#i remember the days where ive been too weak to move in my bed too weak to breathe without effort

[natandacat]

btw im feeling a lot today bc my neighbor is having a bbq and i really wanna go but i had to lie and say i was working bc everyone there is a hardcore party goer and theres too many covid cases rn so even in an outdoor setting i would need to mask and that crowd would be super weirded out by my n95 and also it would suck bc i wouldnt even be able to eat. anyway. being at risk is like living in purgatory while 99% of the population literally doesnt care.

[hellodropbear]

like she used to (V)

alexia putellas x sister

chapter I, II, III, IV

from alexia's perspective tonight :)

~~~~~~

My younger sister hates me. 

I don't know why, I don't even know when it happened. 

But I know that my younger sister hates me, and I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. 

I have known there was something wrong since she started skipping our dinners on Thursdays, claiming to have Barcelona B training until late. 

I knew they finished up an hour before dinner started. 

Alba says that I spent to much time away from her, that I didn't focus on her enough. 

Mami says that she is growing up and simply becoming less reliant on her older sisters. 

But neither of those explanations seem to make sense, because my younger sister is not the girl that I once knew any more. 

The girl who would sleep in my bed every night, who wiped my tears when I cried and put a smile on my face when all I wanted to do was bury my face into my pillow and scream about how unfair the world was. 

Because she's Elena and she's happy, she always has been.

But Elena does not seem happy anymore. And I don't know when it changed, but I hate myself for not being there to make her smile like she did for me so many times when we were younger. I hate myself for not being there to put a smile back on her face as soon as it fell off. 

She lives with bags under her eyes, her usually olive skin turned pale, her eyes constantly downcast and her eyebrows set in a solemn line. 

She used to tell me everything, but then I blinked and my baby sister's name was on my team sheet and I didn't even know she had been training with the first team. 

Mami said that she was sleeping, that she didn't want to talk about it now. Mapi told me the next day that she found her 45 minutes away from home, sitting in the park by her house. 

I should have been there more, I should have gone to her games. I know that, everyone knows that. But I broke up with Jenni, who had been my rock for as long as I could remember. I broke up with Jenni and she moved to Mexico, leaving me alone for the first time, in an apartment full of memories that would swallow me every time I entered.

I felt alone, every fibre of my being felt alone. I was isolated and my world was crumbling around me. And I didn't know who to turn to, I didn't know where I could find support. 

I didn't know that Elena was sat at home in bed, staring at her phone and waiting for me to call her, to text her. 

I used to call her every night, but slowly, those phone calls died out. Elena would all asleep with her phone in her lap. Until she gave up. Until she switched her phone off as soon as she reached her bedroom in the evenings. 

Back when Papi died, I relied probably a bit too much on my little sister to get me through it. Mami always said it was the wrong thing so I didn't want to make that mistake again. I avoided Elena, not wanting her to realise how weak I really am. She always said she admired me for being strong, powerful. I was her inspiration, her hero. 

I didn't want to ruin that image she had of me by crying on Mami's couch, unable to be alone after something as superficial as a breakup. 

But I think I ruined that image in other ways. 

I stopped going to her games. 

I stopped holding her as she fell asleep in my lap on a Thursday evening, instead watching her move further and further away from me on the sofa, until she wasn't there at all. 

I stopped being there for her, helping her with her homework, picking her up from training, taking her out for ice cream. 

I stopped being her sister, and I don't think I will ever forgive myself. 

I don't think she will ever forgive me either. 

And to make everything worse, I only thought about it properly when Olga brought it up a few weeks ago. 

"Why haven't I met your younger sister yet? There are so many photos of her here, but I have never even spoken to her."

It was then that everything came crashing down, reality hitting me like a truck, driving 100 kilometres an hour along the highway. 

Olga couldn't understand why I was suddenly sobbing into her arms, my words more incoherent than my thoughts. But she held me close and told me one thing. 

"If there is something wrong with your little sister, you need to fix it."

Obviously she was right, she didn't need to tell me that. 

I felt an enormous surge of guilt explode inside of me, and for once Olga's arms didn't do anything to help me. I don't deserve her comfort, I don't deserve to feel good when I have left my baby sister behind. 

Because she is everything to me but I haven't spoken to her in two years. 

I don't know how I let it go this far.

~~~~~~

Mapi's voice is scratchy and quiet over the phone, and I could tell something is wrong. She wouldn't tell me what. 

"Elena is here with me. I texted Eli but she didn't reply but I needed to tell someone that she is safe and asleep in my spare room. We will take her to the game in the morning."

She didn't say much else, other than that she found my sister at the park after she had taken the bus from home. 

But, the look that she gave me at the game the next day told me everything I need to know. 

It wasn't angry, really, she just looked confused and hurt. She looked upset as well and I knew exactly what it was about. Because Elena has always loved Mapi, and Mapi has always treated Elena like a little sister. 

Elena would have told Mapi something, and even though I don't know what it was, I know it would have been bad enough to make Mapi overthink everything, to realise how awful I have been over the past few years. 

I was anxious through the whole game, separated from my best friend by Frido and Jana, trying my best to ignore the looks that Mapi kept sending me. 

The looks that were filled with such emotion that I couldn't handle. Emotions that were hard to read because they were filled with so much meaning. 

I am too much of a coward to face her and my consequences, I realise, so I ignore it for as long as I can. 

But I knew I could not avoid everything when Mami pulled me to the side after the rest of the girls had gone back into the changing rooms, after Alba had gone to the bathroom. 

"What are you doing?" 

She was furious, and for good reason. But I stay silent, still too scared, too guilty about everything I had done. The only thing on my mind was  trying to figure out how I could ever fix this. 

"Alexia Putellas! Answer me! What are you doing?" 

Her face was almost red, but if I looked hard enough I would have been able to see the tears that dried up in her eyes, never given the chance to slip down her face. 

"What do you mean, Mami?" 

She rolled her eyes dramatically and scoffed loudly. 

"Your baby sister is 15 years old and without any help from you, her older sister, was sitting on the bench for your team. The best team in Europe. She is 15, Alexia! This is such a huge achievement and all she wants is a hug from you, for you to tell her you are proud of her, that you love her. But no. Nothing. Nothing at all from the great Alexia Putellas who cares about nothing but her career!" 

Mami's words are a slap in the face, really. Thinking back to them, however, they are the truth. The terrible, painful, horrendous truth. 

Not that I don't care about anything but my career, of course, but about how I haven't done anything to help Elena get to where she is. 

I pause before responding, debating internally how I should respond. 

I could respond with fire, but that would just make Mami even more furious.

So I don't. 

"I know she is, Mami! That is why I am about to go do exactly that. I am so, so proud of her but I can't find the words to tell her just how proud I am."

She looks at me for a moment, as if assessing the validity of my statement. 

"We are going out to dinner tonight, Alexia. You are coming with us and we are celebrating Elena. Not you, Elena."

I nod, telling her that I will go get Elena and meet her and Alba outside. 

Except that doesn't happen, because I see Elena in the changing rooms, but she doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with me. 

I see the 15 year old girl laughing and interacting with my team, holding Aitana close and whispering in her ear. 

But honestly, the whole scene flipped my insides out. I am not focused on Olga as she chats to me, as she notices how distant I am from reality, moving towards Mapi. 

When I do finally speak to my sister, it does not go well. She is cold and I don't know how to get through to her because she is right to not want to talk to me, she is right to stick up for herself. I have messed up and I still have no idea how to fix things. And until I do, she is right to act like this. 

So I didn't end up going to their dinner, instead sitting alone in my apartment and staring blankly at my switched off tv, wondering what on earth I can do to fix this mess. To fix this mess that I single handedly created. 

It meant that Mami came round late, storming into my apartment, smoke practically billowing from her ears.

"You have messed up, Alexia. She is so upset and it is entirely your fault! You are stupid, you are irresponsible and you have been a terrible sister." 

I cowered under her strong gaze but she did not soften. She sat down, placing her head in her hands.

"You are almost 30! You should know better. I have not raised you to be like this, I have not raised you to throw people away without any thought, not caring how it might affect them. She is so confused and so, so upset and it is all because of you. All because you decided a few years ago that you did not have time for her anymore."

"Mami-"

There are tears in my eyes, but Mami can not see them. Mami does not care, she should not care because I did all of this, all by myself. 

"No, Alexia. You will tell me what has happened, why you have done this. You have ripped apart our family, Alexia. Alba is practically mourning the destruction of it and I just can not begin to understand why you have decided Elena doesn't mean anything to you any more."

"I haven't decided that!" My yell took my mother off guard and she recoiled. I continued before she could speak again. 

"I love her! So much and I am proud of her! I don't know what I have done, Mami and I don't know how to fix this." The tears that filled my eyes began to slip down my face. "I have ruined everything."

My voice broke and Mami softened, looking at me in confusion, some sort of inner turmoil and for the first time in my life, I recognised that she had no idea what to do. 

She didn't know what to do as I broke down into sobs, my body practically folding into itself, loud cries wracking through my body. 

"I don't know what is wrong with me." 

~~~~~~

Mami and I spoke for ages that evening. She convinced me that I should take a step back and let Elena come to me. That I should try and talk to Elena soon to tell her that I love her, that I am proud of her. 

But it ended up with another unsuccessful attempt of speaking to Elena. She was in bed and wanted nothing to do with what I wanted to say. I told her everything that Mami told me I should, ignoring the protests of my insides. 

I do not want to take a step back because I am already so far away. I want to be there for my sister like I should be, there for a hug or for some assurance. But that is not what I tell her, because apparently, that is not what would be the best for her. 

All I want is the best for her. 

I want nothing more than to tell her I want to be a part of her life like I used to be, I want things to just go back to normal. But nothing is that easy. I have to face the consequences of all my mistakes. 

Huge, terrible, life altering mistakes.

I tried again the next morning, but she ignored me completely, heading up to her room without a single utterance of a word. I could practically hear her exhale in relief as the piano chair creaked and waited until she had begun her playing to walk upstairs and sit by her door. 

She has improved at it so much, skyrocketing right past the level that Papi used to play at. The notes rang out at such a pace that I could barely keep track of where the song was going, up, down, fast, slow, loud, soft. 

The rhythms flew through the house and I didn't register the warm liquid slipping down my face until it fell with a splat into my lap. 

It is painful to realise how much I have missed; how much I miss her. 

Her playing is mesmerising and I could feel the emotion that radiates from her and her piano. 

It used to be Papi's, but now it is hers.

Because she has grown up into such a talented person and our father would be so proud of her. 

Me, I don't think he would be so proud of. 

And I hate myself because of it. 

The song broke down into soft chords and if I strained my ears I could hear her quiet whimpers. But I can't comfort her any more. 

No matter how much I want to. 

She will not be comforted by me. She doesn't want me there to comfort her. 

So I creep down the stairs and leave. I drive back to my apartment, back to Olga. 

At this point, I am used to the constant stream of water on my face. 

But there is nobody to blame but myself. 

~~~~~~

The next few weeks were equally as painful, despite Olga's efforts to lighten me up. My mood was down when I woke up in the mornings, and only got worse after training, seeing Elena light up when she spoke to my friends but escape every room I entered, cowering when I glanced over at her, leaving conversations as soon as I joined them. 

It's like she is scared of me, intimidated by me. I hate it. 

Mapi was silent in rehab, which is a big change from the constant stream of chatter I am used to. I don't think she knows what to say to me anymore, knowing what I have done. 

I wouldn't know what to say to me either. 

It is Vicky approaches me one day after training. We are all sat in the changing rooms when wanders over and asks for help with her homework. It is maths, and I tell her with a laugh that I will be no help at all, but she persists, opening her book and pointing at the maths equations, confusion written all over her face. 

I help her as much as I can, laughing at the drawings she has scrawled out on her page, explaining the trigonometry to her as she stares at me intensely. It takes a while, but she gets it eventually, finally answering a question correctly. 

"Nice, Vicky! So much better, so quickly!" 

Mapi stands up from across the room, grabbing her bag and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

From where they are sitting in quiet conversation, my sister and Aitana look up at the door, their eyes scanning the room. Aitana's eyes land on me first and she rolls them dramatically, shaking her head in what looks like disgust. 

"Vicky, I did that yesterday. I can help you." 

Elena's voice is level, but I can see confusion in her eyes at the scene that had just unfolded. 

Vicky sighs in relief, closing her book and walking across the room to Elena. 

"I forgot you were smart!" She beams, plonking herself down on the seat beside my sister and they both dive into the world of mathematics. 

Aitana is standing up by now, her bag over her shoulder. 

