would spend the rest of her life with. Fate seemed to have another plan for her. One that involved her to finally learn the truth, causing two relationships to be tragically ruined and hidden memories to suddenly come to light. She finally gets on the path she was meant to be on in the beginning.

18+ only please, do not copy, repost or translate our works. You are responsible for your own media consumption. headers are made by me.

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

!warning! This series will include heartbreak, divorce, detailed cheating, bad thoughts towards self, betrayal, back-stabbing, horrible relationships, slight gaslighting and manipulation, smut (from cheating and maybe when she finds happiness).

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬:

part 1 - 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

part 2 - 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

part 3 - 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

part 4 - 𝐢 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞...

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

part 5 - 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

part 6 - 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

part 7 - 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

೫˚🌧️❀ *ૢ💔೫˚💍

[deikshen]

One day, Shen Qingqiu comes from the city with a little baby in his arms. He says: "His mother died during childbirth and I am taking care of him." He names the child Shen Yuan when he is old enough to give him a name, and the child grows up in Qing Jing.

Everyone, absolutely everyone, believes that Shen Qingqiu is the biological father of that child. Only have to LOOK at them both and see the resemblance: the same eyes, the same hair, the same facial structure, the same lips, even the same angry pout. Rumors - Shen Qingqiu had a child with a prostitute who died and now he is taking care of him!! - are open secrets.

Shen Qingqiu, as usual, ignores them. He cares for his little one, raising him with the closest thing other Peak Lords can call love. Impeccable robes, the best meals, the best early education. Shen Yuan grows up as a polite, gentle, kind-hearted, sweet-faced child. He frees insects before killing them, isn't afraid to dirty his robes if he must go after someone, and has an avid interest in beasts and monsters beyond comprehension. The Peak Lords jokingly think: this child has taken his father's face and surely the good heart of his mother, may she rest in peace.

When he comes of age, he doesn't even have to dig a hole to be chosen for Qing Jing Peak - everyone knows that Shen Qingqiu has already made a place for him there. However, Shen Yuan insists on doing it on his own! He wants to earn his place. The Peak Lords respect him for it, and there are various interests, but he still ends up in Qing Jing Peak.

And Shen Yuan becomes Shen Qingqiu's clear first disciple. He is a skilled scholar, excellent martial artist who is not afraid to tear someone rude with foul words, but with an almost natural disposition to be kind, sweet and gentle with those who deserve and require it.

It is then that Luo Binghe arrives at Qing Jing Peak.

The Peak Lords hear of the rumors and they spread them like pollen in spring: apparently there has been a HUGE discussion between Shen Qingqiu and his spoiled son! Something involving a child with water burns, a beating, and a woodshed. No one understands what happened, but a day later, Shen Yuan completely disappeared from the Cang Qiong Sect.

And he has taken a young disciple with him.

Shen Qingqiu begins to act as if he never had a son - as if his whole life has been all about him, hostile and unpleasant. His mood is worse than ever and his cruelty is undeniable. No one understands what has happened between father and son, but these are rumors that even if whispered, bring the very bad faces of Shen Qingqiu. And no one wants to be behind Shen Qingqiu's wrath when it is unleashed.

(Shen Yuan had transmigrated. Into a baby! Into Shen Qingqiu's son! Yes, indeed his memories had been gradually unlocked, thank god. It would have been so weird to be a baby with the mindset of an adult... And he had believed, for a long time, that perhaps Shen Qingqiu could change. That loving him and caring for him would make him better when Luo Binghe reached Cang Qiong.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

So, Shen Qingqiu can hate him for this reason if he wants! But Shen Yuan has to leave there and take Luo Binghe with him. He will teach him cultivation and do everything to make him become a powerful cultivator before his demonic seal is unleashed, he will do everything possible to prevent him from the Endless Abyss, and will prevent Shen Qingqiu from being turned into a human stick.

Probably, a single night of punishment and humiliation wasn’t enough for Luo Binghe to want revenge so hard. Actually?? He just would save the lives of all his martial uncles and his father in the process to kindly educate Luo Binghe and make him as powerful yet happy as possible. They should thank him!! He's sacrificing himself, his comforts, and his reputation to save everyone's asses!!!)

...

(Although Shang Qinghua had wanted to give Shen Qingqiu a son - a magical pollen pregnancy between Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu, which Shen Qingqiu would NEVER tell Yue Qingyuan was his child until the very last moment - for the drama and secondary revenge and angst 7/9, that had been a damn draft!!! He didn't even get to develop the background of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu!!! And now that son ran away with his Protagonist!? System, what's going on!? Why do HE make sure the Endless Abyss arc be completed!? He doesn't even fucking know where the protagonist is!!! System have mercy on AND HELP!!!)

[cursingtoji]

“hm hello? do you need help?” yuuji approached the lady walking the hallways so slowly she seemed lost.

“huh?” you turned and he smiled, thinking how gorgeous you looked. your uniform was a lot like nobara’s, although it was lighter, like it was slightly bleached or just worn a lot, “no, i… i go here.”

“oh are you gojo-sensei’s student too?” he was excited to meet another student, it was such a big school for just a few people.

“gojo… sensei” you repeated confused.

“oh you must be utahime-sensei’s student then? from kyoto?” he tilted his head, like a puppy.

“utahime…” you whispered, “is geto here?” you asked with a certain urgency in your voice, “geto suguru.”

“who? geto?” he scratched his head, trying to remember if he heard about a sensei called geto suguru, “i don’t think i—“

“itadori!” megumi called from outside, yuuji saw him below through the open windows of the second floor he was at, his classmate probably saw him as well.

“ah fushiguro!” he greeted his friend and turned back to you, “i’ll ask megumi, he’s been here for longer than me.”

“who you talking to?!” megumi shouted.

“her!” he pointed, you were in front of him, right by the opened window too, he couldn’t see you?

megumi even moved a bit, “itadori, there’s no one there. stop playing, we got to leave!” megumi scolded him before entering the building.

“eh?” yuuji was frowning.

“sorry, i think i’m in the wrong place” you bowed and turned away running.

“wait!” he ran after you, turning corners he thought you could’ve gone but after a few ones he reached a dead end.

“hm? yuuji?” gojo emerged from a classroom.

“gojo-sensei! there was… someone…” he looked around.

“oi, we’re waiting for you, let’s go” megumi came from where he was, grabbing yuuji by the hood of his uniform and dragging him away.

gojo watched through a window as they walked down the staircase until both boys walked out of the building.

“that was weird” you murmured from inside the classroom he was in, “that boy called you sensei” you put more rice into your hungry mouth, “does yaga know you’re pretending to be a teacher here?”

satoru closed the door, lighting another incense on the table that you used to sit. where every year on the anniversary of your death he built a shrine with food you liked.

“i thought haibara was on a mission but i saw him by the tree” you pointed behind you with your chopsticks, where, outside the classroom and behind the building remained the tree you always had lunch underneath during hot summer days.

satoru undid the blindfold, letting his hair fall as he sat in front of you, admiring how you never aged a day. after all, you couldn’t.

in fact, it seemed like you didn’t realize how much time has passed. every year you appeared and every year you thought it was still 2006, when you had two kouhais that did everything you asked, a girl best friend that insisted you smoked with her and two boys that were helplessly in love with you. the last year you were alive.

“is suguru not coming?” you asked with your mouth full.

gojo swallowed hard, “no, angel. it’s just us.”

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter eight: space or time

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: it's the night of the summit's gala. revelations come to light and it's a night that you and caleb will never forget.

word count: 12k words

warnings: slightly proofread!

author's note: hi everyone! thank you for waiting so patiently! i hope you enjoy this part as much as i enjoyed writing it!

content warning: p in v sex, vulgar language, mating press if you squint, messy kisses, creampie, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT AND STAY SAFE), ANGST TRAIN HAS ARRIVED AT THE STATION, lmk if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer

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The hotel’s ballroom is lavishly decorated. Silvers and golds decorate the walls; lights hang from the ceiling at different lengths, adding to the splendor and beauty of the ballroom. Long tables are set up along the borders, with plenty of drinks and hors d’oeuvres, with a space in the middle where a few people stand and dance with one another. There is a stage where a band plays, the female singer’s voice fitting the slow jazz-like music. She has white hair and wears a long red dress with a slit up the side, the dress’s jewels glimmering under the spotlight.

Service men and women wear their formal and dress uniforms. They are neatly dressed, not a single hair or button out of place. They are the perfect representations for their respective country. Even a small group with hair that are unique shades of blues and purples blends in with the other military officers. Laughters and music fills the room. It is a lively scene, one that you find yourself hesitant to step into.

After a long day of sitting in a negotiation room with the Farspace Fleet’s General, the last place you really wanted to be was at the summit’s ending gala. You’d rather be on Caleb’s aircraft surrounded by burly and strong masked soldiers while flying back to Skyhaven than be stuck in a room full of people who want to either bring peace or destruction to the place you live.

You couldn’t leave, though. Your date — as you liked to refer to him as inside the delusional fantasies of your head — hasn’t arrived yet.

You stand just outside the open double doors. Inside, the gala moves on. The event’s music spills out and fills the entryway with the sweet sounds of a love song. The melody is nice and the singer’s sultry voice compliments the saxophone’s rich and brassy tone. They move in sync with each other, their notes complimenting the other. It puts you at ease.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

You turn on your heel, circling to look at Caleb who stands behind you. His white hat, which has a red line circling its circumference, tucks away his dark hair that is slicked back with a thin layer of gel, his usual bangs now out of his face. He’s clean shaven, the five o’clock shadow and slight stubble from this morning completely gone. His uniform is rid of its usual black color; his body is covered in the white dress uniform jacket, one that you have never seen him wear, matched with a black dress shirt underneath. With the white jacket, you can see the outline of the golden stitching that surrounds his medals and pins more clearly, the golden chain and rope contrasting against the black shoulder patches. 

And god damn does it look fan-fucking-tastic on him.

Fuck.

You are so fucked.

You stare at him with an awestruck expression, mouth slightly dropped open. You gulp. He chuckles and shifts his weight to his back foot, purple eyes examining your body.

You wear a very simple black dress matched with a black pair of heels that are strapped at your ankle. The dress is a halter top that has a long silk tie that cascades down your back. The fabric hugs your body just right and flares out ever so slightly past your hips. The skirt stops halfway down your shins, sitting an inch or two below your knee. You don’t wear a necklace, just simple earrings that compliment the elegant dress’ simplicity.

“You look…so beautiful,” Caleb breathes out. His hat moves from his head to his hands. His gloved fingertips play with the rim, nervousness and anticipation bubbling in his stomach from the sight of your beauty.

“Thank you,” a blush creeps onto your cheek. You clear your throat and look away, scratching the back of your neck. “You look very handsome,” you add. He nods.

Caleb’s steps are measured, deliberate. His black boot connects with the floor, the soles of his shoes clicking against the marble floor. You tilt your chin up as he grows near. Your gaze takes a few liberties while he inches closer to you, inspecting the finer details of his white outfit, like how the holster strapped to his thigh is hidden behind the tail of his jacket, the way the navy and red lines mix in with grays on the cuffs of his sleeves, a slight bronze tone to the metal cufflinks. Your eyes snap to a metal strap around his right arm, a slow, pulsating red light oozing from the brace.

Caleb places his gloved finger underneath your chin. Your mind freezes. He tilts your chin to look up at him, eyes meeting. Your heart flutters, matching the crescendo from the music in the ballroom. The leather of his glove is smooth against your skin, the warmth from his touch making you want to melt into his arms right then and there.

“I was expecting your black uniform,” you fumble over your words, unsure of what to do or say. Caleb has, for lack of better words, absolutely fried your brain, rendering you useless. “If I had known, I would have—”

“Matched me?” Caleb interrupts you. You nod, breathless. He chuckles and his thumb creeps up your chin, tracing the outline of your bottom lip.

Have his eyes always been so vibrant? There are no bumps or blemishes on his skin, not even a scar from any skirmish he’s been in. He’s…perfect.

How can you go in there and do your job when he looks like that? It’s so unfair!

“The General thought it would be a good idea to…” Caleb tilts his head to the side, placing the hat back on his head, his hand never leaving your chin, “show off. He wants us to be better in both our army and fashion.” A hint of amusement can be heard in his voice.

“I wonder where he got that idea from,” your eyes flit to his. He raises his eyebrow, the corner of his lips perking up.

Caleb’s gaze darts away from yours, his hand leaving your chin. He clears his throat and straightens his back, ankles locking together. His arm raises then bends at the elbow, his fingers making themselves at home at the corner of his eyebrow. You step to his side, turning just as the General and other Colonels approach.

“Sir,” Caleb grunts. The General waves his hand at him and Caleb falls into his at ease stance, hands clasped behind his back. The General turns his attention to you. You smile at him and nods your head. A grin forms on the General’s face, his serious expression lighting up.

“Ah! We meet again!” he chuckles, the sound raspy and coarse. The sound catches you off guard, causing you to laugh alongside with him while the Colonels look on with stoic faces. Caleb’s eyes attach to the side of your face, lips tugging down in a confused frown. “You look beautiful tonight, my dear, an absolute vision,” the General begins. He turns to Caleb, his smile slightly faltering. “She is a spitfire!”

“Is she?” Caleb hums, turning his attention back to his superior.

“I heard that she was good at her job and wanted to test her out, see if we can get her out of the cubicle,” the General smiles. He sandwiches your palm between his meaty hands. His smile is bright as he looks at you. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he would think that you put a spell on the burly man; a man who was seen many horrors in the Deepspace Tunnel and in wars that have been waged decades ago.

“She is very good, yes,” Caleb holds back a smile.

He always knew that your talents were being wasted in the office in Skyhaven. You deserved to live a good and thrilling life, one that leaves you feeling fulfilled from excitement. Caleb would like you to stick by his side, though, instead of the General’s. Only he can keep you safe…no one else.

“You are one lucky man to have her at your side tonight,” the General releases your hand. You smile at him and push your hair behind your ear, cheeks heating from the constant compliments. “We’re all stuck with the other translators who would rather spend their time gossiping about wine and who is…what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Cute?” you lean in with a smile. The General’s smile brightens even more, beaming at you.

“See? Even she can translate my thoughts for me!” His laugh booms down the hotel hallway. The older man leans in and lowers his voice, “If he gives you any trouble tonight, send him my way. I’ll whip him back into shape!”

“I will!” you laugh, covering your mouth. The General’s toothy grin covers the entirety of his lower face. Caleb rolls his eyes, unamused.

“Save me a dance?” The General asks. You nod. “Wonderful! We will see you two in there!”

The General and his men leave your side, entering into the vibrant gala. You smile and watch as he walks away, the older man already commanding the room with his presence. He’s fun, really, outside of the uniform. He even made sure that the assistants in the meetings today got your coffee order right. What a sweet man.

“I better be your first dance,” Caleb’s spiteful voice snaps you back to him. His purple eyes are fixated on the inside of the ballroom, following the General’s white uniform. Another laugh flies from your lips, shaking your head at him. Caleb’s brows furrow, hands resting on his hips. “What? What’s so funny?”

“I think it’s sweet that you find an eighty year old man to be competition,” you glance at him and give his shoulder a quick pat, beginning to walk towards the entry doors.

Caleb watches you, his feet unable to move for a second or two. His eyes are captivated by the way your dress sways with every movement you make, the long silk fabric teasing him as they swing back and forth, grazing against your backside. He sharply inhales, quickly pulling himself together and steadying his heart, and follows you inside the ballroom.

The music is louder than before, the singer’s voice more clear. She sings in a language that Caleb cannot understand but judging by the look on your face, the lyrics must go along with the upbeat melody and notes that come from the small orchestra’s instruments.

“So,” you look up at him, watching as he falls in line at your side. You hold your hands behind your back, painted fingernails toying and scratching the inside of your palm, a nervous tick you picked up from your less than desirable childhood. “How many people do you need to meet and make small talk with?”

“Hopefully none,” Caleb admits. He places his hand on your lower back, the tips of his fingers ever so slightly curling around your side. He draws you out of the way, the two of you bowing your heads as a sign of an apology, before moving to a new area in the ballroom. Goosebumps form where his hand sits. Your hip bumps into his, slowly locking yourself at his side, using the crowded room as an excuse to be so close to him.

“What?” you ask with an amused smile and quiet giggle, “are they supposed to come up to you?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Caleb flashes his canines at you, the sharp point of his tooth reminding you how it felt at your friend’s bachelorette party just over a week ago.

The purple hickeys on your neck have disappeared over the course of the week. Caleb noticed, of course, and wondered when the next time will be when he can place fresh marks against your skin for all to see, although, he will miss the turtleneck sweaters you wore this week to cover them up.

“Oh, wow,” you raise your eyebrows, playing into his boosted ego and confidence, “look at you go. Mr. Popular…am I going to need to fill up your dance card just so we can have a conversation?”

“You can have all the spots on my dance card, pretty bird,” the man squeezes your hip. You push back a blush, yelling at your pounding heart to calm down, to leave you alone for the night.

You need a night where your body doesn’t react so viscerally to Caleb’s touches and words. You should be used to it by now, right? Right! He’s just a childhood friend that you just so happened to reconnect with and let him bury his face between your legs in a nightclub’s bathroom.

You step away from him and he watches as you approach a table lined with champagne flutes. The golden alcohol stares at you, your stomach churning remembering the hangover you had a week ago. Caleb comes up from behind. He plucks two glasses from the table, passing one off to you. You sigh and look up at him, raising your glass.

“To a good night?” you ask.

“A good night,” he nods.

Your glasses clink together and you sip from the flutes as the song changes tempo. It’s much slower. A few lone couples make their way to the dance floor, couples that you assume are married couples due to their age and the rings on their fingers. You smile at the sight, watching as even a few younger couples join in the middle of the room.

The man beside you takes the glass from your hand, placing it back onto the table. He steps around you, your eyes trained on his broad shoulders. With his white uniform, you can now see the red, silver, and bronze lines that descend from his shoulders to the bottom of the jacket. Caleb turns around, extending his hand to you.

“Come on,” his eyes burn into yours, “you owe me a dance.”

Your heart skips a beat. You stare at his hand, slowly accepting it, your fingers lacing together with his. He steps backward. The crowd separates around him, watching as he guides you, his beauty and his love onto the dance floor.

Caleb draws you to his body. Your chests rest against reach other, no space separating you. He places his hand on your waist. His thumb massages your hipbone, fingers tingling with submerged delight. His touch is tender, intimate. You draw your arm up and rest it on his shoulder, brushing against the metal chain that hangs from the jacket. Your fingertips rest against his hairline. They delicately play with the tips of his hair. Your hands remain connected, Caleb being quick to lead the dance. Your breathing falls in step with his, the two hearts falling into rhythm.

The piano’s notes flutter, taking its time to build up. The band members and singer watch, waiting for their cue to join in. The singer brings the microphone up to their lips, the other instruments remaining silent.

Caleb lowers his head, your temple coming into gentle contact with his cheek. He relaxes into you, not caring whether his colleagues see how close he holds you, the way your bodies step in sync, anticipating the other’s movement. You watch as Caleb pulls you into the middle of the floor, using the other couples as a way to hide from the rest of the world, their prying eyes being blocked by the other happy couples.

The skirt of your dress sways with the movement, flowing with every step. Caleb’s hand is warm under the leather glove he wears. A part of you wishes he would take it off so you can feel the calloused skin of his palms, the tough skin against your own, a feeling that you have grown to miss.

Caleb turns you, your skirt picking up from the sudden twist. The faces of the crowd blur, but you catch on to Diana’s shocked expression. You suppress a smug smile. Caleb tugs you into his chest again, drawing your eyes back to his.

“What is the song about?” he whispers into your ear. You sigh, feeling your head pull away from his shoulder. You look up at him, his purple eyes soft and full of devotion. Your fingers give his a gentle squeeze.

“It’s a song about regret…the singer is mournful of letting her one true love getting away,” you quietly respond just so he can hear. Caleb nods, eyelashes fluttering, tearing his gaze away as he focuses on the woman’s singing. “I love you in a place where there is no space or time,” the translated words roll off your lips just as the singer sings them.

The two of you freeze. The lights shimmer from above, the golden hues making Caleb’s eyes pop. Your skin looks even more warm under the colors. The lights make your eyes flitter, the individual flickering lights being captured so beautifully in your eyes.

Caleb wishes he could stay here in this moment with you. He wishes that you two were alone with nobody to bother you. He wants you to stay in his embrace, to never leave his side ever again.

Little does he know that you wish for the same thing.

You take a step back from Caleb, your hand leaving the base of his neck. Your hands remain connected, the man keeping you at an arm’s length as the singer sings of sorrowful regrets and misdeeds. He draws you back in. Your hand slips from his embrace, fingertips sliding up the smooth material of his jacket, your arms wrapping around his neck while his hands make themselves at home on your waist. 

No space separates you.

You do not push him away. There is no more hidden angst or remorse. You willingly enter his embrace. You’re allowing him to walk through your mind’s castle gates, surpassing every wall that you have built since childhood. There is no more resentment you hold against him, your mind and body being sucked into the warmth of his love and adoration for you.

No longer do you feel rotten. No longer do you feel discarded. You are no longer a second choice, the lone girl standing in the middle of your high school’s gymnasium.

Your once decomposed core, the place where your soul used to live, blossoms.

A single apple tree breaks through dead and dry soil, a miracle of life in the no man’s land that has been barren for years.

“I love you,” Caleb breathes out. The music swells. Your heart skips a beat. “I love you in a place where there is no space or time.”

Caleb leans in, your hands dropping from his neck. One rests on his chest, feeling the unsteady and heavy beats of his heart, while the other stays on the side of his neck, fingertips caressing his jawline. His grip on your waist tightens yet remains gentle. The tip of his nose presses into yours, sliding down the side as his mouth grows closer to yours. The brim of his hat obscures your face from one side of the room, shielding you from the public eye as your lips graze together.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You and Caleb freeze in your spot. Your breath mingles with his, your lips just about to meet. You stare into his eyes and feel the heat radiate off of his body. He pulls away, gaze remaining on yours, and keeps you in his arms. You break your gaze away, his hands tightening on your waist, to see the General standing beside you.

“Hello, General,” you greet him. Caleb turns his head away, quietly groaning. “Would you like to dance with me? Colonel Caleb was just telling me that he needed to go to the bathroom.” Your excuse is less than ideal but it’s believable enough for the General to easily accept. You slip from Caleb’s grip, the heat from his touch lingering on your skin, and are transferred to the General’s hands.

The music switches from the slow song to something more upbeat and positive. You keep a respectable distance between you and the older man before you. Form the corner of your eye, you watch as Caleb disappears from the floor, leaving your line of sight. You cannot help but sigh, turning back to the General.

“Tell me, my dear,” he begins, “is there something between you and the Colonel?” The smile returns to your face, cheeks heating. The man’s smile grows and he nods, moving you around the dance floor. “I knew it! He was so adamant to have you as his translator. He is never so serious when it comes to events like this!”

“Oh? Really?” Your smiles grows. The man nods.

“He looks at you the same way I looked at my late wife, Amara. That’s how I knew,” he sighs, his hands slightly tensing on your side. You gone his shoulder a gentle and reassuring squeeze, watching as his eyes gloss from tears.

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” you quietly coo. He smiles at you, a saddened chuckle coming from his mouth.

“She was…the light of my life. She would have loved you.” The General tears his gaze from yours, looking at the other dressed officers and world leaders. They laugh and smile, completely unaware of how turbulent the outside world is, that a man in this building has lost his North Star.