"Alexia, can I speak to you outside?" Her voice is steady as she continues. "There is something wrong with my dribbling and I would like some help."

It is a lie and everyone knows it. There is never anything wrong with Aitana's dribbling. 

But I pick up my bag, following the shorter midfielder out the door, immediately faced by Mapi who stands there, anger all over her face. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Her voice is low and her words come out as a whisper, full of venom. Full of anger. 

It is something I am not used to from Mapi and it takes me off guard. My hesitance gives her the chance to continue.

"Helping Vicky Lopez with her maths when you don't have the first clue whether Elena is even at school. Elena, your sister."

"She goes to school." 

My voice is full of confidence, but Mapi is right, I don't even know how she manages to fit it all in. I don't know the first thing about her timetable. 

She rolls her eyes, scoffing. 

"Do you understand just how much damage you have done?"

I nod, inhaling and exhaling deeply. 

"She hates me, I know. I have ruined everything. It is all my fault."

Mapi nods, but it is Aitana who speaks next. 

"She doesn't even hate you, Alexia. It just shows how much she loves you. You have done all this and she still loves you, still would do absolutely anything to get your approval, your attention."

I blink to stop the tears and bite the insides of my mouth to stop it from trembling. 

"She has been begging for you to notice how hard she has been working. How well she is doing. But you do not, you don't see her, it is like you are blind! And then Vicky Lopez gets a maths question right and you give her more praise than you give Elena for being selected in this team, for working hard, for being so, so incredible." 

If Aitana wasn't whispering to keep this conversation from the ears of the people in the room we just left, she would be fully yelling, her face red and her eyes narrow. 

"She is perfect, Alexia, and it is so sad because you just can't see it, you can't see how good she is, how smart, how kind, caring. And it makes me so, so angry because you have changed her so much in the past few years, and not in a good way."

Mapi puts her hand on Aitana's arm, trying to get her to stop. Mapi knows me well, and knows when I am about to break. 

But the usually stoic midfielder has tears in her eyes when she continues, her voice softening and breaking at the same time. 

"She was such a happy little girl, so excited by everything. She loves you so much and she always looked up to you. But now she is insecure, she is lonely, isolated. She is confused and feels like she needs to fight for validation every day. Everyone has pressure on them in this team, especially when they are young, new blood. Coming from La Masia and the B team you should know this, Alexia. You should know about the pressure better than anyone because I do too. But your sister? She has it worse than anyone because she has all that, but she is your sister. Alexia Putellas, two time Ballon d'Or winner. She has to live up to that in some way and is trying to hard to do it without anyone's help. She is only 15, Alexia. 15."

Aitana stops, but I am not sure whether it is because she has nothing more to say or if it is because she is too upset. She is silenced by weak tears, shaking her head as Mapi places a soft arm around her shoulder. 

"She is right, Alexia." Mapi's voice is soft and she looks at me with that same concerned glint in her eye. "And I don't know what is going on with you, but whatever it is, it needs to be fixed. You have made some significant damage and if you don't do something about it, it will all become irreparable."

"I don't know what to do." It is a cry for help, and it is all I can say without letting my tears escape from me once more. 

Because Aitana's words are nothing I don't know, but the fact that she is saying them, that she feels the need to tell me all that, is enough to tell me that it is not clear to anyone that I already know. 

Because I have been a bad sister, I am not denying it. 

And I am guilty, I feel absolutely terrible. 

Mami said to leave her alone, let her come to me, but I don't think that was her best advice any more, because my sister is struggling. 

She is struggling and I am only making it worse. 

But I can't do anything about it. 

When she was little, she would be the person I would go to when I needed to be cheered up. She would make me smile, laugh, feel better about myself and the world around me. Her small arms would wrap around me, her chubby fingers would wipe my tears from my face and she would chatter and giggle into my ears until I was smiling again. 

She was the light in our household when Papi died, but I think that was partially because she didn't understand what was happening. 

We avoided his study like it had the plague, she would go and sit on the piano stall, practicing the songs he had taught her. 

She gave us endless cuddles, basking in our attention, her heart set on making us feel better, on putting a smile back on our faces. 

She made the darkest time of our lives bearable, she helped me get through the hardest times of my life. 

And this... this is how I repay her. 

"Ale... Alexia? Ale." Mapi's hand is on my shoulder and Aitana looks at me curiously. 

"Stop, just... stop." My voice is soft, and Mapi's eyes soften as I slide down the wall behind me. "I just... I don't know what to do."

Mapi sits down beside me, perhaps thinking that maybe she had been too harsh. 

"I had Elena over yesterday." Mapi's voice is quiet. "She said... she said she misses you, Alexia. And that... she said you told her you were going to take a step back. She thinks you already did. She doesn't want that. She just wants you."

"But I have ruined everything, Maria. This is all my fault." A singular tear finds itself on my cheek and Mapi places an arm around me. 

"You're right, you made so many mistakes. But I know you, I know you love her. She means everything to you. And she loves you as well, Ale. I know you two can get through this, but she is struggling to stay afloat with all this pressure and no support. Aitana and I... we need to look out for her because your Mami works all the time and she doesn't want to burden Alba with her problems and ruin her life. We need to be there for her at the moment because the poor girl is crumbling."

I wish she would realise that I am crumbling too. 

Olga is always there to hold me, to calm me down, but as much as she tries, she can't understand what is going on with Elena. She doesn't know Elena, which I know is my fault. 

But Mami is angry with me, so is Alba. For good reason. 

And Mapi is my best friend, but she needs to be there for Elena. 

All I want to do is cry out for help, but I know I can not because I caused it. 

"I am taking Elena out this afternoon." Aitana speaks up from where she has been stood silently. "I will talk to her again, we will work on it. I'm going to go now, but Alexia, if you need to, you can talk to any one of us."

I nod at her, trying to muster a smile onto my face as she walks back into the changing room. 

"Mapi, you are my best friend." 

She nods. 

"You will be honest?"

She nods again. 

"Do you think this is fixable? Do you think I've ruined my chance of ever getting my Lena back?" 

She rests her head on my shoulder. 

"I hope so. I miss seeing the smiles on both of your faces and truthfully, I don't think that Elena will thrive here if she keeps going on like this. She needs support, from you, your Mami and your sister and I don't really think she is getting it."

"But Mami and Alba are there for her!" I find myself getting defensive of my family. 

"I know they are, but she needs more than that at the moment. She has been skipping school because nobody is home to tell her to go to it, she has been skipping meals because nobody is home to eat with her. She doesn't sleep properly, she doesn't eat properly. It is not your mother's fault that she has to work, or Alba's fault that Elena doesn't want to burden her, but she needs more support than she is getting." 

My brain is telling me that Mapi is wrong, that my sister is fine, that my family is fine. But in my heart, I know she is right. And it makes me feel sick. 

Because if it wasn't for me being such a terrible sister, such a terrible person, Elena would not be struggling so much. She would not need Mami or Alba as much as she does, she would be thriving in this environment. 

But she is not. 

The pressure is something I only really felt when I got older, when I had thicker skin. I had a force of people around me to fall back on, to get support from. But Elena has so much pressure building on her at 15, with less experience, with less people to support her. 

And the pressure will keep building and building on top of her, until it is so high that everything falls over, falling down on top of her until she breaks. 

As if reading my mind, Mapi continues after her pause. 