“Let’s keep her memory alive, then,” you smile. He turns back to you. Hope shines in his eyes. “I’m sure we can figure out a way to dedicate something to her. Maybe we can petition to rename a part of the building for her…as for now, though, let’s share a dance in the honor of her memory.”

You always knew the right things to say to someone who who grieving. You do not know how long ago the General’s wife died, nor will he tell you, but you know that comfort and solace in the future, knowing that their name will be remembered for the rest of time for all to see. The dance is a temporary solution for now, yes, but it is a good way to distract the elderly man’s shaky hands and the way he fumbles over his words. You are happy to fill in the hole in his heart, even if it is for a few brief moments.

The song comes to an end and you pull away from the General. The two of you smile and clap alongside the other guests. The General looks to the side and claps his hands together, resting his hand in-between your shoulder blades.

“Ah! There is someone I would like you to meet! I’m sorry to make you work on a night like this, but we have one last person to talk to. Would you be so kind as to help me?” The General asks. You nod with a sweet smile.

“Of course. I would love to,” your response is sweet, radiating the helpfulness that you have come to be known as having. He nods and leads you away from the dance floor. You take one last look over your shoulder, scanning the area Caleb disappeared into, before sighing and following the leader.

“Allow me to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Professor Lucius,” the General steps to the side, his arm up. Your eyes follow where his hand gestures to, the smile on your face slightly flattering.

It’s the man from the hotel lobby when you first arrived. He is much taller up close, his white hair blending in with his pale and almost translucent skin. He has a few aged spots across his skin and his bony fingers, with his knuckles vastly prominent, wrap around the knob of his wooden cane. He smiles at you with pale yellow teeth, one of them gray in color. He holds out his hand to you. You hesitantly take it, shaking it.

His touch is ice cold. There is no warmth in his grasp. What makes things worse is that his handshake is limp; it’s almost as if you are meeting a monarch where you are meant to kiss his ring.

You draw your hand back to your side and clear your throat.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Professor Lucius’ voice is a complete opposite of what you expected it to be. Part of you was ready to listen to an old shriveled voice, one that lacked any strength. His voice is actually quite strong for his age. A complete 180 from what his appearance is.

If anything, it makes you feel even more uneasy in his presence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Professor Lucius,” you push the words through a gritted smile. He nods his head and inches closer to you. You’re frozen in place.

“The General said that you would be willing to help us with one last meeting, yes?” You nod in response. His sickening smile grows wider. “Wonderful. Please,” he holds out his frail arm to you, “follow me.”

You link your arm with his against your better judgment and take one final look of the ballroom. Caleb is nowhere to be seen. You hold your disappointment inside your chest and feel the professor begin to walk you towards the exit of the ballroom. He rests his free hand on top of yours, leaning into you like you are his walking stick. As soon as you step out into the hallway, his voice breaks through the uncomfortable silence.

“I work for Ever,” he starts, “and we have been working with the Farspace Fleet for many years now. A long partnership that I have had the honor of seeing for the entirety of its fruition.” You smile at him, feeling his hardened nails slightly dig into your skin. “At Ever, we aim to help aid people in their lives. We want to take away stresses and allow people to enjoy life!”

“That sounds like a good mission to have!” you muster up as much cheer as you can. Professor Lucius smiles at you, nodding at your apparent excitement, stroking his already boosted ego. It doesn’t hurt that a beautiful woman is on his arm too.

“We’ve helped the Farspace Fleet with their…obedience problem as well.”

Caleb enters the ballroom, his hands clasped behind his back. He looks to the dance floor to try and find your familiar head of hair but you aren’t there. He looks towards the drinks. Again, you aren’t there. He sighs and takes a lap around the room, weaving through the endless military personnel and drunken lower ranking officers.

He spots Liam from across the room. He rushes towards the officer, urgency in every step he takes. Once he is close enough to his right hand man, he barks a question: “Where is she?!”

“Colonel,” Liam turns to him and nods his head, a quick and formal greeting.

“Don’t make me repeat my question,” Caleb growls through gritted teeth. His fists ball at his side. Anxiety bubbles within his chest, his heart moving in deep, slow pumps.

“The General and Professor Lucius have asked her to help translate for a meeting. They left a few minutes ago.”

Caleb immediately turns on his heel. He feels an itch form in the middle of his brain, a dull ache beginning to form. He slowly inhales and exhales, getting control of his heightened emotions as he rushes to the doors of the ballroom. He leaps out and into the hotel hallway, rushing down the impeccably decorated passageway. He bursts into the hotel lobby, out of breath, and notices a flash of your dress disappear behind a turn.

He runs through the empty lobby, ignoring the employees’ yells for him to walk and to not cause trouble. He doesn’t care. Nothing matters.

As long as you are in the Professor’s hands, your safety is the only thing that matters to him.

For the past two months, Caleb was able to keep you away from Ever. He was able to hide your job with the Farspace Fleet. Caleb hid you behind the closed doors of his mind, keeping you away form the black hole that is the Toring Chip. The Professor was none the wiser, believing that his heart still belonged to the girl he grew up with, the girl that Josephine stole away from Ever.

Professor Lucius could not have been more wrong.

The Colonel slides across the floor, the bottom of his boots scuffing the white marble. You stand at the end of the hallway, sandwiched between Professor Lucius and the General. They stare at you with widened smiles. It makes Caleb sick to his stomach.

Chills and goosebumps overtake his body. The hallway feels never-ending with you being pulled farther and farther away with each passing second. He claws at the air, watching as you duck behind a wooden door.

Your body is rigid. The General guides you inside a large meeting room where three other people sit. You recognize one of them, having been in a room just like this, only a few hours ago. You smile at them and sit down in a chair that the General has pulled out for you. The chair is comfortable but it feels like you are sitting on a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

“Hello,” you greet in their language with a small wave. “This is Professor Lucius and the Farspace Fleet General. Thank you for taking the time to have a meeting with us today.”

You watch as the translator does their job. The man, who sits beside them, wears a green and red uniform, his hair neatly pushed out of his face, scars covering the side of his neck and face. He smiles and reveals a golden front tooth.

Tension settles into your bones, chilling your body. You bite your bottom lip, rolling it back and forth between your teeth. If you were to add any more pressure, you lip would surely bleed.

The meeting starts slow. It’s a conversation between you and the other translator, working through formalities and thank you, before anyone important in the room speaks up. You smile and bow your head, watching as the man’s translator exits the room. Once it is done and over with, you tilt your body to the side, looking at Professor Lucius, who rests his hands on his cane hatstands between his legs.

“The Farspace Fleet and I have been working on a chip that we think can help you with your problems with your soldiers,” Professor Lucius matches the other man’s smile. They both nod, the man turning to look at you as you translate what the Professor said to the man.

He slowly nods, digesting the information. After a minute, he opens his mouth to speak.

“The Thing Chip, right? We heard about it through friends of yours. How effective is it?”

You translate his sentence to Professor Lucius. The smile remains on his face, the cane rocking back and forth at a steady and fluid pace. Before he can respond, the doors to the office burst open. You flinch in your seat, unable to bring yourself to see who has entered.

Is this it? Is it your time to go? Has someone discovered a meeting that is, well, unconventional? That is being held in secret?

“Ah! Colonel Caleb. How pleasant of you to join us. My dear, will you please tell the Captain and Ambassador that Colonel Caleb here is a shining example of the Toring Chip’s effects on soldiers?” Professor Lucius’ words makes your body go cold.

The General stands from his chair, offering it to Caleb. He’s regained his composure now. He takes his hat off of his head and nods at the Captain and Ambassador. He glances at the General and sits in the chair beside you, his hat resting next to your folded hands.

Tears sting your eyes. You fight them off but know that you may break when you see Caleb. Truthfully, you have heard whispers of the Toring Chip and its effect on Farspace Fleet soldiers. Men who were once known to be reckless, disobedient, and too emotional have suddenly become cooperative and compliant. However, they have become void of all emotion. They act like emotionless beings who live to serve for their leader.

Caleb turns to face you. He notices the tears that brim your eyes, the way your mouth slightly opens. His heart breaks at the sight of you, his heartbeat slightly palpitating, before it goes steady once again. You slowly turn to look at him. His face is unexpressive, cold. You blink away your tears, finding the strength to go on. Caleb raises his eyebrows at you, a silent plea to continue.

“Sir, this is Colonel Caleb,” you turn back to the Captain with the gold tooth and the Ambassador who wears too much cologne. “He currently has the chip implanted in his mind. Professor Lucius would like you to know that he is a shining example of the Toring Chip and its effects on soldiers.” You gulp.

“Good job, child, now tell them this…” the Professor leans in, his hand resting on your thigh. Your body goes cold from his touch. Caleb notices the man’s touch. He slowly inhales, keeping his breathing steady, watching as the Professor feeds you words to say.

“The Toring Chip can be surgically implanted into a soldier’s mind or, due to recent advancements in technology, it can be implanted through the arm and controlled that way through the solider’s nervous system.”

Your throat goes dry as you speak. You push through the words, flashes of pain striking your heart. It aches for Caleb, for all of the pain he has been forced into. The Caleb you knew wouldn’t have done this willingly…but the Caleb you have come to love has always been under the Chip’s influence.

“Once the Toring Chip is implanted, it will regulate and monitor the soldier’s emotions. If their heart rate gets too high, it will calm them down. Their emotions will be suppressed and—”

You choke out a cough, unable to bring yourself to say the next part with neutrality. Caleb’s body doesn’t move despite him wanting to reach out and hold you, to console you while the truth he’s been so desperately trying to hide from you comes to light.

“—and it will come at the cost of the solider’s memories. A price that they must be forced to pay if they wish to rebel and push against your commands. The less they remember about their life, the less they have to lose, making them more willing combatants when it comes to war. If they sustain injuries, we can always repair them for you and enhance them to be their better selves. Modifications to the body can also serve as a reminder to them to stay in line, that you can take away what you have given back to them.”

You tear your gaze away from the diplomat and military leader, looking at Caleb when you say the last part of the sentence.

“They become the perfect weapon.”

The Ambassador and Captain turn to look at each other. They deliberate in silence.

Caleb looks into your glossy eyes. He can watch your heart shatter into a million different pieces through your dejected gaze, the way your shoulders slouch ever so slightly. Your hands tremble in your lap. He scantily shakes his head, making sure that neither Professor Lucius or the General catch on to his silent messages for you.

You release a shaky sigh and turn away from him. You look at the General, who wears the same warm smile on his face. You match it despite feeling dead on the inside.

“Sir? May I be excused? I think I had too much wine from earlier and need to go lay down. I can have the Colonel escort me to my bedroom.”

To your surprise, the General nods. He stands from his chair, Caleb rising as soon as he does, and helps you from your chair. His puffed up hand feels heavy in yours. You are unable to shake away the feeling of dread that seeps into your skin. Nausea sweeps over your body. You stand and smile at the men in the room, suddenly becoming aware of your involvement of the erasure of men and women’s memories and livelihoods. Quickly, you exit the room and step into the hallway.

Caleb salutes the General and moves to leave, but Professor Lucius grabs his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Professor Lucius looks up at the young man, eyes narrowed in a razor sharp glare.

“Remember what is at stake, boy. Do not make me erase what is left of the identity I have so kindly let you keep.”

You stand in front of the elevator, rapidly pressing the button that calls the metal box. Tears fall down your face but your hair shields anyone from seeing, your head hung low. Loud footsteps come from behind you. The clicking of military boots causes more tears to fall. The elevator’s ding is a relief to you and you step inside. Caleb follows you and presses the button to close the door before anyone else can get in.

“Is it true?” you ask just as the doors close. You lift your chin, strained eyes meeting his. “Is it true that you have a god damn chip in your body?!”

Caleb breathe out your name but says nothing else. You slowly nod and swipe your tongue over your teeth. You tear your gaze away from his. He takes a step closer to you but you hold your hand out to stop him.

“Don’t.”

He obeys your command like the good soldier he is. Isn’t that what he’s been made to be?

You bury your face in your hands and let out a muffled yell. It is filled with pent up frustration, sadness, confusion, and the sharp ache that slices into your heart. The apple tree that once bloomed to big and high in your heart begins to wither and fade away, the lies and deception of his loyalty to the Farspace Fleet coming to light.

He was never yours to begin with, so what made you think that you could claim him now?

Tension fills the elevator. The air feels heavy, tough to breathe in, weighing both of your chests down. You remove your hands from your face and stare at the man before you.

He has the face of the man you love. He wears his skin like it is his own. Have his words been true this whole time? Or has the imposter inside Caleb’s body been spoon-feeding you with lies and false promises that the man he is pretending to be actually cares for you, that he actually loves you more than her?

Ding.

You stare at the opening doors then back at Caleb. You push past him, your skirt whipping his clothed leg from the speed you pass him with. You storm down the hallway, unsure of where you’re even going, vision blurred and body trembling. Your legs turn to jelly and you slow down. Your hands attach to the wall beside you, your heart slowly giving out on you. Caleb is quick to pull you into his arms, sweeping your legs from the ground, rushing in the opposite direction to his suite. You gaze up at him, taking in the worried expression on his face.

Maybe this is your Caleb. Maybe your Caleb is trapped inside his own body, trying to fight and claw his way out back to you. Or, alternatively, that is just your delusions speaking to your hidden desires.

“Caleb…” his name slips from your mouth. He looks down at you, using his Evol to unlock the door to his room. “I want to know…everything.”

“You know I can’t do that.” A bitter taste fills his mouth. You purse your lips and look away, the door locking behind the two of you. He walks inside the suite and heads for the small living area. He sets you down on the couch, kneeling in front of you.

Moonlight spills in from the windows. The full moon is as bright as ever and on any other night, you would be outside staring at it with awe and wonder in your eyes. Tonight holds different plans for you, though, and the moonlight serves as a reminder of everything that has been forced into the shadows of yours and Caleb’s minds.

He places his leather gloved hands on top of your thighs, holding you in place while also providing as much comfort as he can. He runs his hands up and down, the fabric of your dress shielding you from his touch. You stare at him, silent tears flowing from your eyes.

“What…what did he mean by…modifications,” your voice trembles. Caleb’s hands stop. His eyes slowly move from your legs, trailing up your body, before meeting your eyes. His silence tightens the rope around your neck, squeezing it until no air can enter or leave your esophagus. “C-Caleb.”

“I…pretty bird, please,” he puffs out the words as if he’s ashamed to be asking for leniency from you. “It’s too much—”

“Don’t you think I deserve to know the truth?” Your eyes follow his, grabbing his chin whenever he looks away, forcing him to stare at the mess you find yourselves in. “What you said earlier…was it a lie? Do you not love me? Was it something that the chop made you—”

“Of course I love you!” Caleb raises his voice, interrupting you. His hands squeeze around your knees and for the first time, one hand feels cooler than the other. “I love you so much,” his voice wavers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. But this? This is a world that you need to stay out of!”

“Why?” you lean forward. Your faces near each other. Caleb can see the way your muscles move under your skin, the pain in your voice making him want to reach into his chest and rip his heart out, to offer it to you so you can see that his heart is yours and yours alone.

“I have to keep you safe. That’s why.” He spits the words out harder than he expected to. His emotions slip away from him but your touch to his hand brings him back down to earth.

“How can I be safe if I don’t know what we’re up against? Caleb, talk to me, please,” you plead, “don’t ice me out!”

“What if the Professor decides that he wants to ‘work’ with you next, my love? What then? You can’t become like me! Like…like a dog ready to obey every command they have!” Caleb shakes away the pain in his head.

Your vision blurs and the rapid blinking isn’t enough to make the tears go away. You close your eyes, tilting your face away so he can’t see the despair that contorts and twists your face. Not even your vivid and wild imagination can come up with an idea of what Ever and the Fleet have done to Caleb.

Was his death real? Did they fake it so they can experiment on his mind and body? Has he been a willing volunteer the whole time or has he been a victim to their torturous plans and devices?

“What did they do to you?” you whisper.

Caleb shakes his head. He wishes that tears could fill his eyes like they do in yours but nothing comes. He cannot bring himself to fully express the sadness that he feels, the pain and turmoil that he is sure to be causing you right now. All he has to show for himself is a racing heart and sweaty palms.

“Baby…” his breath is shaky. You stand from the couch, looking down at him.

Piece by piece, you begin to tear away the armor he’s built into his Farspace Fleet uniform.

First, you throw his hat to the side. Then, you force him to stand up, ripping the jacket off of his body. It falls to the ground, the metal pins making quiet clanking sounds. You grab his tie, loosening it, but his right hand grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his body.

“Caleb! Please!” You unconsciously raise your voice at him. “What have they done to the man I love?!”

Your pained cry reaches his ears. His grip on your wrist loosens and you fight through the tears. The black tie slips off form his neck, plummeting to the ground. You attack his shirt buttons next, plucking them each one by one. The black shirt pools around his feet.

His bare chest stares at you, mocking you for being unable to to find the modifications that Ever has given to him. You wipe away your unsteady tears with the heel of your hand. Caleb looks down at you, shame written all over his face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Caleb’s quiet question tickles your ears. You nod.

You plaster your hands onto his chest, moving them around as if there is som magical button that will show you all of the experiments they have done to him. Caleb stands still, too scared to move, and watches you with a close eye.

Your touch isn’t one of intimacy or desire, not a touch of lust or passion, but is one out of anger, pure spite and hatred towards Ever. Your nails drag across his skin, leaving red lines in his wake. You circle him and move Caleb around like a puppet. He closes his eyes, unsure if he should reveal it to you just yet. The skin on skin contact leaves you both breathless. You end up behind Caleb, defeated by your vain attempts to unveil the horrors he has gone through. You place your forehead in the valley between his shoulder blades, your tears trickling down his back. With one movement to the side, your hot forehead feels cool against his right shoulder. Caleb sucks in a breath, feeling you pull away from him.

The palm of your hand flattens across his skin. Times from before when you’ve touched him here, he’s had the protection of clothes to shield you from the truth. Your hand travels down his bicep, the heat from your hand being the energy that warms his body, not the other way around. Shivers run down your spine.

“Show me.”

“Pretty bird,” Caleb coos in one last attempt to keep you in ignorance.

“Caleb, please,” you choke, “I need to see what they have done to you.” You close your eyes, an elongated sigh escaping your mouth. A faint whir fills your ears. Caleb’s muscles tighten under your light touch, your hand settling itself over his heart. You can feel the frantic beats through his bones. It shakes you to your core just how scared he is to show you.

“I’m not a monster.”

Caleb’s words suck all of the oxygen out from your lungs. You open your eyes, looking at his tanned skin, before slowly pulling your face away.

You stare at the distinct line between flesh and metal. The dark surface heavily contrasts between the robotic arm and his skin. Your fingertips graze the fine line where man meets machine, unable to tear your gaze away.

Caleb shudders under your touch. He can’t bring himself to look at you, to see the way you stare at him. He can’t help but allow his mind to drift to anything negative that can come from this. Perhaps you’d believe that he is a broken man, a broken toy that is not shiny and brand new. He has scars and scuff marks from being beaten from over the years. He can’t bring himself to even blame you for wanting to walk away from him and his constant reminder that he will never be whole again.

Your touch is light, gentle. He can barely feel the way your fingers move up and down the metal. The blue lines catch your eye, the light breaking through the dim light. The metal has some scrapes in it. There is even a large screw that you cannot even imagine how painful it must have felt to be drilled into your skin.

Your silence is deafening. It makes Caleb’s ears ring. His fists ball up as a single tear rolls down his cheek, falling onto the floor.

“I’m a monster.”

“No…” your whisper tickles his ear. “You are not a monster.”

Your hand slips down the metallic surface, your fingers catching onto the rough and smooth spots, traveling over semi-loose wires. The arm jerks, a quiet whir emitting from the artificial joint.

You step closer to him. The material of your dress grazes against his bare skin. Caleb sighs and shakes his head, his warm hand covering the one that is over his heart. His fingers lace into yours, squeezing your hand because his sanity depends on it. He opens his mouth to speak when he feels a portion of your lips on the skin of his shoulder.

You kiss the border between the mechanical part and his body. With every kiss, Caleb quivers, the upper half of his body leaning forward, shoulders slumping, head hung low.

“Your arm does not make you a monster,” you whisper. You circle around him, taking your place in front of him. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his, pushing his head back up. Your lips brush against each other but don’t fully meet. You slip your hand into his robotic one. The metal is cool to the touch.

Caleb pulls his head away from yours, his purple eyes plastered on the way you hold his hand. Your two hands bring it to your mouth. You kiss each finger tip, your eyes looking into his when he comes back to you.

“All I see…” you breathe out.

Your stomach flutters when his metallic fingers dance with yours.

“All I feel…” you continue.

You watch as his hand slips away from yours, the chilled metal now clinging to cup your face.

“Is you, Caleb.”

You lean into his touch, hoping that someway, somehow, he is able to feel the love and adoration that you feel for him. You hope that whatever god is out there is merciful enough to allow Caleb to feel your skin under his metallic touch, to bask in the light that is your contact.

The two of you stand in silence. Neither one dares to break it, uncertainty of what to say filling the room. 

His hands slowly move to the side of your face while your fingers rest on his muscular chest. Your breaths mix into one, bodies drawing closer to each other. Caleb leans in, closing the distance between you and him. His lips press into yours.

The kiss is slow and tender. Your body comes back to life, arms wrapping around his neck, drawing his head down closer to yours. His hands drop to your waist. With one quick tilt of your head, the kiss deepens, the faint taste of your salty tears mixing in with your saliva

Caleb’s fingers sink into your body. There is an underlying feeling of desperation to his touch. You play with the bottom of his hair, your hand dropping to his shoulder. A light touch caresses the line where his flesh is formed with the metal. Chills run down his spine. He slightly pulls away, leaning his head into yours, both of your breaths heavy and labored.

“I love you, Caleb. I love all of you.”

Your kiss with Caleb turns fierce, filled with hunger and longing.

Caleb and you senses sharpen; the taste of your tongues massaging into each other, the mixture of his woody and musky cologne with the fragrant scents of apple cider and vanilla of your perfume, the way your skin tingles under his touch. It’s overwhelming, making the two of you drunk off of your touch and body warmth.

Caleb’s hand hooks around to your back, caressing the curves of your body before his fingers snatch the metal of your dress zipper. In one slow, agonizing motion, Caleb draws the zipper down. A quiet sigh of content leaves your mouth and into his, the chilled air striking across your skin. You pull away for a brief moment and stare at him, the moonlight gentle across his face.

Your dress falls to the ground. The soft material pools around your feet. A pool of warmth forms between your legs, your lower stomach aching for him. You’re left in your bra and panties, nipples pebbling under the thin material. Caleb cups the back of your jaw, metal fingertips slipping into your hair, drawing your lips back to his.

The kiss isn’t rushed. The two of you take your time to melt into each other, the slow and sloppy kisses bringing your bodies together. Your fingers slip up into his hair. You give it a gentle tug, earning a frustrated groan from Caleb’s lips.

He steps forward, gently pushing you towards the bedroom. You stumble over your feet and Caleb is quick enough to pull you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his torso, your throbbing core hovering over his tented pants. The Colonel kicks the bedroom door open, the bed neatly made with a towel swan on the bed. He lays you down and immediately latches on top of you.

He moves his swollen lips away from yours, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down the skin of your neck. His teeth rake over your neck, leaving a bite here and there, covering it up with a sweet kiss as a silent apology. Your knee drags up his side. His metal hand slides up the side of your leg, hooking around your thigh, squeezing the plushness of your inner thigh. Caleb continues to trail kisses down your body, his lips taking his time when he reaches your collarbone.

Quiet puffs of air leave your mouth, just on the cusp of being a moan, filling in the silence of the room. Just his touch alone sends shocks of electricity throughout your body. Every touch, every kiss, every bite leaves you wanting more.