"And if she does crumble under all this pressure, she will need so much support. Aitana and I will be there for her, if nobody else is."

~~~~~~ hope you enjoyed :)

Will probably be back to elena's perspective next chapter, just thought it'd be easier to write this in a different one

part VI

[anjaelle]

White Light IV

Characters: Ghost!ATJ x Black Female!Reader Rating: T (slight flirting, mention of horny thoughts, ghost!bf being a little obsessed with his crush, and the hint of impending tragedy to come) Word Count: 3.0K Summary: In which the reader makes a brief list of pros and cons for reviving the dead... a/n: Not 100% where I want it to be, but I already know where I want the story to go and where it will end. And that's a new thing for me, because I literally never finish anything . HA! Please like, comment, and reblog! Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next updates.

[Part I] | [Part II] | [Part III] | [Part V] | [☁ Masterpost ☁] | [♫ The Crimson Zombies Mixtape ♫]

--

You awoke to the sound of running water from your bathroom, and squinted to protect your eyes from the blinding sunlight. Your head was pounding like you'd been knocked out with a baseball bat. You moved to sit up, and your vision immediately began to double, causing you to slowly lie back down and roll over. Then you noticed the small bathroom wastebasket sitting beside your bed, just as bile rose in your chest and you vomited into it.

"Shit," you heard Aaron mutter behind you. The water cut off, and the quick thud of a cabinet closing seemed to rattle in your head.

"What happened?" You asked, hoarsely. As you rested your head on your hands, you could hear more busy rustling in the bathroom. "How? I can't--what's going on?"

It was like waking up in the middle of a dense fog, and you were unable to decipher which way was up. You didn't know what day it was, what time it was, how you ended up in this predicament. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep. Your eyes began to drift close again, when rapid footsteps crossed the room towards you.

"Hey, hey, hey, no. You gotta stay awake, c'mon." He crouched down beside you as the upper half of your body lie draped over the side of the bed. You couldn't remember how exactly you ended up in that position, but you couldn't be fucked to move.

"Too sleepy," you mumbled, sighing, "Give me 10 minutes."

"I can't."

He hesitated, and then you felt his arm wrap gently around your waist to prop you up in bed. You could feel how ice cold he was through the sweater he had on--your ex's sweater. You didn't remember bringing it. You should've probably given it back when you left. Or maybe you'd steal it for revenge and give it to Aaron.

Aaron.

"You can touch me? You can touch things?" you murmured, peeking at him through heavily lidded eyes, "How?"

You noticed that he was fidgeting with a damp cloth in a bowl with steaming hot water, and he shrugged.

"I really, really don't know what happened. One minute you were sweating in your sleep, the next you were up and staring at me...I don't know." A pause, then, "You seem a lot less surprised than I expected you to be."

On the inside you were screaming. You were beyond fucking confused. You wanted to call your grandmother and get some goddamn answers. But you were too weak to do anything but sigh.

"Why aren't you surprised?" You finally asked.

His hands stilled in the water and he sighed before continuing to wring out the cloth, "I was. I had my reaction while you were passed out. Um--it's--I guess I've just gotten used to it now."

You quirked an eyebrow at him as he pressed the hot cloth to your forehead. It was then that you realized how cold you were. The water was steaming hot, but still didn't feel hot enough. You shuddered under the warmth and shut your eyes.

"How long was I out?"

He said nothing and returned the rag back to the water.

"Aaron--"

"Three days."

You sat up straight in bed and stared at him with widened eyes. He no longer looked hazy and out of focus. He was here. Alive. Or, at least, the illusion of mortality. He looked at you with equally wide eyes and you could see the healing scars on his face and hands. He looked...older?

"Th-three?" You felt your hands shaking, and you shoved them into the blankets that you squeezed in your fists, "I could've been dead! Oh my god!"

"You weren't!" He responded, holding his hands up, "You woke up on and off, muttered some shit, and then went back to sleep."

"Why didn't you call someone?"

He shot her a look of confusion and motioned around her apartment, "You don't have a house phone. And I don't know how to use your mobile phone. What was I supposed to do? Scream out the window?"

"YES!" You responded, holding your head in disbelief, "What if I died, Aaron? Fucks sa--"

You leaned over and vomited into the trashcan again, though you couldn't begin to imagine what you were purging from your body. You couldn't have eaten anything. He cautiously pat your back as you retched uselessly into the trash and coughed your lungs out.

"That's also how I knew you weren't dead," he mumbled, passing you a bottle of water, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. You thanked him as you cleaned your mouth out. What did it all mean? What changed?

This started after he disappeared. What happened to him during that time? You briefly glanced at him as you spit water into the wastebasket, and you found him watching you intensely with a furrowed brow.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You asked before rinsing your mouth out again.

He worried his lower lip and looked you over.

"This is fucked."

You chuckled, "Yeah, no kidding."

When you were sure that your mouth was sufficiently clean, you sipped the last of the water. You already felt a little bit better, but you knew that this was just a sign of something more nefarious. He helped you sit back up, careful not to touch your skin, though you were hyperaware of how strong his hands felt on your waist. His fingers flexed against you as if he read your mind, and he offered you a small apologetic smile that you didn't expect.

"I've been careful not to get too close, since the last time seemed to have knocked you out good."

Oh...

You blinked at him as you tried to unscramble your thoughts.

"How do you feel?" You asked him with genuine curiosity. It couldn't have been exactly easy to go from dead to...whatever the hell this was. He seemed surprised by the question. You watched him work through his own thoughts.

"Cold." He simply stated with a small shrug. As he smoothed the thick comforter over your bare legs, absentmindedly, you felt your face heat up.

You hummed in thought, distracting yourself, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Neither. It's just a thing. Y'know? I went from feeling nothing, to feeling...cold. All over. Except when I sit next to you, mostly. You're kinda like a really hot furnace."

At this, you give him your best shit-eating grin and wiggled your brows, "A hot furnace huh?"

"Stop it." He crossed his arms over his chest, and you were mildly impressed by how good he looked in more modern clothes. He began to blush.

He definitely couldn't do that before.

"I-I just found this in your stuff," he explained nervously, "I'd never seen you wear it, so I figured you wouldn't care if I snagged it." He shoved his hands in the pockets of the gray sweatpants that also belonged to your ex and you schooled your features into complete nonchalance.

"You're fine," you said, "They were Marc--my ex's things. I don't think he'll miss them much."

You weren't 100% sure of that, but whatever. They weren't his anymore, anyway. You thought back on the running water from the bathroom, and noticed his wet hair and fresh face.

"Did...you shower?" You asked him, wide-eyed. Excited, he jumped up from the bed and motioned erratically.

"I didn't realize how much I fuckin' missed showering," he ran his fingers through his damp curls and let out a cheerful laugh in disbelief, "The water didn't feel like much of anything until I turned it to the highest setting. But god, did I miss it. I've been showering twice a day for the last 3 days!"

"Why are you not freaked out about this?" You asked. He stopped in his tracks and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"As my dad once said, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'."

You rolled your eyes.

"You're dead, Aaron. You've been dead for 20 years. Now, out of the blue, you can touch things, and wear new clothes, and shower. And none of this is worrisome to you?"

It was then that he rushed to the bed and kneeled by your side, and you felt the goosebumps on your arms raise.

"I'm just as concerned as you--"

Doubtful.

"--but you don't understand how long it's been since I've been able to just do things for myself."

He grabbed your shoulders and you felt your body react through the thick fabric of your hoodie. Like you'd been splashed with cool water. You gasped and he removed his hands.

"Sorry. Got a bit carried away--"

"No, wait." You took a moment to sift through your thoughts again, and came to a certain conclusion. Maybe. You hesitated, and then reached out to touch his face, pressing a gentle hand to his left cheek. He shuddered, and you instantly began to feel tired. But you watched some of the color return to his face. His cheeks flushed red, and the blue in his eyes brightened as his pupils dilated.

"Oh." He whispered, leaning into your touch a bit more and shutting his eyes, "Fuck. That feels nice. So warm."

The gravely affect his voice took on was different from anything you'd ever heard from him before, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes landed on you again, and something flickered in his gaze. You felt your pulse quicken, and you could almost swear that you felt his heartbeat as well. His hand gently pressed over yours on his cheek, and then trailed down your wrist.

"This is different." He said, grinning at you with a newfound admiration you'd never seen.

You pulled your hand away from his face and you both shuddered with a small gasp. Energy returned to you in a slow trickle, though he still maintained some of the flush in his cheeks.

"I think," your voice cracked and your cleared your throat, "you might be like this because of me."

Aaron wanted to touch you again. Badly. The minute you found the strength to leave your bed, he trailed behind you like a faithful puppy. Admittedly, it was partially because you were still wobbly on your feet and he wanted to catch you if you passed out again. A bigger part of him wanted to grab you by your hips and pull you towards him. His eyes trailed down the curve of your lower back and ass as you searched though your closet for an old notebook that belonged to your grandmother. You muttered something about "witchy bullshit" and he couldn't help but laugh at the exasperation in your tone.

Though he probably should've cared more about the how and why of their current predicament, he couldn't give any less of a shit. He knew what it felt like to grab your waist and touch your skin, and he couldn't get it out of his mind. The way you not-so-casually brushed against him as you passed didn't make matters easier.

Aaron hadn't realized that he'd been watching you with the dopiest smile on his face until you turned with the notebook in hand and smiled back, confused.

"What?" You asked, scrunching up your nose at him.

Fuck, you were cute. And he had an undeniable crush. He wanted to hit himself in the face.

"Nothing," he lied. He nodded towards the book in your hand, "That it?"

You eyed him curiously. Whatever thought you had in that gorgeous head of yours was apparently not important enough to vocalize, as you shook your head to clear it.

"It is. My grandmother gave it to me when I last saw her, and I never even bothered to crack it open. Which was probably stupid of me." She called it a grimoire and mentioned that it was well over 100 years old. The leatherbound, thick book carried loose, yellowed pages and photos. Dried leaves and herbs seemed to poke out from every which way, and Aaron wondered how your family managed to keep it intact.

"Soooo you think you'll find out what's making me all zombie-like through that?" It's not that he didn't believe it, it's just that he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer. Going back to feeling the way he did before felt like a non-option now.

"Zombie-like?" You giggled and it sounded like a bell.

"Y'know," he stood over your shoulder, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around you, "not-quite-alive, not-quite-dead."

As you slowly flipped through the thin pages of the book, scanning the looping cursive for familiar words, you snorted. "If that's how you want to classify yourself, go for it."

At this, he leaned closer and whispered in your ear, "How would you classify me?"

He heard your breath hitch and your hand faltered over the next page.

"I don't know," you said, softly, turning your head to him. It was so close that your lips just barely brushed his cheek. "You feel very much alive, to me." You lingered there for a beat longer, before returning your attention to the next page. Warmth fluttered in his stomach and he felt like he was going to throw up. If his mates could see him now, he'd never hear the end of it.

He should've taken a step back to regain his composure, and he was just about to when you suddenly pointed to a string of words halfway down the page.

"Here," you said, tilting the book up so he could read it, "'Transformation of the Incorporeal and Corporeal Forms: Parasitism and Symbiosis'."

He hadn't a clue what the hell any of that meant. One look at his face told you all you needed to know, apparently, as you broke down the rules like he was ten. Which he appreciated.

"I don't know what happened to you while you were gone, but something changed. Something made you more..." she motioned with her hand, "adaptable? The first time you touched me was when you nearly gave me a heart attack that first time. And that was the first time I saw you. So the more you interact with me, the more tangible you become." You flipped through the pages eagerly, reading as fast as you could as he hung onto your every word.

"But the first time you touched me wasn't as intense as this time. And you weren't able to continue doing it for so long after the first time. So something is different now. But what?"

He felt the familiar tingle in his left hand from the very first time he touched you, and he flexed his fingers.

"It was purgatory."

At this, you paused your reading and immediately turned to look at him with a look of pure horror on your face. Suddenly he wished he'd just shut his mouth.

"Purgatory? I--how?" As you turned to face him, you hugged the book protectively to your chest, but inched closer to him in concern, "That's not fucking good. Not good at all. You can't just come back from there. That's impossible."

He motioned to himself and shrugged, "I did."

You mumbled something to yourself and rapidly began flipping through the pages again, looking for something specific. He wanted you to stop and look at him. Just to explain what he was missing, as you seemed to know far more than you let on. Your eyes scanned the pages in your hands, and your jaw dropped.

"The darkness..." you whispered, "The thing with many teeth. Did you see this?"

You flipped the book to face him, and pointed at the crude illustration of the grinning thing that haunted him for several nights. Even with smeared ink and scribbles around the image, he shied away from its gaze, avoiding eye contact.

"Ugh. Yeah. That thing. It wouldn't leave me alone. I still feel it watching me sometimes."

You immediately slammed the book closed and rushed out of the room, headed for the front door as he trailed behind you. "Wait, wait, hold on!"

"I've gotta speak to the elders! This is way out of my hands."

As you crossed the threshold into the main hallway, he instinctively grabbed your hand and you both gasped. He felt like he was on fire, and you felt like you'd been thrown into a freezer. Still he couldn't let go of you. The iciness and the blazing heat turned into a low buzzing sensation. Even when he eventually released his grip on your hand, he still felt the vibrations crawling up his arm from where he touched you.

It was then that you both noticed that he was standing beside you in the middle of the apartment building's hallway, with the front door of your apartment wide open.

"Did you pull me outside?" He asked, partially impressed and also terrified. You swallowed hard and shook your head.

"It wasn't me, it was this." You motioned between them, speaking in hushed tones to avoid detection from the neighbors. Then you swiftly turned on your heels and rushed down the hall to call for the elevator. He felt a strange pull emanating from you. And though he wanted to go back into the apartment, he blinked and found himself standing right beside you again.

"This? What's this? What are you talking about?" He was beginning to panic from the lack of information you were sharing with him. You fidgeted with your fingers, and he pleaded with you, "Please tell me."

You shot him a look of pure sadness just as the elevator doors opened to you, "The reason you're like this--the reason why you have a steady form and why you can touch me? I was hoping this was symbiosis but it's not. You're haunting me, and it's parasitic."

He followed you into the elevator as the doors closed, and you crossed your arms over your chest.

"What does that mean for you?" He murmured. You avoided his eyes and he knew right away what it meant.

"It means that you're slowly killing me."

[minniefights]

We’re home!!

After 9 days in the hospital, the doctors have allowed my mom to be discharged and to continue her iv meds via home care.