Caleb bites down on the sensitive spot where your collarbone meets your throat. You gasp, back arching up and chest pushing into his lips. His hand snakes under your back, quickly unhooking your bra. Caleb leans down and grabs the fabric between his teeth, biting into the flesh of your breast, pulling the bra up with him.

The man, breathless and hard, rests his weight on his knees, his hands resting on the tops of your thighs, pushing them open. Your bra hangs from his mouth, the material having slipped off your body with ease. He takes the bra from his mouth and tosses it to the side.

His purple eyes take their time looking at your gorgeous body. Your chest slowly rises and falls, deep and heavy breaths overtaking your body as you try to clam down. Your nipples are hard under the moonlight, a few fresh hickeys adorning your neck and collarbones. Your lips part ever so slightly, legs threatening to close on him. His Evol holds your thighs down, keeping your soaking wet panties open for him to see.

Caleb’s hands reach for his belt. His eyes remain on you, never leaving, never faltering. You hear the soft clicks of metal, the leather slipping free from the fabric loops. Your mouth opens more, a shudder overtaking your body as he flicks the belt to the side, his pants unbuckling before being pulled down alongside his tight boxers.

His cock springs from its confinement. He is much bigger than you anticipated, his tip already swollen and twitching. He strokes himself, slipping off the bed to kick off the leftover clothes. He comes back close to you, pressing passionate and loving kisses from your knee up to the inside of your thigh. His metal hand caresses your skin as if it is a work of art, leaving chills in his wake. You roll your head back and sigh with every kiss.

Caleb’s hand rests on top of your clothed pussy, the pad of his thumb running up and down your covered entrance in long, agonizing strokes. You whine, looking down at him. A smirk forms on his face. You watch as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs in one fluid motion. The friction from the fabric against your legs causes you to shiver, sparks of electricity causing your hips to push up. He’s quick to push you back down, his hand flattening against your stomach.

Caleb positions himself on top of you, one hand resting to the side of your head. You’re quick to reach down and curl your fingers around his hardened cock. His eyes close and his head drops, a gratified moan escaping his lips as you slowly begin to pump him. He slowly raises his eyes to look at you, his purple irises shining through the spaces of his dark hair.

Your thumb swirls around his tip, spreading across the pre-cum that spills from his head. Caleb dips his head down. Your lips connect in a fiery kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, melting into yours. He rubs slow circles into your clit while you pump him. You swallow each others moans.

Caleb hooks his arm under one of your legs, pulling it up, your thigh resting against his side. You squeeze his length and he groans, hips jerking into your touch. You guide your other leg to wrap around the side of his torso. You hand is pushed away from his twitching cock, your arms hooking under his, hands attaching themselves to the back of his shoulders.

Your nails dig into skin and metal while Caleb rubs his tip along your entrance. He presses some of his weight into you. Your kiss slows. Caleb slightly pulls away, a string of your mixed saliva connecting you two.

“Say you’re mine,” Caleb breathes out. He leans his head into yours, body heavy from lust and desire. His tip slightly pushes into your entrance before slipping out. A quiet moan leaves your mouth. Your hips roll up into his, pushing his tip into your soaking pussy. He pulls it out, teasing you, leaving you dangling on the edge of a dangerous line that you want to cross. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe out. Your hands move to his cheeks, yanking him down into a breathless and fiery kiss.

In the midst of your passionate kiss, Caleb lines his stiff cock with your entrance. He slowly pushes in, a gasp fleeing from your lips as he buries himself deep inside you. He shudders as your nails drag down his back, leaving red lines in their trail.

“Fuck, pretty bird,” Caleb stammers against your lips. He kisses you, neither of you able to catch your breath. “You feel like perfection.”

His cock twitches inside of you. He fights every urge to not thrust up inside you with all of the force in the world. A quiet, shaky moan leaves your lips. You adjust yourself to his size, your pussy already clenching around him.

Caleb draws his hips back, leaving you feeling so empty, clenching around nothing, before he drives his body back into yours. Your head rolls back, a wave of bliss coursing through your body. Caleb’s cock slides in and out of you with ease, his tip kissing your sweet spot.

The Colonel sets a slow and steady pace. He fully draws himself out of you, just his aching tip remaining inside, before he thrusts back into you, your bodies colliding, haggard moans fleeing your lips as Caleb groans.

Your legs tighten around his torso, hips eager to meet his, taking in every inch he has to offer. Your nails drag up and down his back, tearing into his skin as your moans increase in volume. Caleb’s slow yet brutal pace leaves you a rambling mess. The sound of skin slapping against each other mixes in with your pretty and breathless moans.

Caleb’s head dips down to your neck. His lips attack your skin, biting down and sucking, leaving deep purple and red marks in his path. You whimper and cry out his name, his pace slowly picking up every time his name leaves your lips.

It fries his brain. Your raspy moans and cries, the way you give into him so easily, the desire you feel for each other burning with such intensity, pushing the two of you towards orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts, his hips crashing into yours in another devastating thrust. A loud cry flies from your lips. His muscles flex with every thrust while you come undone beneath him. Your breasts are trapped against his chest, your back arching, pushing up into him as you feel the knot in your stomach continue to tighten.

You feel his muscles tighten and flex against yours. His thrusts become slightly jerky, desperate. His lips come back to yours and he melts into you, sloppily kissing you, sucking the air from your lungs. One of your hands move from his back and up to his hair, grabbing a fistful at the roots, balling your fist. Caleb whines, slowly losing control of himself under your touch.

Your moans go silent as your eyes roll into the back of your head, just about to tip over the edge when Caleb’s hips stop. A gasp fills the room and you stare at him. His chest puffs up and down, eyes closed.

Caleb pulls away from you, back straightening. He buries himself deep inside you, the tip of his dick pressing against your cervix. You look up at him with bright pink cheeks your hair a mess. Your heart flutters, pussy tightening around his cock from pure pleasure, watching as he hooks his arms underneath your knees.

Your legs push up as he buries his fists into the mattress beside you. You’re pressed into the mattress with inches separating your beating hearts. Caleb’s eyes darken, licking his lips.

His Evol keeps your legs in place. You watch as he grabs your hands, placing them above your head. Weight falls on top of them, a tingling feeling as the pressure builds a lock that you cannot escape from.

“Caleb…” you breathe out, slowly coming down from the ecstasy you were about to reach. Caleb places his hands back on the mattress. Your wet cunt flutters around him and an exasperated breath leaves his lips.

Without warning, he slams his hips into yours. Your head rolls back but he’s quick to grab your jaw, yanking your face back to his.

“Eyes on me, pretty bird,” he growls, his thrusts growing with power, “I want you to see what you to me…I want to see you come undone on my cock.”

Holy fuck.

His actions are ravenous, filled with nothing but lustful desire. Your hips eagerly meet his, adjusting when his cock leaves you feeling empty, the man entering at a new and deeper angle if it were even possible. You cry out his name and fight against his Evol, wanting to desperately touch him.

To touch his fiery skin. To caress his cheeks as he pounds into you. To drag your nails down his back to make him bleed some more.

His amethyst eyes glance down, watching as your breasts bounce up and down with every thrust. Your hardened nipples ache under his gaze and the man has to fight everything in him to not dip down and take one of them into his mouth, to prolong your night together.

But the two of you know that won’t be possible. You’re both chasing a high that will permanently brand you as each others for the rest of your lives.

“C-Caleb! I-I’m—” you stammer, blabbering nonsense as your eyes remain on his, struggling to stay open, desire weighing your eyelids down. Caleb presses deeper into you, bruising your cervix at this point, and presses a thumb to your clit, mercilessly rubbing circles into the swollen bud.

Tears fill your eyes. Overstimulation pushes you further and further. Your legs tremble against his side, tightening around his waist. Caleb’s thrusts become jerky, erratic and choppy. You bring yourself to look at him, the strained expression on his face showing you that he’s just as close as you are.

“F-Fuck, pretty bird,” you whine at his nickname, “be a good girl and cum for me!”

Obeying his command, the knot in your stomach snaps. The blissful heat of your orgasm crashes throughout your body, your cunt tightening and taking in every last inch of his hardened cock. Caleb buries himself inside of you, his own orgasm ripping through his body as he empties his cum inside of your pussy. His body drops onto yours, his full weight being pressed into you. He rolls his hips in slow and short pumps, easing you two down from your high.

His Evol releases its grip on your wrists. Your hands fly to the back of his head, pulling his lips back down onto yours. Your kiss is slow yet intense, the two of you greedily exploring each others mouths, tongues moving back and forth against in a steady dance.

Caleb slowly pushes himself up, the metal parts in his robotic arm clicking and whirring in the silence of your heavy breaths. He looks down at you and gently pushes some of the hair out of your face. A small, tired smile spreads across your face. Your hand attaches to his cheek and he leans into your touch, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin of your hand.

“I love you,” Caleb admits into the palm of your hand. Your heart skips a beat.

“I love you too, Caleb,” you return his affection.

The words feel right coming out of your mouth. After so much pain and anguish, it feels right for you to speak the words into existence.

Caleb’s softened dick slips from your pussy. You whine from the sudden feeling of emptiness. Your eyelashes flutter at him as he admires your body, leaning down to pressing relaxed and unhurried kisses along your chest and collarbones. He admires your breasts, dragging his nose against your skin as he inhales your perfume and sweat, a low growl forming in the back of his throat.

His purple eyes look down at your glistening pussy, his white fluid freely flowing from your entrance. The sight of it is borderline pornographic, his desire for you burning even more intensely than before.

He slips off of the bed and is quick to slide his arms under your back and knees, hoisting you out of bed. You relax into his chest, barely able to hold your head up as he pushes the bathroom door open, flicking the light switch. Keeping his arm under your knees, he reaches inside the shower and turns on the water. He places you on the counter.

You smile at him, tired and muscles already sore. Your hands rest on his shoulders, the once cold metal now warm under your touch. You lean backwards, making Caleb hold your back to keep you from falling. The two of you smile stupid and loving smiles, quiet giggles and laughs threatening to escape from your throats. Caleb presses his temple against yours and you lean into him, hands gliding up and down his chest.

“You are…everything and more,” he whispers into your ear, pressing a languid kiss onto your cheek. You blush and wrap your arms around his. The palms of your hands graze over the fresh scratch marks you’ve etched into his skin.

“I’m sorry about your back…”

“Don’t be,” Caleb peels his head away from yours, cupping your cheek. “If I could get them tattooed, I would.”

“You’re…utterly insane,” you laugh. Caleb picks you up in his arms again and carries you to the shower.

The hot water tingles against your skin, soothing your aching and numb muscles. Your hair dampens after a few moments. Caleb’s hands remain on your waist, keeping you steady, and watching you as you navigate your way through the large shower. You grab the hotel’s shampoo bottle and turn around, smiling up at him.

“You’re gonna have to come down here,” you tease. Caleb chuckles and complies, leaning down, tucking his chin on your shoulder. Your fingers slide into his hair, massaging the shampoo into his hair.

The shower goes on his this for a good hour. The two of you helps the other wash up, pressing sweet and loving kisses to different body parts. You hum while you massage his scalp. Caleb continually compliments you while using the body wash to clean up your body and the juices that turned sticky on your skin.

Every so often, your lips were captured in a sweet kiss underneath the shower head. You had to be the one to push away because if you didn’t, you would have stayed in there for an eternity.

Caleb helped you step out, wrapping you in a towel. You dried yourself off, mentally cursing to yourself that none of your hair care products are with you, needing to shower in your own room tomorrow to combat the knots and frizz that is bound to form throughout the night. You didn’t even notice Caleb slipping away while you lamented over your misstep. He comes back in, shirtless with just a pair of sweatpants hanging from his hips.

He holds out a pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts. You take them with a smile, the towel dropping from your body. Caleb watches you from the doorway, obsessing over the image of you wearing his clothes.

“You look so beautiful,” he coos from his place.