They have strict regulations though, oxygen on standby and our family doctor visits us often. We also agreed as a family that we will strictly use masks when we enter the room to avoid infection.

You may call it incidental but I consider it God’s providence too that my mom shifted to a hospital bed a few months back even before she got sick. This helps a lot in managing her Compression Fracture pain and movement limitations.

Good morning! Excuse the messy morning hair.

My mom enjoys the visits of our family members in the compound. It cheers her up! And I think my Ama Fe (my mom’s 88 y.o mom) is happy to see her at home as well. Every morning my mom goes on Zoom to call my his brother and best friend who is a priest in the US. So mornings are quite busy for us!

My mom and I have also made a pact that I will really have to honestly tell her about her medical situation. We also promised to be each other’s emotional support, so we try to check in about how we feel and find courage to talk about even the difficult conversations. 🥲

We’re *trying* to get the hang of the many medicines she needs to take in a day and the monitoring that needs to be done daily. I’m lucky I could work from home (and I could temporarily be in Iligan to closely monitor my mom). A few yrs back, my mom also moved back in her family’s home (The Parangan’s) where my uncle nurse oversees us as well, along with our other family members.

My mom’s not yet feeling 100%. She’s still very weak and limited. But this is already a miracle and we’re thankful for the everyday we’re given.

Hospital Bills and God’s Favor Upon Us

Yesterday, when we were about to get discharged, my titas from community encouraged me to try to line up for government aids and though it took a while, we saw God’s favor upon us!

Tita Maal and I were able to get DSWD discounts, after some hours and some runs around the city. Hehe adventure. And side story: another community tita of mine, Tita Hazel didn’t know she had a meeting with DOH that day but she remembered we were going to be discharged. So she just asked if there are medical bills subsidy available, and there was! To cut the long thrilling story, we were able to get a subsidy worth like 75k from DOH alone. All in all, we received very significant financial help for our hospital bill. How significant? Like 200k worth of discounts in total!!! And I only needed to pay for 6 doctors’ professional fee. (Many of our friends and family donated too due to many people’s fundraising efforts!!) Talk about God’s provision 🙌🏼 Thank you Jesus!

Picture with moral support titas while Aiana girl waits on the bill and lines up for offices 😎

Of course, like any other diagnosis, we still have questions as to why God allowed this, but little graces have allowed us to see that His hands are with us even here. Not any less than his hands are with the Israelites as they wandered in the desert towards the Promised Land. They may not have so much, but they had enough. God never failed to pour down manna in the desert daily. God still parts the sea for His chosen people to walk on. God still sends His “pillar of cloud by the day and fire by night” thru the many ways He guides and leads His people.

Personally, I’ve been reflecting more and more about my own pilgrim journey too. Thru this long, arduous journey in the desert of my life, while it may be human to look for “other gods”, other means to satisfy the human longing or to just complain just as how the Israelites’ “patience were worn out by the journey” (And i do complain sometimes), but my prayer is that may He give us the grace to fix our eyes upon Jesus, to put our hope in His word and to fight the good fight of faith.

May the Lord find us faithful in our desert wanderings,

Aiana

[kashimos-hajime]

the colour yellow | jjk

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

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

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

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

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

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

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

Cruel. That was the word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He opens the door. 

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

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

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

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

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

So, why can’t you stop this?

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

After Suguru…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren’t even doing that bad. 

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

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

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

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“I’d never do that.”

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

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

“Do it, then.”

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

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

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

“Yes, I do!”

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

“He was nine.”

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

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death. 

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

“Satoru,” you say softly.

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

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour. 

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

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

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

“We all die.”

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

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

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

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

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

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

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

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple. 

Colour theory. 

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

.

He sits on the bench on campus. 

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

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

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

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

“She’s not going to die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

HANAHAKI DISEASE

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

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

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

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

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

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

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

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

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

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

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

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive 

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

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

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

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

  [Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

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

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

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

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

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

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol 

remember how i can teleport 

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine 

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worse?”

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

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

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

He frowned. “Why?”

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

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

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.” 

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me, too.”

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

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

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

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

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

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

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

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what are those triggers?”

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

“That’s reassuring.”

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

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

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it here?” you ask. 

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

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

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tuna mayo.”

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

He wonders…

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

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

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

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

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

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

“Nanami,” he greets.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

Hopefully, it never does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First day knowing Shoko?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

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

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom. 

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

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly. 

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

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

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

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

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

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

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

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

.

You get worse and worse with every visit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did that hurt?”

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

“Does anything?”

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

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

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

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

He said no every time.

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

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

“Do you want my help?”

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

“Hospital bonus.”

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

“Isn’t that a relief?” 

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

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

Not much to miss, to be honest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“…thank you.”

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

So terribly heartbroken.

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

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

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

I’m the Strongest.

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

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

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

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

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

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

Because if so, Satoru understands. 

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

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

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

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

He glances at the clock. 

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

Twenty-seven seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t eat, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

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

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

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

“We should do one of both of us.”

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re… going to miss me… more.” 

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

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

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

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

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

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

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

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

Click. Hiss. 

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

Click. Hiss.

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

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

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

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

Another blink, slower this time.

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

“Alright, give it your best shot.” 

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

ANGRY?

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

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

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

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

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

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

Click. Hiss.

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

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

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

HERE

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

YOU AND ME

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

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

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

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

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

He knows you’re exhausted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hours pass by in torturous years. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

You die two hours later.

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

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

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

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

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

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

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

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

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

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

“Salmon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

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

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

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

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

It feels fucking awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You cursed Rika.”

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

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

So he did. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, it won’t be enough.”

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

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

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.” 

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up. 

Polaroids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

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

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

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

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

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

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday. 

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

My Satoru,

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

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

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

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

That’s what I thought, too

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere Rei Hurting Reader Pt2

Yes yes. Its out now. I won't delete this one. Enjoy!

Part 1 is here. Part 3 here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Todoroki Clan:

It had been so awful at first. So hard for everyone to adjust to the new change. Of course, it was especially difficult for you to adapt to the new circumstances.

When you had first woken up after the unfortunate incident, approximately 3 days later, you didn't expect to be home so soon. You expected- you hoped that you would wake up in the hospital and have them call the authorities. Then again, you also didn't expect never being able to use your eyes again.

Shotou was the first one to notice when you had woken up from your coma. He hadn't left your side since the accident. He jumped from his seat beside you and held the glass of water to your lips when you tried to speak. The family came rushing in when he called for them, announcing that you had woken up. You could hear Fuyumi and her crying tears of joy as Natsuo came to check your vitals. You knew your eyes were bandaged, which was expected because of the hot oil that was poured on them, but when you asked Natsuo when they were coming off, he went silent. Your heart sank when he told you what had happened, how your eyes were fucking fried to the point that the arteries supplying them were also destroyed, which meant they couldn't be replaced, ever.

You screamed a lot that day; you would've cried but you didn't have any tear ducts. You didn't let anyone touch you at first, especially Rei. You would scream, throw yourself away from her if you felt her come near you. Eventually, Natsuo put some sort of tranquilliser into your IV, finally calming you down.

Being blind was hard, you knew that. But you didn't know that it would also be this humiliating. After the accident, they had starting infantalizing you even more, doing the most miniscule things for you.

Shotou would be the first person who greeted you in the morning and usually the last person to put you to bed at night. He would carry you around everywhere you go, telling you its simply unsafe for you to walk on your own. Sure you bumped into the furniture a few times and it was a bit hard maintaining your balance, but that didn't mean you needed him to carry you around everywhere. You had asked him to get you a cane, but he only said "why do you need a stick when you have me? Just tell me where you want to go". 

Each morning, Shotou would take you down the stairs to the toilet and more often than not, have Fuyumi come and help you, even for brushing your teeth. Then he would take you to the dining table where everyone is waiting for you. Fuyumi would give your breakfast to Shotou, who would cut it up and feed you. Once you're done eating, you would wait for Shotou to finish his food. During breakfast, everyone would make small talk while you remained quiet. After everyone's finished eating, Fuyumi and Rei would take dishes to sink. You would've helped, but everyone's pretty much forbidden you from entering the kitchen.

Shotou would then carry you either to his room or the living room, where he would turn on the TV and tell you what's happening. But since this always makes you remember how you don't have eyes, he would usually just read you some book. Somehow, they're always about princesses and fairytales. You were getting sick of hearing them.

Fuyumi would later come and fetch you, and take you to your bath. While you would be cleaning yourself, after politely declining help from Fuyumi each time, she would be out preparing your clothes for the day. She would explain to you what you're wearing and how you look, and how she's going to style your hair. As if any of these things mattered to you. But even if they did, its not like you'd have a say in anything.

You still remember the first time you were taking a bath, after finally convincing Fuyumi to let you have the "luxury" to clean yourself up. You finally had some time for yourself, alone and away from the rest of the house. You sank in the warm water in the tub, allowing yourself to relax. The privacy was comforting, but not long lasting, as you felt cold hands touch your shoulders. In an instant, you jumped away screaming. "GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!" Rei tried coming closer to you but you kept on screeching at the top of your lungs, alerting the whole house. "FUYUMI! SHOTOU! GET HER AWAY! SHOTOU GET HER AWAY!" At that point you didn't even care if they saw you nude, they just need to save you from her. The siblings rushed to the bathroom and upon seeing your huddled form in the corner and their mother sobbing, Fuyumi hastily covered you with a towel while Shotou took Rei out of there.

Shotou tried to make you understand that Rei was just trying to help you. That she just missed you and wanted to take care of you. He was basically telling you not to be afraid of her, and that your trauma is not valid. You stopped talking to him after that, only spoke when absolutely necessary.  

Natsuo would pick you up after your bath while Fuyumi went to make lunch. He would check your eyes (or lack there of), put on some ointments and replace the bandages with fresh ones. Fuyumi would come with your lunch and after she'd fed you, Natsuo would give you your medicine. They always make you sleepy, so you'd be put down for a nap.

Dabi wasn't always around, but when he was, he was still the asshole he was before. He would move your things to different places, or place stuff in your way so that'd you'd trip (he always caught you before you face planted), all so that you would ask him for help he could get a rise out of you. But you would just sigh and move on.

Enji liked to take you to the garden and read you books and newspapers. It was alright you guess, but you wanted to do something yourself, especially since they still didn't take you out of the house. You had asked him for a Braille, but he only replied "You don't need to stress yourself with that. I'll always be there to read you whatever you want." 

If Enji's running late, then Shotou would take you to the swings in the garden, pushing you as he tells what happened at school or with friends. After dinner, you’d be forced to spend some more time with your siblings, before you’d be tucked into bed.

That has been the routine for the past 6 months since your accident. And the family really felt like everything was returning to normal. It was, for them. This is how they always wanted things to happen: you, locked up in the house while they stripped you of all autonomy and infantalized you to the point where it was harming you, both physically and mentally. Your body was growing weak, your muscles got easily fatigued from their lack of use. And the pills Natsuo gave you didn't really help the case. They made you sleepy, and you think they even caused hallucinations since you felt like someone was in your room or someone was playing with your hair.

Even though you were stuck at home all day, you still never talked to Rei. Well she tried, but you would be the one to always flinch away. She wouldn't address herself when she entered your room, but you would still feel her lurking around the corners. And why should you acknowledge her? Especially after what she's done? 

Enji wasnt ignorant of your condition. He could see how quiet you had gotten, and how scared you were of Rei. He was getting worried for you. What were you thinking about? Enji knew if he didn't talk to you, things will get worse.

You were sitting by the lounge window with Fuyumi who was telling you about her day. Fuyumi greeted him when he came in the room. "Hey, dad!" Enji nodded. "Fuyumi, would you leave us? I'd like to talk to Y/n." Fuyumi nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead before she left the room, only Enji noticing how you stiffened at her affection. He sat beside you and cleared his throat. "How are you?" "Fine. You?"you softly asked. "I'm good, too. I wanted to talk to you about something. About...your mom." "My mom's dead." Enji cleared his throat. "I meant Rei." "Oh. What about her?" "Why haven't you been talking to her?" You remained silent. “What happened was an accident-” “It wasnt an accident. An accident is spilling milk. Not pouring hot oil in someone’s eyes.” Enji knew this was coming.“She didn’t do it on purpose-” You cut him off again. “She did! She knew exactly what she was doing.” “Why would she do that?” “I don’t know. She hates me or something.” Enji grabbed your hand gently. “You know that's not true. Rei loves you very much and she cares about you a lot.” You didn't say anything. “Do you remember the day you came to our house?” You nodded. “Yeah. It was a few days after my parents funeral.” “Yes. And do you remember what Rei said to you?” You stiffened before nodding again. “She said that she may not be my real mother, but she’ll love me more than anyone ever has and ever will. Always.” “Yes. And has she not? Has she not loved you more than anyone?” You nodded slowly as Enji continued. “Between you and me, she’s always favoured you among all of your siblings.” You smiled at that. “So, are you willing to give your mother a chance?” You paused for a few minutes. “I- I cant.” Enji sighed. “Look. I know you’re scared. I understand. I know you want to blame Rei for what happened, but believe me when I tell you it wasn't her fault. It was an accident.” You shook your head. “And what if another “accident” like that happens again? And what if I dont survive this time? And what if-” Your voice broke down. Enji pulled you into his lap. “It won't. I promise. And if something like that does occur, I’ll be there to stop it.” Enji pressed a kiss to your hair. “I’ll save you. I promise.”

With Enji's persuasion, you had started mending your relationship with Rei again. Sure, you still flinched when she touched you and you were still hesitant to initiate conversations with her, but none of that bothered Rei. You were trusting her again, and she was more than happy to do more on her part to make you comfortable.

And you won't lie, but life was better with Rei. She knew when Dabi or Shotou were becoming too overbearing, or when Natsuo was fussing over you for no reason. She was there to stop Fuyumi from chatting your ear away, and knew when to stop Enji from feeding you too many sweets.

And Enji could see that Rei was sorry for what she did. He saw how she would often massage ointments on your face, her fingers barely tracing the charred area around your eyes before pulling away quickly. And other times, like today, as he stood by your bedroom door, he saw how gentle she was with you as she tucked you into your bed. He kissed his wife once she had left your room. "How are my girls doing?" Enji asked Rei in a hushed voice, not wanting to wake you up. Rei smiled. "Good." They slowly started walking back to their room. "Shes an angel, Enji. So sweet." Enji hummed in agreement. "Can I tell you something?" Enji stopped and turned to face his wife. He raised an eyebrow. "I'm kind of glad what happened...to her." Rei was smiling. "She's so much better like this. So docile now. I...I don't regret what I did, you know?" Enji's blood ran cold. "Rei... dont tell me- you didn't do that on purpose, did you?" Rei nodded, a bit too eagerly. "I know, I know. It wasn't ethical. And if I could, I would've taken away her pain in a heartbeat. But you must agree that its much better now, right?" Enji couldn't believe what Rei was confessing. "I mean, look at her now. She doesn't even try running away. She knows- she feels safer with us, inside." Rei sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I thought that maybe it wouldn't come to this. I thought that after Touya took care of her parents, she'd be a bit more scared to be outside on her own. That's why we told her they died in a car crash." Rei rested her cheek on his chest. "It scares me what I'm willing to do for her, Enji." Enji knew Dabi had something to do with what happened to your parents, but knowing Rei had a hand in it too, or more precisely, she was the one who told Touya to get rid of them. Enji didn't know what to do with this new side of his wife. But he did know he had to keep her hidden from you, so he ushered his wife to their bedroom, not knowing you had already heard them.

You had realised a couple of things that night. One, Rei and Dabi had murdered your parents. Two, Rei pouring the hot oil in your eyes wasn't some sort of psychotic episode. Three, Enji and the others were going to take Rei's side, no matter what.

A few weeks later, your birthday came around. The siblings had left the house to get some things for your birthday party, leaving you in the care of their parents. Rei was in the kitchen cooking up a whole feast for you, while you sat beside Enji in the lounge as he read the newspaper. Enji had already given you your present. It was giant teddy bear with chocolates from Belgium. They were utterly delicious. When you stood up, he asked you where you were going. You pointed at the box of chocolates in your hand. "I'm going to share them with, mom. Unless, thats not okay?"you asked meekly. Enji still wasn't all that comfortable with letting you and Rei be alone, especially after her confession. But... if he doesn't let you go to her alone, you'll always be afraid of her. And its not like Rei will hurt you again, right? Besides, the kitchen is just down the hallway. He's sure nothing will happen. He nodded. "Okay. Should I walk you there?" "No. Its down the hall. I think I'll be fine on my own." Enji then allowed you to go, telling you to call for him if you need anything.

Rei was chopping up some vegetables when she heard your footsteps. She turned around to find you standing just outside the kitchen. "Hey, angel! What are you doing here?" You remained outside the kitchen as you spoke. "I wanted to share these chocolates dad got for me. W-would you like some?" Oh, you're so kind. Rei quickly wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before walking towards you and leading you to the dining room in front of the kitchen. She helped you sit down before taking a seat next to you. "You want me to have your chocolates? But didn't daddy gift them to you?" You bit your lip as you replied. "Well yes, but I- I wanted to share them with you so that I could- I wanted to thank you for taking care of me. And for loving me. I would've gotten you something else but I'm not allowed to go outside..."you mumbled the last sentence, but that didn't matter as Rei quickly hugged you. "Oh honey! You're so sweet!" Rei took a piece of chocolate from the box that you had extended towards her. "And these chocolates are so delicious! Daddy really loves to spoil you, doesnt he?" Rei pinched your cheek gently. You smiled. "I'm glad you liked them. Especially, after all you've done for me. You deserve them more than I do, honestly." Rei stopped at that. "Honey...what are you talking about?" You smiled. "What? Am I not saying the truth? You deserve these chocolates, and all the sweets and flowers and medals for being the best mother." You popped a chocolate into your mouth before continuing. "After all, the criteria is very high. You need to not only have the intent to kill for your child, but you also have to commit murder. Then kidnap your child and force her to bide to your rules. And if she misbehaves, you must punish her as well, right? Because good behaviour gets chocolate," You popped another chocolate into your mouth. "And bad behaviour gets your eyes fried."

Rei just stared at you in disbelief. H-how did you- you didn't hear them talking last night did you? Or did Dabi tell you? Rei stared at you as you ate another piece of chocolate. "I wonder after you've killed me, will you be given chocolates or flowers?" "D-darling, w-what are you saying? I would never hurt you!" You chuckled darkly. "No no. You've done it before and I know you'll do it again. After all, it scares you what you're willing to do for me." You caressed her cheeks, and when you felt her tears, you wiped them. "I'm not saying you have the intention to kill me. No, you'll just hurt me again, another little accident, but this time I won't survive. I just hope you'll bury me somewhere where there's a lot of fresh air, maybe on a hill with a view?" Rei finally broke down at that, falling to her knees as she clung to your legs. "Please! Y/n please forgive me! Please baby, I- I just wanted the best for you. I don't want you to die, I- I promise I'll never hurt you again! I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Please baby, I'll do anything. Just forgive me!" You sighed. "Anything? I don't think you mean that." Rei nodded her vigorously, tears falling everywhere. "I do! I do! Just tell me what to do!" You tapped your chin, pretending to think. "Bring a knife. A sharp one." Rei's eyes widened. "W-What?" "Well...its only right for you to be punished as well. To atone for your sins, right?" "O-okay." Rei went to the kitchen and brought a big knife with her. "Lock the door." She did as you told her. You extended your palm, waiting for her to place the knife. She did. You stood up, right in front of Rei. You told her to stand against a wall, and she followed. You played with the sharp end if the knife. "I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you so bad. I want you to feel the pain, the hell you've put me through." This is it, Rei thought, you're going to kill her. For some reason, she was okay with that. "I want you to know you failed. I want you to know you're a bad mother. A selfish, bad mother." Rei was full on sobbing now. "Look at me. I want you to remember this." And with that you raised the knife before stabbing yourself in the gut, two screams ripping through the manor. Rei shot towards you, her hands trying to pull the knife away. "What did you do?! What did you do?!" Rei was crying. Enji was banging on the locked door for a few seconds before he burned it down and the sight he was met with...was nothing short of a nightmare.

There you layed on the floor, blood sputtering from your mouth, your shirt stained with blood and Rei. Rei, who was hunched over your body, with a bloody knife in her hand, crying out "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!".

Enji rushed towards you, pushing Rei back roughly. You were coughing up blood, your head turned away from him until you felt him touch your face. "D-daddy..."you whimpered out before your breathing came to a stop.

"No. No." Enji quickly gathered your limp body in his arms, running out of the house towards a hospital. He kept on chanting "no", because he didn't want to believe that he failed to protect you.