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes, a blush heating your cheeks. Once you slip the shirt on over your body, the fabric swallowing you whole, Caleb wraps his arms around your waist. He places his chin on your shoulder and looks at you through the mirror.

“I mean it,” he smiles, leaning into you. Your hands rest on top of his, matching his smile. “You are breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” the words come out just above a whisper yet loud enough for him to hear. He nods and kisses your cheek, turning your bodies to the door.

You walk out like normal but Caleb waddles behind you, his long legs adjusting to your much smaller steps. He guides you to the extra bedroom, opting for clean and neat sheets compared to the mess you two made earlier. He steps around you and flings the sheets open, jumping in like he’s just won the lottery. You throw your head back and laugh, rolling your eyes as you crawl to his side.

The sheets close around you and Caleb is quick to pull you to his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, tucking you under his chin. You drape an arm around his waist, pulling yourself even closer to him. His heart skips a beat, a large smile on his face. You yawn and nuzzle into him, closing your eyes.

“Do you want me to turn on the TV and click through a million different channels again?” Caleb jokes. A hearty laugh booms from your mouth and you pinch his waist. He fakes a surprised squeal and slightly rolls over, pressing half of his weight onto you, keeping you trapped below him.

Your heartbeat slows, falling into rhythm with his. His breathing is calm, the man counting every second that you have been in his arms for.

This…this is nice. This feels right. Caleb’s arms feel like home, as if you were meant to be inside them the entire time. Time slows around you. Your body grows heavy as slumber quietly sweeps you away, the sound of Caleb’s steady heartbeat filling your ears like a lullaby you’ve been craving to hear since childhood.

The apple tree in your heart blossoms again. Will it bear fruit or decay?

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

[bruciemilf]

One of my biggest gripes about the dc fandom is how simplified and stripped down ‘child soldier’ became as a term.

Like, ya’ll, I don’t think forcing a rich guy to take you in and make him teach you martial arts is equal to having your entire childhood ripped from the root up for military purposes. That’s just me tho idk

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i vote that next year instead of reading Dracula we do a Jeeves & Wooster Book Club. those two never got the rabid tumblr shipping fandom they deserved (disqualified for the sheer technicality of being published a century too soon). we must correct this injustice

[wheneverfeasible]

Steve’s used to not being loved.

He’d known his parents didn’t love him since he was a young child. He’d known that the girls he casually took on dates and occasionally fucked didn’t love him. He’d known Tommy and Carol didn’t love him like friends were supposed to. They all loved his reputation, sure, but not him. It was easy though because he didn’t love them either.

He’d loved his parents once, a long time ago. Back before they were practically strangers, but that love had been the obligation of biology. He’d thought he loved Tommy and Carol, but it had all been too surface level and focused on popularity.

He had loved Nancy though. He finally found someone he could start to be his true self with and he loved her and he thought she loved him, only…only she didn’t.

He couldn’t blame her. After a while, when the same thing keeps happening, you kind of have to look for the common factor in all those loveless relationships and see what the real issue was. Simply put…

Steve was just unloveable.

Maybe it was his past. Not that he’d actually been a bully or anything, he’d actually shut down a lot of bullying even among his then-friends and teammates, but he had been kind of self-absorbed. Or maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t as smart as the people he found himself surrounded by. Maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t anything special, not at the end of the day.

Except he could take a punch.

And slowly, he found people that did love him. The other kids might tolerate him, might like him, but Dustin genuinely loved him, he knew that. Dustin was his original ride-or-die. Dustin might be a little shithead that constantly treated Steve like he was stupid, but he was like his brother. And Dustin also make him feel amazing and wanted and loved.

And then there was Robin. Most amazing of all really was that Robin loved him. His Platonic soulmate. His other ride-or-die. She saw him at his lowest and saw him at his highest, was there for him when he had stuff he didn’t want to drop on a teen boy who should be worrying about pimples and bad hair days, not interdimensional monsters and evil wizards. Robin made him feel loved too, even if she also sometimes teased him a little too sharply.

There was also Max of course. He’d been surprised at receiving a letter from her too, back when Vecna had been after her. He’d read it, back when she’d been in her coma. She hadn’t said she loved him, but it was there in other ways. The big brother she should have had all along.

So yeah, okay, Steve was loved. But it was platonic. It was friends, his new kind of family even, but it wasn’t the love he’d always wanted and never had. He just accepted the fact that people didn’t love him that way.

Which was why, when he realized he was in love with Eddie, he just sighed and accepted it and never changed anything in the way he interacted with the other man. He didn’t bother telling Eddie because he knew there was no point. Besides, Robin called him out on it, said he was being so obvious about his feelings, but Eddie never said anything too.

So okay. Steve was in love with Eddie, but Eddie wasn’t in love with Steve. Eddie also didn’t treat Steve any differently despite knowing that Steve loved him. After all, if Steve was so obvious about it, then Eddie had to know too already, right?

So Steve watched Eddie come out to them, had nodded along when Eddie nervously explained what bisexuality was, having already had his own crisis before though he realized he’d never officially come out either. But then if his feelings for Eddie were so obvious, he figured he didn’t have to, so he didn’t say anything and let Eddie have his moment.

And it didn’t matter that Eddie liked guys. He still couldn’t love Steve, so Steve just accepted it and let it be. He didn’t flinch when Eddie mentioned meeting a guy in the city, was even downright friendly when Eddie eventually brought the guy around to meet everyone.

It hurt, of course, but Steve’s feelings were his own problem; he wasn’t going to let the fact that he was in love with one of his best friends make things awkward. Eddie was nice enough that he never told Steve to knock it off when Steve got a little too touchy with him, though Steve backed off in his own when Eddie seemed a little panicked about it sometimes.

Steve was even there for Eddie when Eddie came over crying because he and guy broke up. He wouldn’t tell Steve why they broke up, not entirely, but eventually Steve learned it was because Eddie had feelings for someone else this entire time.

Steve wondered who it was, but in any case he just hoped Eddie got to be happy with them eventually. He later told Eddie one day when Eddie was over that he was a great guy, obviously, and anyone Eddie liked would be a lucky person. He hoped he didn’t sound judgmental about it, didn’t want Eddie to think he was being petty or whatever, but Eddie just looked sad again and left soon after.

Steve knew he had a problem about being too much sometimes. It had pushed Nancy away, and every girl he’d tried to date afterwards never really liked him enough either. It was still just his reputation and his hair that got him dates, not who he was himself. That was fine. Temporary companionship was better than nothing he supposed.

And life continued, and Steve kept loving Eddie, and he was content that Eddie let him love him, even if there was no hope of it being reciprocated.

And then Steve went on a date with a guy.

It was…okay. The guy was a lot handsier than Steve would like, and kind of boring when compared to Eddie, but Steve just shrugged and figured that at least it’s be someone else’s hand this time. And it was okay. No great spark or anything. More of a glorified one night stand than anything, but it was fine.

He knew he needed to get out dating again. Girls and guys. His love for Eddie wasn’t abating at all, so he couldn’t bring himself to actually date anyone, but he could do hookups.

Which was how Eddie found him one day, mouth around some guy at a bar in Indy because they had forgotten to lock the bathroom door. Oops. It was a little annoying though that Eddie looked as upset as he did. He appreciated the fact that Eddie didn’t call him out for his unwanted feelings, but it wasn’t fair that he thought Steve shouldn’t be able to move on.

They got into a fight.

They never exactly said what they were fighting about with words, but Eddie yelled at him for having unsafe sex, while Steve yelled at him for being a hypocrite, and then Eddie yelled at him for leading the guy on, and Steve said that that was a bit rich coming from him.

And Eddie was yelling and yelling and yelling about who knows what, telling Steve he shouldn’t be having random hookups in bathrooms when he wasn’t even gay, and Steve yelled that bisexual men can have bathroom hookups too, and that seemed to surprise Eddie for some reason.

In any case, it caused him to shut up for long enough for Steve to angrily tell him that just because Steve loved him, it didn’t give him the right to tell Steve what he could or could not do, especially when he knew Eddie didn’t love him back.

And then…

“You…you love me?” Eddie choked out, his eyes wide as he stared across the dark alley outside the bar, where he’d dragged Steve after catching him on his knees.

Steve rolled his eyes, jutting out one hip to place a hand on while the other hand ran aggressively through his hair. It was started to rain while they were in the bar, a light drizzle that was slowly weighing down their hair, not that either of them paid it any mind.

“Jesus, Munson, are you really going to make me listen to the whole spiel again?” He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This is bullshit, I’m bullshit, my love is bullshit, yadda yadda yadda. Or are we going the other way? The sad puppy eyes and the fact that you like someone else and it could never be me? I already know all this, Munson.”

Eddie continued gaping at Steve like a fish. It was starting to make him vaguely uncomfortable. Eddie shook his head, long strands of hair whipping wetly around him. “H-how long have you loved me?” Eddie whispered.

Steve’s frown deepened. “I don’t know, man. You probably clocked it before I even did. I just barely realized like a year and half ago.”

Eddie’s eyes bugged further. “You’ve love me for a year and a half?” he asked incredulously, making Steve’s frown turn from annoyance to confusion.

“You already knew this, Eddie.”

“I most certainly did not!”

And…oh. Oof. Okay. Steve grimaced and held his hands up suddenly in a surrender sort of way. “Yikes. Okay, well, this doesn’t have to change anythi—”

“This changes everything!” Eddie exclaimed in what others might cause a shriek.

Steve winced, taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. “Eddie…Eddie, please, c’mon,” he tried to reason, feeling dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He was suddenly remembering all the times he’d invaded Eddie’s space, how many times he’d flirted back with Eddie’s fake flirting, thinking it was okay because the other man knew how he felt.

Fuck. Fuck, he’d fucked up again.

“Eddie, I know you don’t love me, okay,” he rushed to say. “I know you can never love me. I get it, okay? I’m not trying to force you to feel any way or anything. Just like with Robin and Nancy, the fact that I like you doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Not…Steve,” Eddie said, reaching up to grip and pull at his own hair as an incredulous laugh escaped him. “Steve, I fucking love you.”

Steve tried not to let that hurt. He knew Eddie probably didn’t get how much him saying that pained Steve since it wasn’t the kind of love he was talking about, so he wasn’t going to get upset at him over that.

“I know,” he sighed, slowly letting himself relax his body posture. “I know you love me in a friend way. And that’s enough for me, really! I love you like a friend too, so the fact that I also—”

“No Steve,” Eddie cut in again, and while he seemed exasperated, a wide smile was also starting to curl over his lips. “Robin was right and you really are a dingus. I mean, yes, I love you as a friend, but I’m also in love with you. Romantic styles.”

“I…” Steve blinked. He tried to understand Eddie’s words but they didn’t make sense. “What?”

Eddie snorted out a laugh, and the smile curled on his lips stretched out into a grin. He took a step closer. “I’m in love with you, Steve Harrington. I have been since…hell, probably since you went all Ozzy on me. But definitely since I woke up in the hospital to you holding my hand.”

Steve’s stomach swooped. “I don’t understand,” he said, and even to his own ears there was a small whine there. “You don’t…people don’t love me,” he pointed out. “They can’t. There’s something about me that just makes it impossible.”

Eddie scoffed, reaching out once he was closer enough to curl his fingers in the sleeves at Steve’s biceps. They were both now well and truly wet from the rain, but neither of them paid any attention to it at all.

“Now that’s bullshit, Harrington. You’re so fucking easy to love. As a friend and as something…more. I love you, Steve.”

Steve wanted to deny it again, wanted to say that that was impossible, because…because he’d never heard those words. Sure, Dustin and Robin told him they loved him, but romantically? Even Nancy had never told him that in those words. Not even in a lie. He couldn’t fully comprehend that he was hearing them now.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie breathed, his hands moving to cup Steve’s jaw. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life telling you that. You’re stuck with me now, big boy.”

And then Eddie kissed him.