That he failed to save his daughter, again.

I had 5 different endings in my mind and Idc if this isn't your preferred ending (the ending I had in my mind was something out of Quentin Tarantino's movie). I'm just glad to be done with it.

Anyways, exams are coming up and I'm not going to be posting a lot.

And ill be taking up your follow up questions/asks for this part! I'll also be answering godfather hawks asks now that this part is out.

[ladyartemesia]

The Luna

◐ PART VII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker... implied violence, mentions of blood, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, discussions or ruts, (non-explicit) kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker...

Word Count: 4200

Author’s Note: You have no idea what your support has meant to me. After getting the dreaded Covid it was awhile before I had the energy to work on this. Truly your asks and your messages and comments...they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen and @underthejoon were the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. 

———◐——— 

Fifteen Years Ago...

———◐——— 

“It can’t be-”

“Run for the elders! Quickly! 

“Red smoke rises from the Luna’s hearth!”

The red smoke was invented by the first wolf known to mate a witch. Legend has it that their bond lent him some of her magic and with it he created a mystical powder that unleashed bloody plumes like knife slashes in the clouds. 

It was a distress call. 

A wolf in danger or in need could throw the powder (usually into their fireplace) and the red smoke would rise - drawing others to their aid. 

No fire was needed and the strange shimmering clouds it produced could even be seen on a moonless night. 

“What happened? Where is the Luna?”

The chief elder was still out of breath, having charged over from his chambers to find Isa in hysterics. 

“She’s gone! Something scared her! It triggered a half-shift!”

His eyes widened in fear and alarm. 

“She’s too young to half-shift. The energy it would take-”

Isa broke into sobs again. 

The girl was only five years old. She and her wolf were too volatile to merge safely. The wolf would be frightened - it would run. 

Eventually the child might regain control, but she would have no way of knowing where she was or how she got there… 

And she would be weak. The effects of the shift were too much for a pup that age. 

The chief elder felt true terror grip his heart. 

“Call for the alphas - immediately!”

Although they were technically one of the oldest bloodlines in the village, Park Clan had only five families to its name - all betas. 

Except for one. 

Park Jimin was the first alpha ever born to the Parks and as such he became the head of his family on the day of his birth - officially the youngest clan leader in history. 

When the call for alphas spread through the village, nine year-old Jimin was roused from his bed to serve on behalf of his people. 

Clan alphas were required to report, regardless of their age. 

“I don’t have to tell any of you what is at stake. Our pack has been entrusted with the Luna’s bloodline. Her safety is our sacred commission.”

The woods were no place for a child. If fluctuating temperatures and possible starvation weren’t bad enough, there were wild bears, packless ferals, rogue witches, snakes, and worst of all-

Unblessed wolves—animals without a human heart. They were by far the most pressing danger to the little girl. 

“Surely young Park can remain at home for this,” Jeon Jinseok pressed. The boy was barely older than his grandson, Jungkook, and he was reluctant to endanger another pup needlessly. 

Some quiet murmurs of assent could be heard around the elder’s chambers, however the chief elder himself shook his head sadly. 

“I understand your concern… but the law is the law. Every clan alpha is sworn to such a task. He took an oath after his first transformation-”

“He was seven-”

“An oath is still an oath.”

All eyes turned to the gentle voice in the corner. The Park alpha looked impossibly small and soft. 

But his gaze burned with determination. 

“It is my right and duty to seek the Luna alongside all of you.” His round little jaw clenched stubbornly. “I’m not afraid.”

The sound of bones and sinew shifting filled the air as one by one the clan alphas fell to their wolf forms and took off into the forest. 

Until only a small silver wolf remained. 

The chief elder sighed. 

The boy would not undergo the Change for another six years. The mental link between his wolf and human forms was not yet complete. It was difficult for information to pass from one to the other. 

“You are the wolf force of Park Jimin.”

After a moment the wolf nodded.

“You were called here because the Luna has gone missing and you must find her if you can. Search the woods until your wolf force can endure no longer and then return. If you find the child, bring her home as soon as possible.”

The young wolf nodded again and then disappeared into the night. 

It was cold. 

The last thing you remembered was a loud noise. It was too close - you panicked-

Then there was heat and pain and running and now this-

Darkness and barren trees looming over you as far as your frightened eyes could see. 

“...Hello?”

Your hands were bleeding. Tears began to slide softly down your cheek as your lips trembled. 

“H-Hello?”

Jimin had never been allowed into the forest alone. A myriad of new shapes and odd smells assaulted his senses as he ran. 

He had only seen you a handful of times. 

Bright silver eyes with a smile that could set even the coldest heart into bloom. 

Now you needed him.

And he was going to save you. 

It was not a question or a matter of chance in his mind. He was meant to find you. It was as if a thread from his chest was bound to a thread from yours and his wolf knew to follow it without question or thought for its significance. 

I’m coming, little Luna. Hold on. 

Your nose was not yet fully developed, but the stench creeping through the air toward you was unmistakable. 

Unblessed. 

A soulless wolf. 

The last time you encountered it was after a hunt. Your father killed one who attacked him and he brought it home for you to scent. 

So you could recognize the smell of danger. 

Gradually two shining eyes emerged from the darkness, yet unlike the wolves of your village, these were dark and fathomless-

Hungry. 

You couldn’t tell much about its age or coloring, it was too thin - too dirty, but the bared teeth and steady progress closer signaled its intent clearly. 

“Please,” you whispered, as it crouched back on its hind legs, preparing to strike. 

Tears blurred your vision as you heard it leap forward. 

But the strike never came. 

Another wolf tackled it to the ground before it could reach you. The two of them tangled viciously in the moonlight; a terrifying mass of snarling and claws. 

The smaller fighter was already bleeding, but he clamped down on his opponent’s throat in the first hit and hung on to it even as the animal snapped and scratched brutally at his skin. 

Jimin could feel his strength beginning to fail him. The pain was excruciating, but he had to endure. If he let go, he was lost- 

You were lost.

So he held. 

And at last the soulless wolf collapsed on top of him. 

For a moment, all was quiet. 

Jimin felt the wounds over his hide begin to tug at the edge of his consciousness. Accelerated healing could only do so much... He was hurt badly. 

Then two small hands began to push at the unblessed corpse. Small huffs and heaves poured from you as you worked to free him from beneath his defeated foe. 

“Don’t be afraid, Silver,” you grunted, “Momma says the healing works best if you can get warm.” 

With one final heave you disposed of the beast as best you could, then moved to wrap your body around your injured champion. 

“I can help,” you whispered, letting the tears fall freely. His soft whimpers were the only reply you received as you snuggled in closer, running your hands gently over the soft fur. 

The young wolf’s eyes were already beginning to lose focus. 

“Please goddess,” you begged into the night. “Please save him.”

Then the two of you drifted into a heavy sleep. 

Jimin opened his eyes again just as the dawn broke. 

He was still in wolf form, but the pain of his injuries had lessened considerably. 

Either that or he was becoming numb. 

His eyes dropped to the figure curled up next to him and his heart stirred. You were so pale… and he could feel your small body shivering violently against his chest.

She will not last much longer...

It took nearly everything he had to stand to his feet and nudge you awake. 

“Will you bring me back, Silver?” you asked weakly. 

Jimin nodded and the two of you stumbled forward into the forest, trusting the vague recollections of his wolf instincts to lead you home. 

Isa was beside herself with worry. Wolves came and went throughout the night-

But there was still no sign of you. 

And the odds of a child surviving the woods alone with no heat and no protection were slim at best. 

Her hands shook as she gathered feed for the horses from the storeroom near the back of the house. She willed herself to complete the task - any task - in an effort to busy her mind and perhaps achieve a moment of respite. 

Her hand closed around the back door handle and she started forward - only to nearly lose her balance over something lying on the porch. 

The bucket of feed dropped from her grasp, sending kernels of grain in all directions. 

Two bodies lay in a heap at her feet, clutching one another desperately. The Luna and her silver wolf were covered in matted blood and dirt. 

But they were alive. 

Isa began to scream, drawing out the other two occupants of the house; her husband Roojin and his younger sister, a beta healer named Ryn. 

“Oh my goddess,” Ryn gasped, “that’s the Park alpha! I heard some of the elders saying that he hadn’t checked in last night!”

“Get them inside. If we don’t act quickly we could lose them.”

Roojin tried to lift you away from the wolf, but the action was enough to rouse you and you immediately began to kick and scream frantically. 

“No! I won’t leave him!” you sobbed, wrapping your body even tighter around the injured pup. “Silver, wake up! Please wake up!”

“Baby you need to let him go! We have to treat him!”

But you were frantic, refusing - violently - to be separated from your rescuer. 

Ryn was eventually forced to grab a syringe from her field kit to sedate you. 

Isa carried your limp body to the fireplace and began to peel off your wet clothes while Ryn and Roojin dealt with Jimin’s injuries in the kitchen. Blood dripped over the tabletop and puddled ominously on the floor while they worked. 

“It looks like he was attacked.” Ryn’s eyes began to water. “What a brave little boy.”

“How the hell did he survive this?”

“I don’t know, but without a healing touch he’ll die.” She ripped her gloves off and rolled up her sleeves. “Stand back.”

Twenty minutes later Isa and Roojin caught the young healer as her legs gave out from under her. She had poured the majority of her energy into restoring the young Park alpha - perhaps more than was strictly safe-

But he would survive and that was all that mattered. 

“I must contact the elders,” Isa murmured as she helped Ryn to a seat near the hearth. “In all the chaos I forgot to tell them that we found her.”

Roojin sighed, letting his eyes drift back to the table. 

“That pup brought her back, but I wonder if they’ll even believe it. I wouldn’t - not if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“No...” Ryn whispered from the chair. “You can’t tell them about the boy.”

“Why not? He’s the only reason she’s still alive. He deserves to be recognized.”

“You don’t understand,” she shook her head weakly. “His clan is nothing. They have no power - no other alphas. This will make him a target. The alpha pups will challenge him and the stronger clans will see him as a threat to their influence…”

She pulled herself upright and limped over to the table where the young wolf slept. 

“But he's just a child….and small for his age at that. He has no powerful clansmen to protect him from the ramifications of this.” 

Her hands clenched to fists. 

“When his human form returns, he won’t remember saving the Luna. We’ll take him to his mother’s home at nightfall - make it seem like he wandered back. He may garner some respect for surviving the woods, but then they’ll leave him alone… and he can go on living his life in peace.”

Ryn turned to face them both with a determined expression. 

“We owe him that.”

“Where is the silver wolf? Where have you taken him?”

As soon as the sedative wore off you reached for the boy once again, only to find that he was gone. 

“The silver wolf was hurt very badly, sweetheart. Your aunt carried him away to be treated.”

“I have to go with him! He needs me!”

“No, honey - you can’t-”

Isa pulled you into her arms and you collapsed into helpless sobs. The last twenty-four hours had finally caught up with you. 

You were too weak to fight back. 

“Luna… the silver wolf is in danger. Are you willing to keep him safe?”

You nodded fiercely, letting the flow of your tears soak through your mother’s sleeves. 

“Then you must never tell another soul that the silver wolf saved you. No one can know that he was with you in the forest.”

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. 

“But-”

“You will tell everyone that you found the way back alone. Do not mention the silver wolf.”

Isa lifted your chin till your eyes met hers. 

“Promise me, Luna.”

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest as you thought of your champion. He had spared you from a gruesome fate and you did not even know his name. 

You wanted so desperately to thank him. 

Last night, you were so cold - so afraid - that you hadn’t said it...

Now you never could. 

So instead you would protect him - no matter what it cost. 

“I promise.”

———◐——— 

Today...

———◐———  

“I don’t like him.”

Jimin tilted his head slightly toward his best friend.

“Who?”

Taehyung took a long sip of water then moved his hand to cover his mouth. To an outside observer he would appear to be wiping excess liquid from his lips. 

“The senior envoy from the Iron Claw pack.” He shook his head. “Something about him is off. He’s ill at ease.”

All the major packs of the mountain nations dispatched representatives to greet and solidify their relations with the new Alpha. 

Any pack who failed to send a proper delegation risked a diplomatic incident. 

The first twenty-four hours held great significance when it came to the transfer of power. The official term for the tradition-packed period between the revelation of the Alpha and his ultimate reunion with the Luna was called “The King’s New Moon.”

The new moon was the darkest phase of the lunar cycle and the immediate separation from his mate was meant to be a test of the Alpha’s restraint and bearing. 

Jimin wanted to put his fist through a wall. 

He missed you. 

Fighting Namjoon was nothing compared to the torture of this bureaucratic circus.

As the day progressed he was extremely grateful to have Yoongi and Taehyung at his side. Yoongi agreed to act as interim Praetor while Namjoon recovered and he and Taehyung were quick to fill in any knowledge gaps Jimin had with regards to protocol. 

The first round of ceremonial greetings between packs dragged on more than an hour before the bell struck for a brief recess. In fact, until Taehyung’s rather strange pronouncement, nearly every moment played out with boring predictability.

Though there was one notable surprise. 

Apparently the Iron Claw pack had just undergone a change of leadership and was now under the command of a female alpha named Azira Kai. 

Authority in the Iron Claw pack was traditionally decided through combat, and Azira beat nearly thirty-five challengers to ascend as queen. 

Female alphas were extraordinarily rare. Jimin knew they existed, but Azira was the first one he’d ever heard of. 

Iron Claw’s senior envoy delivered the news himself at the start of the ceremony and personally conveyed the queen’s well wishes. 

Jimin eyed the representative in question speculatively from his corner of the table. At first glance the man seemed much like every other emissary gathered in the crowded hall to fulfil centuries old obligations. But Taehyung had always possessed a strange sense about people. 

His instincts could not be easily dismissed. 

“I will keep that in mind,” he whispered as he sent the young man a courteous nod.

The sun had already begun to set when a messenger from the chief elder’s chambers arrived at your door. At long last the ceremonial requirements were drawing to a close and soon the elder’s council would be sending you instructions.

However...‘soon’ could mean anything from twenty minutes to five hours. 

“You might as well rest while you can,” Jin teased with a salacious wiggle of his brows. “Who knows what strenuous activity you might find yourself involved in when they finally let that boy loose.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to pretend that your cheeks weren’t burning with embarrassment. 

“I will rest, but not for any reason you’re thinking.”

Truth be told, your nerves were a bit… frayed. 

A frustration was building within you and nothing seemed to satisfy it. You weren’t even sure what you were wanting, but you definitely wanted it. 

“Of course not,” your cousin chuckled as you gathered your gloves and wandered back to the bedroom. 

An hour later Jin’s boredom found him snuggled up on the couch near the fireplace reading over an old cookbook from your mother’s pantry.

“Heavens… no wonder Aunt Isa’s kimchi is so dry. This is a disgrace.”

Suddenly the front door began to shake and pound violently. Strange smells carried through the air and his eyes widened. 

Foreign wolves. 

He drew in a deep breath and immediately growled in frustration. 

Foreign alphas.

A small bowl of red powder sat on the mantle above the hearth. Jin just barely managed to toss it into the flames before the door splintered off its hinges. 

“Hello boys,” he drawled, unleashing a massive dose of pheromones while the knives strapped to his forearms slid smoothly to his hands. “What brings you here?”

“I just heard the strangest news,” Min Yoongi narrowed his eyes at the small scrap of paper passed to him by one of the council aides. 

“Oh?”

The next set of guild masters were making their way to Jimin at a snail’s pace. It would be several seconds before he needed to greet them. 

“One of the healers sent word that Namjoon has disappeared from his assigned recovery room.” He shook his head curiously. “Where do you suppose he’s gone?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. 

That mangy mutt. He’s probably bent Yunli over every surface of her brother’s house by now. Goddess above! He couldn’t hold out for six more days? 

“I’m sure I have no idea.”

I should have killed him. This is a disaster. He can barely walk, how does he expect to-

“The Miner’s Guild is honored to serve at the pleasure of the Alpha.”

Jimin nodded regally and forced up a pleasant smile. 

“The honor is entirely mine, Master Lee. I look forward to-”

A loud crash split the solemn hush of the room as a young member of the council guard burst through the heavy wooden doors. 

“Red smoke! Red smoke rises from the Luna’s hearth!”

Jimin felt his heart plummet into his stomach. 

Chaos erupted immediately. 

“Call for the guards!”

“We must notify the healers.”

“The messengers just spoke to her-”

“Is it an attack?”

“ENOUGH!”

The Alpha’s voice cut across the assembly with authoritative resonance. 

Every eye turned to him in expectation. 

But he could only think of you. 

“Jung, lock the building down. Take your clansmen and seal off every entrance.”

Murmurs began to stir through the hall as Hoseok directed his people toward the access points, but he ignored them. 

“Choi. Make for the healers. Have a dozen of them meet us there.”

Jimin was already heading for the door. The deadly length of his claws flashed ominously in the firelight. 

“Kim, Min, Jeon - with me.”

The three alphas in question fell in step behind him without a word. 

The scene at the Luna’s home was nightmarish. 

Jimin ran to your room immediately, but all he found was a broken window and the lingering scent of your fear. 

His wolf howled in anguish as he fell to his knees and screamed in rage. 

At the front of the house four badly beaten bodies lay strewn about the kitchen and living room area. Most of the furniture was destroyed and the scent of carnage soaked the air. 

“Jin!”

The omega stood at the center of the rubble. There was a nasty slash running up his right leg and another grievous wound near his ribs. 

But his arms were wrapped around a massive foriegn wolf with the thin blade of his favorite knife pressed against the intruders throat. 

“What happened here?” Yoongi gasped. “And that smell-” he moved his hand to cover his nose. 

“Pheromones,” Taehyung nearly gagged. 

His eyes fell to the corpses - examining their injuries with a critical gaze. 

“Jin, you dangerous bastard.”

The omega simply smiled and forced the prisoner onto his knees. 

“I don’t understand…” Jungkook shook his head. 

“He flooded them with omega pheromones... These four were unmated.” The Kim alpha let out a cold chuckle. “He triggered their ruts… and they killed each other over him.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. 

Male omegas really were terrifying.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed and he considered the scene. 

“None of this makes sense. The scent markers are clearly from the Iron Claw pack. They didn’t even bother to mask…”

Jungkook and Yoongi began to search the bodies for any hint of their motives or identity when Jimin returned from your room. His fury was palpable in the air around him. 

“Why would anyone kidnap a Luna?” he snarled. “The divine bloodline is sacred to all wolves. Who would be so reckless?”

Jin shook his head.

“I don’t know.” His knife twisted into the prisoner’s neck. “But he does.”

Jimin crouched down in front of the foreigner, fighting every urge in his soul to tear the mountains apart for his mate.  

“Where is she?”

The prisoner sneered.

“You may be a powerful Alpha, but you are not of my pack or my blood.  I’ll never tell you anything.”

“Oh,” Jimin’s eyes flashed with golden fire, “I think you will.” 

Heavy. 

That was how you felt. 

Your body was sore (like it had been tossed and carried a long distance) and your mind was out of focus (as if everything around you was moving either too quickly or too slowly - honestly you couldn’t quite tell).

You remembered being drugged; some sort of compound pressed against your nose and mouth.  

Glass from the window shattered onto your face…

Then unfamiliar scents and unfamiliar hands closed in on all sides. 

Too fast for you to react.

Too shocking for anyone to have predicted. 

Nothing like this had ever happened and there was no reason to believe it would. 

To harm a Luna was sacrilege. 

It was simply not done. 

What could drive men to such a course of action? 

You should be afraid; terrified even.  

But you weren’t.

Your eyes fluttered open to take your new surroundings. You could vaguely see the shape of seven or eight wolves - alphas by the smell of them-

And then you smiled. 

It wasn’t your usual impish grin or anything close to soft or inviting. 

It was a cold twist that crept over your lips as you watched your abductors set up their camp. 

After a moment, one of them noticed your strange expression. 

“Looks like the little Luna hit her head on the way here,” he called out to his comrades with an amused snort. “You should have been more careful with her, Mac.”

He shook his head and made his way over to where you were tied up. The young alpha reeked so heavily of sweat and self-importance, you almost gagged. 

“What’s got you so amused, Miss Luna?”

It was more of a taunt than a question, but your smile widened nonetheless. 

“My mate is going to kill you.” 

Shock flickered over his features for just a second before he threw his head back and laughed. 

“We’ll be long gone before your sweet little alpha even knows we’re here.” He gripped your chin between his fingers and you snarled. “We masked our scent as soon as we got you - and there isn’t a wolf alive that could track our crew through the woods.”

“You’re wrong,” you whispered. 

Jimin’s face flashed through your mind - followed immediately by another memory, buried deeply, but never forgotten—

of a frightened little girl and the silver wolf who braved the forest and fought a monster to save her. 

“He’ll come for me - no matter what precautions you’ve taken.” You leaned forward a bit, letting the conviction in your gaze blaze through to the depths of your captor’s soul. “And then - he’ll come for you.” 

If you are already in the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

And also please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! (I know it was kind of unexpected right?) Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! 

[earlgreydream]

memory.

| Steve Rogers x reader | angst |

anon requested. the reader loses their memory and like the love interest suffers because they never remember them

“Steve, she was in an accident,” Bucky stopped Steve before he could burst into your hospital room, where Shuri and Dr. Banner were tending to you. 

“Let me in, let me see Y/N!” Steve shouted. 

“You can, but there was a head injury. Y/N hasn’t woken up yet. You just need to be prepared, Steve,” Bucky spoke gently, holding his best friend back. 

Steve’s panic only heightened, and Bucky followed him into the hospital room. Shuri moved out of the way, standing to the side with Banner. 

Steve felt like he was going to fall apart at the sight of you. You laid in the bed, looking pathetic and weak. You were badly bruised and scraped, and there was a gash on the side of your head. Bucky hung back in the doorway, hurting for the both of you, the two people closest to him in his life. 

“Steve-” Shuri started, but Banner stopped her. 

“Y/N, baby,” Steve breathed, running up to you. You jerked back, pain throbbing through your entire body at the sudden movement. A monitor started beeping, indicating that your heart was racing. 

“Baby, it’s okay,” Steve tried to calm you down, shocked by your startled reaction to him. 

“Get away from me!” You cried, and Steve stepped back like he was wounded.

“Y/N...?”

“I don’t, I don’t know you!” You started to sob, frightened by the large man that you didn’t recognize. Banner sighed, and Shuri and Bucky went to Steve, pulling him away.

“Steve, she hit her head. She’s having memory loss,” Shuri explained quietly. 

“But, I’m her husband-”

“I know.”

“When will her memory come back?” Steve demanded, shaken and in disbelief.

“We don’t know. Steve, you need to understand that it may not come back.” Shuri tried to be gentle, but Steve sank into Bucky, the weight of her words nearly making him collapse. 

“Breathe, Steve.”

Steve sat beside your hospital bed. You had slipped into unconsciousness, sedated by Banner to help you heal. Steve had stayed out of your room after the frightened reaction, but he needed to be close. The sun had set, and he was spending the night in your room, holding your hand as you slept. Tears stained Steve’s face, devastated by the fact you didn’t recognize him, your injuries, and seeing you in the hospital. 

He sat up when your eyes opened, and he couldn’t make himself release your hand. You looked a little confused, and very sleepy. They had been careful to give you plenty of sedation to keep you from having another panic attack. Your heartbeat was weak, and you had a bad concussion. That was on top of a sprained wrist, several fractured ribs, and the numerous bruises, cuts, and scrapes. 

“Y/N,” Steve breathed softly, and you blinked slowly.

“Are you a doctor?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your free hand.

“No, baby, I’m your husband,” Steve whispered. 

You froze and stared at him, stunned. You looked down at your hands, surprised to see a ring on your left hand. The silver band had tiny diamonds, and Steve’s hand that held yours had another silver band. Hot tears started to slide down your cheeks, overwhelmed by the thoughts racing through your sedated mind. 

“I don’t remember you, I don’t even remember your name... The doctor showed me a picture of us, but I don’t remember anything, I barely even remember who I am,” you sobbed, and Steve felt nauseated. 

“I’m Steve, Steve Rogers. We got married two years ago, in Brooklyn. Bucky Barnes was my best man, and Wanda Maximoff was your maid of honor. Tony Stark walked you down the aisle... He’s like your dad...” Steve explained, his voice shaking as he tried to keep himself from crying. 

“Bucky...” you murmured, squeezing your eyes shut. His name sounded familiar, but every memory before waking up in the hospital was gone.

“Yes. Bucky is my best friend. Yours too. We’re really close, he lived with us for a year.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t...”

“It’s okay. All your memory isn’t going to come back now.”

“Steve, Y/N needs to rest,” Shuri spoke, leaning in the doorway.

He nodded tightly, rubbing his eyes. She emptied more sedative into your IV, helping you slip back into dreamless sleep. She dragged Steve out, and Bucky stood in the hallway, pulling him into his arms. He squeezed Steve, promising it was going to be okay. 

Steve sat with you, chatting quietly when you were awake. He showed you photos from your wedding, and pictures of your small tabby cat that you adored. Bucky snuck her into the hospital, and you pet her head shyly, hating yourself for your lack of memory. 

“Steve?” you asked, sitting up in the bed, but struggling under the weakness of your muscles. 

“Yes, baby?” he set down his laptop, giving you his full attention the moment he asked. 

“You said that Tony Stark walked me down the aisle at our wedding? And that he’s like my dad?” You asked, and Steve felt his heart sink. 

“Yeah, Tony is like your dad,” he said dryly, showing you a photo. 

“I think that I remember growing up in a penthouse with him... but only when I was a teenager. I think, I don’t know for sure. Why?” you struggled to recall.

Over the last few days, bits and pieces started to return to your mind, and you remembered cooking in a sleek penthouse with Tony when you couldn’t have been older than 17. 

“Yeah. Stark adopted you when you were ten. Your parents were in a car accident. He was really close with your father. You love Tony, he took really great care of you. He wants to come see you once we’re home from the hospital.”

You nodded slowly, taking it in. You didn’t know how to express the pain and confusion you felt, and you shyly reached your hand out to Steve. He took it, gently squeezing.

“Steve, I’m so sorry. I want to remember...”

“Don’t apologize, my love.”

Steve had assured you a million times that he could take you to Tony’s, or that he could even rent you an apartment if you didn’t feel comfortable coming home with him. Your memory had barely returned, despite little pieces and isolated moments. 

Truly, you were terrified to be alone, because then, you were left with nothing, not even memories. You felt safe with Steve, even if you didn’t remember your history together. He’d stayed up with you, showing you photos and telling you stories, and patiently answering every question you asked.

Steve drove you to your brownstone on the Upper East Side, carrying you indoors. Bucky was waiting, having moved back in to help and be supportive. The flat smelled like homemade bread, welcoming you inside. Steve mouthed a thank-you to Bucky, who nodded silently. 

You convinced Steve to let you down so you could walk and look around. 

“Can I have some of the bread?” you asked, shyly setting your hand on Bucky’s arm.

“Yes, of course, Y/N.” 

You sat down, trying not to act like you were exhausted just from walking around the flat. Steve knew, and it seemed that Bucky did too. You may not have known them, but they knew you. 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said softly, and he kissed your head gently. 

You had hoped that coming home would jog your memory, but nothing came. It felt like the first time you’d ever been, and you started crying as you sat between the men. 

“The only thing I can remember is going to high school prom with both of you... I don’t remember anything before or anything after, I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, and Steve pulled you into his arms, his own shoulders shaking. Bucky gently laid his hand on your back, trying to comfort you.

You felt lost, Steve nearly as much. There was nothing he could do, nothing either of you could do.

[6rookie-writer0110]

Heaven is not waiting for me anymore

Clark Kent x Male!Reader Kent

Request - where y/n is the son of Clark and Lois from the injustice universe. He has kryptonite in his system where he is unable to use his powers because clark (injustice) made an example of him so he can show fear. After that he has been cold to others and distance with people including Barbara who he has feelings for but so much has happened. So he has to relay on martial art from training. with bruce, he also has a bat suit. He also have a deep hatred for his father (injustice superman).

Earth 2- Injustice Universe

You lost your mother Lois because of the Joker. Your father Clark snapped, he became a different person. Now he is starting to kill criminals and doesn't care about anyone or you. He doesn't stand for hope anymore now he stands for destruction. You feel that you lost both of your parents, you don't wear the symbol of hope anymore.

You made a plan to stop your father. You didn't think fully out the plan, but you have kryptonite inside a gun. You are half Kryptonian and kryptonite is still your weakness.

You have been tracking your father, he is about to kill a criminal robbing a bank. But you stepped in and punched him in the face. Everyone saw what you did, they take out their phones and start to record. Now you and Clark start to fight each other.

“You are destroying everything! You are no god!!” You yelled.

“I am a God. Everyone bows down to me and you would bow down to me” Clark said.

You take out the gun, you pulled the trigger. But he used speed to grab the gun and there is one bullet left. Now he will make sure everyone will watch what he will do next. He has his hand around your throat, you are struggling to breathe and tears go down your face.

“Anyone who tries to disobey me or think they can kill me, this will happen!” Clark yelled.

He aimed the gun on your chest and pulled the trigger. Everyone is in shock at what happened, he throws you to the ground. You are in pain and you try to use your powers but can't. Barbara arrived at the scene, she used Batarang to distract him. He left and Barbara picked you up and takes you to the bat cave.

---

A week later...

You have been in a coma for a week, Barbara and Bruce have been taking care of you. You wake up and you see Barbara looking at a computer screen.

“What happened?” You asked.

She turns around and walked towards you.

“You have been in a coma for a week. The kryptonite was close to your heart. You lost a lot of blood and it was too much kryptonite in your system” Barbara said.

You touch your chest and you see the scar. You sighed and she gives you a cup of water.

“Thank you, Barbara. But I have to go” You said.