Eddie was true to his words. He told Steve he loved him every single day, told him with his words and his actions and when it was legal, he told him again in front of all their friends and found family when he made a vow as a his husband.

And Steve? Well, it took a while for him for actually believe it, but nowadays? When Eddie kisses him good morning every day in bed, whispering his devotion, and every night doing the same, telling Steve he’ll see him in his dreams? Well…

Steve’s used to being loved. And he spends every day loving in return.

~

Hi hello I have no idea what this is but I just started typing and then I didn’t stop until this was completed lol

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[saltedbirdcat]

Gelphie angst idea where Glinda crashes out and fakes her own death and disguises herself as an entirely new person to try and start her life over yet somehow stumbles across Elphaba as her new persona and has to hold back from blowing her cover so she doesn’t have to go back to being Glinda again but Elphies grief over her not really dead situationship makes it increasingly difficult not to.

Elphaba: Oh Gloria, I miss Glinda so much. I wish she knew how much I loved her…

Gloria, who is definitely not Glinda with an illusion enchantment on:

[kaysdenofchaos]

cough so i read that future rise comic

and thinking back on the battle scars au, i always wanted it to be canon compliant with just some adjustments and well

haha ill go see myself out now

[sightseertrespasser]

Reading all of the new Drift stuff for @keferon’s apocalyptic Ponyo made me think of an evil idea.

Ratchet is just taking care of Drift until he can reunite him with other humans right?

And that’s kinda the gist of the situation for all the mers with their humans. Return them to a larger group of humans.

What if the biggest group of human survivors are Drifts former poacher buddies?

Just making a pack of poachers an active threat in the ruins adds such a level of intrigue.

They'll absolutely hurt the mers and will either bully the humans into doing what they want or maybe outright kill them if they resist.

Just, Drift seeing them all again, frantically trying to explain that the mers ARE sentient and they have to stop now more than ever and the slow dawning dread that the poachers do not care.

The mers, everyone of them from Shockwave to Blurr, all go through the same bittersweet moment of thinking "Oh there's a large group of surviving humans. I guess this is where we say goodbye."

Except their humans are lingering.

Hesitant.

“Aww. They don’t want to leave. It’s okay, go be with your own kind now.” Tears and encouragement like it’s the ending of Free Willy in reverse.

Except, the mers’ humans start FREAKING out. At the mers.

Screaming and waving their arms, physically pushing them away, and these new humans. These poachers, are gunning for them all, weapons drawn.

[illbegottenfaith]

maybe stay here forever (inspired by packing it up by gracie abrams)

the holidays have you feeling sentimental over yours and theo's relationship (theo nott x reader)

a/n - 100 followers in a little over a month is very much insane for me, and like any other writer I rlly appreciate every interaction with my fics <3 also im trying to work on making mutuals (esp with other writers!) but man it does NOT help that im so incurably shy, anyways enjoy!!

tropes/warnings - tw descriptions of grief and anxiety, established relationship, domestic bliss, more angst than I anticipated, an outtake ft. petty!theo throwing down with a 13-year-old

word count - 2.6k

"Y/N! PHONE!”

You placed your butterbeer down with a thunk, weaving your way from your table to the telephone at the counter. Your friend Ivy handed it to you before disappearing into the crowd. You knew who it was even before pressing your ear to the receiver.

“This is highly illegal, as you very well know,” you said breathlessly. "Randy hates anyone using his phone."

“Relax. Ivy said he's gone into the back.”

Even through a telephone line, your boyfriend's voice gave you a giddy sort of thrill. Still, you glanced at the back door anxiously. “For now. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to hear you sound deliciously panicky.”

“Unbelievable. I’m risking being banned from Hogsmeade’s only pub for nothing?”

“What’s the point of having a girlfriend,” Theo wanted to know, “if she won’t enable your illegal endeavours?”

You rolled your eyes. “So, did you manage a game between the four of you?”

“Eh. It was…something. I’m not sure if anyone would call it Quidditch, though.”

“Oh?”

“You should join us next time. The flying, screaming - you’d love it.”

"Rude." The one time Theo had managed to wheedle you into at least trying to play Quidditch with him and some of your friends had not ended very well for you. In your defense, heading straight for the ground sounded like a much safer option than waiting around to be hit by a Bludger.

“You’re still watching the back door, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, eyes sweeping across the crowded pub. He wasn’t here, was he? He did love messing with you. You shook yourself. Of course not, you were using the only telephone in the vicinity. “Am not,” you sniffed injuredly. "Anyway, what are you up to now?"

"I'm about to go down to the shops to run your errands. What did you need, again?"

"Butterbeer fla - are you writing this down?"

"No need, I'll remember."

You frowned. "Teddy, you always say that, and you always forget something."

"Not this time. Shoot."

You huffed. With how aggravating Theo could be, he was lucky he had such a pretty face. "Butterbeer flavoured popcorn, for the popcorn garlands. If they only have regular, don't bother, I have bags and bags of those. New Christmas lights, because one of the bulbs blew out. Wrapping paper, someone's bound to need it. Hm, what else...that disgusting peppermint tea you love - "

"I don't love peppermint tea. It's...it's not bad, that's all."

"Fibber. You cleaned us out last year."

"And I'll do it again if you keep throwing around these unlawful accusations."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, listen - bring Mattheo along with you, will you?"

Having just broken up with his girlfriend, Matteo's Christmas plans fell through at the last minute. You couldn't help it was in your nature to worry. You heard the distant rustle of parchment crackle over the phone. Ah - ha, fibber indeed. "Alright, but for the last time, he's doing perfectly fine on his own." You heard him folding the list up. "He's a grown man, Y/N."

Your tone turned reproachful. "It's the holidays. No one should have to spend the holidays alone, remember?"

"Don't you have your own friends to fret over?"

"They're all going home. You only have yourself to blame for being within arm's reach, you know."

"If I'd known you were going to be this meddlesome I'd have stayed far, far away."

"Please. Like you could have resisted my charms."

You could imagine the teasing look he'd be giving you.

"Speaking of charms, how does a charm bracelet sound? Would you like that?"

You sighed. For some reason, you were having a particularly difficult time thinking of something to ask for this Christmas. You kept putting it off, and now it was less than two weeks away. Theo was doing his best to help, though it did get a bit grating when he'd point out every item in a shop one by one.

"I still don't know," you said helplessly. "Rain-check? Again?"

"Fine. But you don't have much time left." You heard him unfolding the list. "So, for today, butterbeer flavoured popcorn, Christmas lights, wrapping paper and peppermint tea?"

"Yep. Thanks, Teddy."

"Anything for you, doll." Theo cleared his throat and dropped his voice a couple of pitches.

"So what are the odds I can convince you to wear that green little number to tonight's party?"

You grinned at the pub counter flirtatiously. "I don't know. How badly do you want to see me in it?"

Theo groaned. "Going to make me beg for it, baby?"

"In a manner of speaking." You glanced back at the back door, just in case. "Haven't you learned? Sweet-talking will get you everywhere with me." Your eyes drifted to your table, where Ivy was impatiently waving you over. "Damn. I have to go. Ivy looks like she's about to have a coronary."

"Wearthedre-"

You wore the dress. You could be cruel, but not that cruel. It was a cosy sort of party, with friends and friends of friends milling around. You were sitting in Theo's lap on one of the couches, the two of you trying to talk over the music.

" - and so I said to Ivy, if he can't be bothered to even say hi when there's other people around, then that shows how little respect he has for you, and he'll only get worse the more you let him get away with it, and - and I'm rambling."

Theo's mouth quirked into that special smile he reserved just for you. "Only a little. It's very becoming, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yeah, right."

"It is, but only because it's coming from you."

You fiddled with Theo's hair, trying to fix a cowlick of his. "So what did you do today?"

"We got the popcorn, the tea, the wrapping paper. Matteo got a little too excited with the lights."

You raised your eyebrows. "Do tell."

"Mind you, he's never shopped for anything in his life. He has house elves for that."

"Kind of like you when we first met," you teased lightly.

"I don't think he was expecting so many options. He kept winding each type around his limbs to compare. I think the insulation was faulty on one of them so he got a mild electrical shock."

You gasped. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, as far as I could tell. I think he kind of liked it, to be honest."

"Of course he did." You wrinkled your nose. "Then what did you do?"

"Freed him, obviously."

"And then?"

"Then we got the same lights we always do."

"And then?"

Theo shook his head, bemused, and tugged at a lock of your hair. "And then nothing. And then we left. And then I changed and came straight up to the party to find my nuisance of a girlfriend."

You laughed. Theo wasn't being particularly funny, but it was hot and your hair was sticking to the back of your neck and you were high off the thrill that came with being perfectly in sync with your favourite person. In short, you were too buzzed to care. You were flushed, either from the alcohol or the feel of Theo's hand steadily creeping up your thigh.

"I have some bad news, though."

You sat up and scowled. "What?"

"I couldn't get us out of my family's Christmas dinner."

You groaned. You had half a mind to drown Theo in what was left of your drink.

"C'mon, Y/N," he cajoled, "iwe'll only be there a couple of days. Tis the season of giving."

"Sure, I'll give them a push down the stairs."

Theo stifled a snort and plucked the drink out of your hand. "Okay, that's enough punch for you. Speaking of..." He glanced somewhere behind you, sitting up a little and, frustratingly, pulled his hand off your thigh. "The punch bowl might need refilling."

"Don't," you whined, dragging his hand back to where it was a moment ago. "Let Enzo do it. We don't get to see enough of each other as it is."

Theo sighed. "So you're just never going to let me leave?"

"I can't help it," you said, "I like the way you speak. I love hearing you talk." You rested your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering close. "Promise you'll never quit talking to me."

"Done," he murmured against your lips, a hand sliding to the small of your back.

Hours later, you felt yourself stirring. It was the middle of the night, long after the two of you had gone to bed. You regretfully peeled your eyes open, trying to figure out what had woken you up.

Theo was lying next to you. It took a few more blinks to see that he was breathing harder than normal, the moonlight filtering through the window casting a sickly pallor on his face. His breathing quickened till it bordered on hyperventilating, a restlessness spreading through his body as he uselessly clenched at the sheets.

The first night you had witnessed this, you had gone absolutely ballistic. You thought he was having a seizure. After an awkward conversation between a highly uncomfortable Theo and a panic-stricken you, you learned that it wasn't its first, or last, occurrence.

They weren't nightmares, exactly. If they were, Theo would forget them by the time he was shaken awake, and only the residual tremour in his limbs would be left. They were more akin to bouts of subconscious panic and despair surfacing from the recesses of his mind. Some nights, he recovered quickly, falling back to sleep in under an hour. Other nights, you'd hear him creep out of the room so as not to wake you while he whiled away the hours to dawn.

As hard as Theo tried, bless him, he struggled to put an explanation for these attacks into words. You guessed that it might have something to do with the sudden, unexpected departure of certain loved ones from his life after one mildly confusing fight. You had slipped out of bed early one morning, while Theo was still asleep, to get a headstart on your work for the day. A couple of hours later, when he found you in the Slytherin common room and immediately started going off on you, still in his pajamas, you found out how much waking up in an empty bed freaked Theo out.

Now, you shoved Theo hard on the shoulder. His eyes flew open, anxiously twitchy, as his breathing started slowing down. Still half-asleep, you snuggled up to him, pressing an ear to his chest. You could hear his heart pounding under his T-shirt. After a moment or so, once he'd recovered from the shock, he tentatively wrapped his arms around you.

You squeezed an arm around him as well. "'M here," you mumbled into his shirt. You could feel him taking deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down as he distractedly stroked your hair. Slowly, bit by bit, you felt him relax around you as you started to doze off. There the both of you stayed, a tangle of limbs, till the morning.

one year ago

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower one chilly autumn night, having escaped from the party your friends had dragged you to. The holidays had just begun, and in the coming days, most people would be going home or carrying out their respective plans. Most people didn't include you. This year, more than anything, you wanted to be alone. Your friends assumed you were going home for the holidays, and your family assumed you were spending them with your friends at Hogwarts, and to be completely honest, you didn’t see the need to correct either of them.

You looked up, straining your ears as you heard disembodied footsteps approaching you. A minute later, Theodore Nott emerged from the shadows.

“Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head as Theo settled with his back against a pillar, stretching one overly-long leg towards you while bending the other. You had seen him at the party for the first fifteen minutes you were there. He looked delightfully comfortable in a loose, casual denim button-down. It felt a little odd to think of him as an acquaintance when you saw him nearly weekly while your other friends caught up. But at the same time, there was a tinge of awkwardness in the silence stretching out between the two of you. You weren’t even sure if he knew your name. Now, he was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jean pocket.

“Is it okay if I -?”

You shrugged wordlessly, still in a bit of a daze. As far as you could remember, you had never been in a one-on-one setting with Theo. It wasn’t that you avoided each other; it just never came to it. You had plenty of mutual friends acting as a buffer between you two.

All you knew about him was that your families’ tax brackets were far apart enough to mean you’d likely never see him again after Hogwarts. And after getting bruised and beaten by one too many failed relationships, you were kind of over trying to reach out or connect with new people.

And so Theodore's familial prestige was all you took note of. That, you thought as you watched him sigh in relief after the first drag of his cigarette, and his mildly concerning nicotine addiction.

You risked a sidelong glance at him to find him unabashedly looking right at you. But with him sitting perpendicular to you, you were in his direct eye line. Where else was he supposed to look? Literally anywhere else, you wished, as you returned his gaze with an awkward half-smile.

“So, Y/N,” Theo was saying, tapping ash off his cigarette. So he did know your name. You decided then that you were right - you had never been in such an intimate capacity with him before. After all, you weren’t one to forget someone saying your name like…like that. Like he harboured some secret fascination with it, from the way he let it linger on his tongue. “Any special holiday plans?”

You shook your head wordlessly. Theo gave a slight frown.

“You do speak, don’t you?”

You scoffed. “…yes. Obviously.” He’d seen you talk in front of him. Maybe not to him, but he knew you could speak perfectly fine. Your tongue currently feeling like cardboard was an entirely separate mystery.

“Going home?”

You hesitated. Theo was neither friend nor family, but for some inexplicable reason, that made it all the more difficult to lie to him. You blamed it on the smoke, it must have been making you nauseous. That, or his relentlessly demanding stare.

“I only ask because Ivy mentioned you were.”

You gave him a look, mildly peeved. If he already knew, what was he prodding around for? The cooler, more rational part of your mind pointed out that he might just have been trying to make polite conversation, and that a normal person who didn’t keep secrets like you wouldn’t be having this kind of a reaction.

“Yeah. I leave…soon.” Not for the holidays, though.

“That’s funny,” Theo continued pleasantly, “because I heard you mention to Matteo that you were staying here with the girls.”

You froze. Crap. How were you going to explain your way out of this one?

“So?” You couldn’t keep the defensive edge out of your voice. Maybe if you acted confident enough, he wouldn’t realise anything was amiss.

“So…you’re lying to someone.” He tapped his cigarette again, irritatingly casual, as if you were only discussing the weather.

“Why are you so interested in my holiday plans anyway?” you asked crossly, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as a chilly breeze started picking up.

Theo raised his eyebrows. He had the gall to look thrown off, as if he wasn’t the one pursuing the topic.

“People don’t normally lie about their holiday plans. You do realise that, right?”

Oddly enough, something in his tone made you feel embarrassed over being caught in a lie. Scratch that, it was embarrassing to have Theodore Nott catch you in a lie. What for, anyway? He was hardly the most honest person himself. Probably. You felt the back of your neck heat up. You desperately wished he would look away.

“What’s it to you?”

Theo opened his mouth before closing it again. He stewed in his thoughts for a minute while his jaw worked, as if he were trying to find the right words.

“You shouldn’t be alone on the holidays.”

You worried your bottom lip. Was this…concern?

“Maybe I want to be alone.”

“Do you?”

His otherwise dead eyes looked so inquisitive - so piercing yet unnervingly honest for someone as prone to manipulation as him. You couldn’t bring yourself to lie to those eyes. You dropped your gaze to where your fingers were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

“It’s complicated.”

“So explain.”

You laughed humourlessly. “They wouldn’t understand.”

You watched the shadows on the tower’s floor shift. You looked up to see Theo finishing off his cigarette as he moved to join you, looking out at the same Hogwarts grounds you were facing. It seemed to make it easier, this pseudo-confession, without the brunt of his needling stare.

Here was someone you didn’t feel the urge to explain yourself to. You felt…less alone. Like you finally had someone unequivocally on your side. It had been a long time since you felt that way.

Even with the slight distance between you, you could feel the body heat he radiated. You leaned towards him slightly, but you told yourself it was only because he was blocking the wind and you were sick of shivering. Perhaps you weren’t as subtle as you would have liked, because he stretched an arm around you, running his hand up and down your arm to warm you up as you sank into his heat gratefully. You didn’t have the heart to pull away. You didn’t want to pull away.

“You could explain it to me, you know.” Theo glanced down to where you were resting your head on his shoulder. “If you wanted.”

You toyed with the idea. So, basically, I’m sick of every relationship I’ve been in falling flat, and lately I’ve been feeling like even my friends don’t understand me, so you’ve caught me just as I’m giving up on it - love, that is, romantic or otherwise. You pulled a face. It sounded far too melodramatic even in your own head. Still, you tried.

“Have you ever felt like…giving up?” Theo’s brow furrowed even more. “No, not - I’m not suicidal. Just…when everything gets too exhausting, and reaching out just feels so…”

“Once.”

You hesitated. You weren’t expecting him to agree. Sympathise, maybe.

“After my mother died.”

“…oh.”

Could you sound any more stupid? But you couldn’t help it - in a group of friends who regularly made cracks at each other’s Death Eater fathers, Theo’s mother was a strictly off-limits topic.

"It was a couple of years back." Theo's voice sounded different now; blithe and almost aggressively neutral. "In front of me. I didn't realise until it was too late, but she was my best friend." He paused, idly tracing the lines on his palm, but you got the distinct impression that he was trying very hard to discuss something that was very difficult to talk about.

“I was -“ he broke off with a sharp bark of laughter that sounded as painful as it was unexpected. “I was angry, actually. Fucking livid. Angry at my dad, for being such a piece of shit. Angry at myself, for every time I thought I was too cool to spend time with her. Angry at her because…because it was too soon, and she was all I had. And she knew that.”

Theo had a white knuckle grip on the edge of the tower’s floor, looking dangerously close to trembling. Every ridge in his face stood taut with the ache of poorly healed emotional wounds. “She knew it. She fucking knew it.”

You placed a hand over his. He drummed his fingers restlessly against the floor, and you could feel the agitation seeping out of him as his breathing evened out.

“How did you get over it? The anger?”

Theo gave you a strange, almost pitying look.

“I’m angry nearly every day of my life, Y/N.”

He sighed and dropped his head, finally leaning into you as well, his hand drifting innocently along your arm as he talked, as if you were old friends. “But if Matteo and the others have drilled anything in my head over the years, it’s that isolating yourself is the real killer.”

Your fists were clenched tightly in your lap. It was almost comforting, seeing how your body language mirrored each other's. You didn't think you would ever feel ready to do it once more, letting yourself be susceptible to heartbreak or loss, in this lifetime or the next, but perhaps...perhaps you could manage. For him. You turned slightly, burying your face into his neck and closing your eyes.

“I suppose…I could try," you started in a small voice, partially muffled by Theo's shirt. You took a deep breath in. God, his neck smelled so good. "One last time."

“Of course you can,” Theo murmured, sounding unreasonably patient. “You’re stronger than this.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

You let him keep holding you for a little while longer, just until you warmed up to the idea The quiet felt nice. Theo felt nice, in every sense of the phrase.

“I’m starting to think you didn’t come here for just a smoke break.”

"Ivy might have mentioned something," he confessed. You bit back a smile. You should have guessed. "Your friends really care about you, you know. And you've really worried them."

The bitter taste of guilt hit your jaw. You idly traced the stitching of Theo's jean's pockets. Someone else also seemed rather worried, though you weren't about to point that out.

"Have I?"

"Afraid so. You're lucky you're so precious."

Theo tapped your nose, and for the first time that evening, you grinned. After weeks of wandering in a cloud of grief, the motion felt achingly familiar. Theo returned the smile, as if you couldn't help but amuse him.

“There it is.”

“There what is?”

He looked momentarily speechless again. You frowned. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you made him as nervous as he made you.

“Nothing,” he mumbled hastily. “Can we go back down? It’s freezing up here.”

present day

"Morning."

With some difficulty, you extracted yourself from Theo's embrace. You cleared your raspy throat as you stretched out your stiff limbs.

"H'llo."

Theo leaned down to give you a peck on the lips and you wrapped your arms around his neck. As he pulled back, your hands slid to his face, then down to his shoulders. You weren't entirely sure what you were looking for. "Better?"

"Yes." You saw the sleepy bliss fading from his face. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't," you lied. "I was up anyway."

Theo quirked an eyebrow interestedly. "What could a respectable girl like you be doing at three in the morning?"

You giggled softly and pulled him on top of you, and you thought he gave a rather appealing demonstration on what you might have been doing. A while later, you glanced at the clock, and saw that it was getting dangerously close to afternoon.

"We should probably get up."

"Mhm. You still need to decide what you want for Christmas, by the way."

Cold air rushed in as Theo rolled off of you, pulling his clothes on. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, still trying to figure out what to ask for. When you stepped out, feeling much more human, Theo was missing. You wandered into the empty common room where he had already set out two steaming mugs of that disgusting peppermint tea on one of the tables, complete with candy canes.

His eyebags are terrible as ever, and he's yawning, but he looks happy. Content. As content as you feel. And you think, this is all you want. For Theo to always get the cold side of his pillow, all the peppermint tea he could want, pleasant Hogsmeade trips...a real break, for once. For him to get everything that he asks for, and more.

bonus outtake

"Let's talk about something else. Anything else." Theo pulled you into his lap. "Like what an adorable elf you make."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I'm not sneaking you into this year's gift donation drive."

"Why not?"

You should have known this was coming. "Listen, you got yourself banned last year."

"It wasn't even my fault. You didn't even hear how snarky that guy was being. 'Oh, where's your present?' Jackass."

"The jackass was 13, Theo."

He sniffed with an injured air. "It's not like I lied to him or something, you know."

"Again, for the last time, I cannot impress enough how incredibly inappropriate it is to point out one of the helper elves as your 'present' to a 13-year-old boy."

"But you were my present. I got to unwrap you and everything afterwards."

[differenteagletragedy]

Another very loose continuation of you loving Simon who loves you back but loved Johnny before

Sometimes Simon forgets what he's lost.

Not in any real way -- even when he's not actively thinking about it, he feels the loss of Johnny in his bones. But occasionally, when he wakes from a nightmare and reaches out instinctively to the warm body lying next to him, there's a quick moment of confusion when his hands meet soft flesh instead of hard muscle. And for another moment, just a fraction of a second really, it feels wrong.

He'd never tell you this. Would rather be tortured, flayed alive a thousand times over before he said that dirty, hurtful thing to your face. He could just imagine it, how you'd falter if he said the words. A confirmation of all your lowest thoughts.

Because Simon does know how you feel, to some extent. He's just too lost to know what to do with it.

He loves you, it’s just not in the same way that he loved Johnny. It’s quieter. With Johnny, it was like he pulled Simon kicking and screaming into love. It was fire, bright and a little dangerous, and he knew it could have destroyed him if Johnny wasn’t so good with handling it. And it was education — a lesson, hard-learned. His first love. He’d thought, or hoped, he was never sure which, that it would be his only love.

With you, it’s slower, more tentative. It’s easier, in many ways, a balm over the burns Johnny left. Simon treasures it, but he’s not hungry for it.

He’d already been fed.