“Your father thinks you are dead. Don't do anything stupid, you almost died and if it happens again he would kill you” Barbara said.

“He needs to be stopped,” You said.

“I know. But he is stronger than you, you are thinking reckless” Barbara said.

You take out the iv from your arms and take off the hospital gown. She gave you a hoodie and sweat pants.

“Where are you going?” Barbara asked.

“Dont worry about me,” You said.

She watched you walk away and she called Bruce and told him what happened. You went to a rundown motel and you want to be alone. Your father thinks you're dead and he is still killing criminals, no one can stop him.

Days went by, you didn't leave the motel room for anything. Barbara didn't check up on you, she wanted to give you space. And she has been busy with Bruce designing a suit.

You are in bed watching tv, you hear a knock on the door but you don't get up. She starts to knock louder, but you don't move.

“Y/n! Open the door now” Barbara yelled.

You sighed heavily then got out of bed and opened the door.

“What!?” You yelled.

“Are you done with the pity party!?” Barbara asked.

“How did you find me?” You asked.

She walks in and you closed the door. The motel room is a dump.

“Wasn't hard. I put a tracker on the hoodie you left with. I know you still want to stop your dad, so come with me” Barbara said.

“Why should I? Plus he still thinks I'm dead” You said.

“To train. You are still weak if you went to fight him now well he will break like a stick” Barbara said.

“Fine,” You said.

You leave with Barbara, she took you to Bruce’s mansion. You and Barbara have feelings for each other, you told her, and you were going to ask her out but tragically struck. Her feelings for you haven't changed but she wants to be there for you. She wants you to open up to her but you won't.

“Y/n, how are you,” Bruce said.

“Why do you want me here?” You asked.

“To help you train and stop your father,” Bruce said.

“Okay,” You said.

---

Bruce and Barbara started to train with you in Martial arts. Today you are fighting against Bruce, Barbara, and the League of Assassins. Some are friends with Bruce and they agreed to train you. They are pushing your limits, they don't let you rest. Any mistake you make will let you know and make you train harder.

During the night, Bruce is training you with weapons. Barbara shows you how to use the weapons, you did struggle to fight with weapons. Bruce and the league of assassins easily knocked the weapons out of your hands.

After training Barbara would want to spend time with you, but you would lock yourself in the bedroom. She gives you space and she goes back to the bat cave.

“Here is your dinner, master y/n,” Alfred said.

“Thank you. You don't have to call me ‘master’, Alfred” You said.

“Master, y/n you shouldn't hide from the world. Yes, you are going through a tough time but that doesn't mean you can't be happy in the end. You should let yourself grieve for your mother, she was a wonderful woman and she was strong” Alfred said.

“I wish everything didn't change,” You said.

“We all feel the same way. But now you have a chance to create the life you want a new one. what would your mother say right now?” Alfred said.

What made you think what he said, he walks out of the room. You start to eat the food and keep thinking about what he said.

✯ ✬ ✫ ✬

A few weeks later...

Bruce and Barbara have been designing a suit for you. They finished with the suit and they watched you test out the suit. Last few weeks, you were training from dawn until the next day. You mastered fighting with weapons and learned new combat moves. You are still distant from Barbara, two days ago you got into a huge argument with her.

You are still in love with her but you want to protect her from your father. You don't want to see Barbara get hurt.

“What do you think of the suit?” Barbara asked.

You take off the helmet.

“I like it and I can move in it,” You said.

“You are okay with the symbol?” Bruce asked.

“I like it,” You said.

The suit is all black, the Batman symbol is red, the eyes are red, the gloves have sharp claws, and the suit protects you from kryptonite. Barbara and Bruce start to suit and you put the helmet back on.

---

You three found Bruce in the city, you stopped him from killing someone.

“Son, you came back from the dead” Clark said.

“This ends today,” You said.

“I see you are wearing a new symbol -”

“You ruined the legacy of being a Kryptonian!” You yelled.

He used heat vision to attack you but you dodged it. Now Clark is fighting you while Barbara and Bruce are trying to get the citizens away from the fight. Clark punched you and you hit the ground, he used speed to grab you by the neck.

“This time I will make sure you are dead,” Clark said.

“You are not the same father that I used to have. He is dead to me!” You yelled.

You took out, you tased him, and he lets you go. You and Clark used heat vision at the same time, you used more strength to not fall. You throw Batarang at him and it started to explode.

He fell then you start to punch him in the face over and over. All the anger you have for him starts to come out. You take out the kryptonite dagger and you try to stab but he has his wrapped around your hands.

“Y/n! Y/n don't kill him” Barbara yelled.

“He deserves to die!” You yelled.

“That is an easy escape for him! You are much better than him, don't become like him” Barbara said.

Something clicked in your mind.

“I want you to suffer until the day you die. I lost my mom and my father” You said.

You moved away from him and he starts to stand up. Bruce played a video of Lois on the big screen and starts to watch, you your father cry.

The moment where Clark held Lois before she died.

“I can't lose you” Clark cried.

“I will always love you, Clark. I will always remember you and y/n, please be there for each other. He is going need to you. Tell him, I love him...”

You start to cry and it would be the last time you hear her voice.

“Son, I am sorry for the chaos I caused,” Clark said.

“I don't believe you and I will never will. You killed my friend Shazam and many others. You are lucky I didn't kill you because of Barbara. This is the last time you will see me” You said.

You take out the Phantom Zone projector and you sent him to the Phantom Zone.

✯ ✬ ✫ ✬

Time Skip...

You and Barbara became an official couple. She makes you happy and you carrying boxes into her apartment. You are going to live with her and she is very happy about that.

You and Barbara sat on the couch and she gave you a peck on the lips.

“So happy that was the last box,” Barbara said.

“Now we have to unbox everything,” You said.

“How about we go get something to eat and we do it later?” Barbara said.

You kissed her on the lips.

“Sounds good to me,” You said.

Later, you and Barbara spend half of the night unboxing everything. You did use speed to do it faster which Barbara is happy about. You and Barbara would save the city together but you don't kill criminals who rob a store. You would kill if it's a life and death situation only.

[weebswrites]

Heyy! I recently came across your blog and a absolutely love your writing! 🥰

Would it be possible to request an angst hc with the Obey me brothers? So maybe the bros were having a bad day and they lash out at the MC. The MC leaves them alone and the brothers don’t hear from them for hours and think MC just doesn’t want to talk to them but in reality MC got attacked and is barely alive. And maybe MC summons the brother with what little strength they have left so the brother is met with an MC laying in front of them almost dead.

Ah I’m sorry I know this is a lot so feel free to ignore this if it’s too much! Have a good day :D

A/N: YES YES YES I LOVE THIS THANK YOU ANON

The Demon Bros Saving Your Life (this will have swear words and light descriptions of violence so if that makes you uncomfortable read at your own discretion pls I love u guys)

Lucifer

“MC, please just leave me alone” he spat, trying to stay calm but losing his patience quickly

“Lucifer, I’m not letting you shove me away. You can do that to your brothers, but not to me” you insist, remembering your conversation where he said to ignore him when he tried to push you away

“I’ll do what I want to you, human, don’t forget your place” he boomed, so loud your eyes reactively filled with tears

“Fine, do what you want” you mutter at him before storming out, slamming the door behind you

He knew he fucked up, but wasn’t in the headspace to chase after you, so he stayed in his office and worked. He’d apologize later

You ran out of the HoL, just wanting to be out of Lucifer’s reach for a bit. You decide to go to Purgatory Hall to visit Simeon, your best friend outside of the HoL, but take the scenic route there to clear your head a bit and calm down. Before you know it the sun is setting, and figure you should get to Simeon’s sooner rather than later.

“Hey, aren’t you Lucifer’s bitch” you hear from an alleyway, and suddenly you’re just as annoyed as before. But you know better than to engage with any demons that are egging you on like that, so you keep walking

Then you’re grabbed from behind and slammed against a brick wall, hitting your head roughly against the surface

“Fuck” you exhale, vision already blurring

“Think you can ignore me, human? You’re weak here, nothing” the demon drove a fist into your stomach, causing you to cough

“I’ll show you not to come back to the Devildom ever again, filthy human”

By the time he was done you were a bloody mess crumpled on the ground, in the fetal position to protect your vital organs as much as you could, but you felt yourself losing consciousness

The demon spat on you before leaving, laughing as he walked away. Your body was in so much pain, and you felt yourself losing your grip on reality

You could felt your lips moving as your vision turned to black, and your last coherent thought before blacking out was realizing you were summoning Lucifer

“I...summon the Avatar of Pride...” you inhaled as much as you could, but his name came out a whisper, “Lucifer”

You saw his legs appear before you lost consciousness, thankful you were actually able to summon him

“What the fuck” was his first comment, as he didn’t see you at his feet, but as soon as he did he felt his heart shatter

“MC! Fuck, MC. MC?” he shook you very lightly, and when you didn’t respond he went into overdrive. He picked you up gently in his arms after examining where you were most badly injured, as to not make anything worse

He was in demon form from the moment he saw you, wanting as much of his strength at his disposal as he could have. He flew you to the nearest hospital (idk if there’s a hospital in the devildom but there is now) and demanded you be placed in the best care possible, and also made it very clear that he wasn’t going to leave your side

He watched as doctors sewed your wounds closed and put an IV in your arm, unable to take his eyes off their every move. After a few hours, the doctor turned to Lucifer

“They should wake up within a few hours,” the doctor said before leaving

“Thank you. Please mail the bill to Lord Diavolo and I’ll take care of it” he said, figuring that was easier than having to fill out the HoL on paperwork

He was then alone with you, and he scooted his chair next to your bed and took your hand in his, holding it gently

“I’m so sorry, MC” he whispered and pressed his lips to the top of your hand as he tried not to cry

He sat there for what felt like hours, but just twenty minutes passed before he felt you move slightly

Your eyes fluttered open, and you took a moment to adjust to the lights

You felt warmth around your hand, and recognized it instantly, looking to your side and locking eyes with Lucifer

“Luci” you whisper, voice hoarse from not having used it for hours

“MC, I’m so sorry” his voice was soft and you could tell how distraught he was, “I never should have snapped at you, it was out of place and rude and I’m sorry” he rambled on like this for a minute, and you just appreciated his genuine care for you as you listened to him speak

“Lucifer” you cut him off, “Thank you for taking care of me. I forgive you”

Mammon

“Just get a job! Then your brothers won’t shit on you all the time” you suggested. Mammon had come to you venting about how some of his brothers had ganged up on him again and demanded that they pay him back. You were more understanding than you probably should have been with him, but wanted him to be proactive and get himself out of this on his own

“It isn’t that easy! Damnit MC, I thought you understood me!” he snapped, and you decided you should just let him cool down

“Look, Mammon. I’m always here for you with this, but you can’t keep complaining about this and not doing anything about it when there’s an easy solution. I have to go study with Satan for a test we have, so I’m going to go meet him. Text me when you’ve calmed down”

You meant it to be caring, but his mind was clouded, and he took it as you pitying him and running away - his greatest fear

“Fine!” he huffed, turning his back to you

You were saddened by this, but genuinely had to go, so you turned and left, thankful for the bit of time that you knew Mammon needed alone to clear his head

You were walking to the library, in the middle of a text to Satan when you accidentally bumped into another demon

“Shit, my bad” you apologize, but the demon had no intention of letting you get away with that

“A human, eh?” he grabbed your shirt collar and instantly drove a fist to your jaw

“What the fuck” you tried to say, but couldn’t really speak

The demon punched you a few more times, and you thought that they had the strength of Beel with how much it hurt

Your body was tossed to the ground and kicked before being abandoned, and you wished you didn’t take the back way to the library

“I summon the Avatar of Greed, Mammon” you whispered, hoping your words were enunciated enough for the summoning to work

“MC!” he noticed you instantly, crouching down and putting a hand on your arm, “MC what happened. Wait don’t talk, can you stand?”

You began to sit up, which he took as a yes, and he wrapped his arm around you to help you stand

He studied your injured face as you stood, and wished he had the power to heal you instantly

“Come on MC, the hospital is close”

“T-Text Satan I’m not coming” you handed him your phone, not wanting Satan to think that you ditched him

Mammon exhaled a laugh through his nose, “You’re always thinking of others, MC” he commented, “We really don’t deserve you”

You just shook your head, feeling like you didn’t deserve the joy the demons brought you

Mammon stayed by your side until you were completely healed, which took a few weeks. He even signed up for a job with Akuzon DC. It was the most selfless you’d ever seen him, and you thanked him for his kindness once you were healed with a gift card to his favorite store

Leviathan

“Just stop! I get it, you have other friends, I don’t care. Go have fun with them” he snapped. Levi hadn’t slept in about 48 hours and you could tell

“Levi, please sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours” you try to comfort him, but he isn’t hearing it

“Whatever, MC”

You’re hurt by his attitude, but know he’s just exhausted. You turn to leave and plan to head back to him a bit sooner to spend extra time with him (quality time love language lookin demon) (also the avatar of envy but that’s not as funny of a joke so)

You were planning to meet with some classmates to study, but you ran into a demon on your way that had been bullying you for being human for the whole semester

You hadn’t told any of the brothers because you didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but you were worried suddenly what the demon would do to you outside of the school grounds

“Hey, it’s the human” she snarled, stepping in front of you to stop your path

“Sorry, I’m busy” you tried to walk around her, but she had no intention of letting you go unscathed

“Not so fast” she stomped her foot over yours to stop you and shoved you back against a light pole nearby

You felt the cold metal slam against your spine and grunted in discomfort

“Can’t take a little pain? That’s too bad” she said, taking you by your shirt and  throwing your body on the road

She kicked your body for what felt like minutes while spitting insults at you, before leaving your weakened body on the ground

You tried to get up once she was gone but screamed in pain, not able to move a muscle

“I summon the Avatar of Envy, Leviathan,” you said, tears starting to run down your face at his name

“Levi, Levi please, help me” you whispered as he appeared

“MC, I’m here” he kneeled down beside you and inspected your body, “I’m here, don’t worry”

“Levi” your hand tightened around his jacket, “Help”

He picked you up, maintaining your position in his arms, and took you to the hospital as fast as he could while keeping you comfortable

He stayed by your side as much as he was legally allowed to while the doctors cared for your torso and x-rayed your foot. After a day or so you were allowed home, and he insisted that he stayed by your side until you were completely healed

Satan

“MC, I’ve asked you eight times to leave me alone, I’m clearly trying to read, can’t you take the hint?” he sighed exasperatedly and waited for you to leave, not intending his words to be so harsh but he figured you’d be fine

You were not fine! What the fuck Satan.

“Fine, screw you then” you retorted and left, slamming the door behind you

He realized that you weren’t fine, but wanted to finish his book. Then he’d apologize. But when we went to your room later that night to talk, you didn’t answer.

“MC, come on, open up. I’m sorry for earlier, can we just talk?”

Beelzebub was walking by, “I haven’t seen them since this morning, they left the house crying” he said awfully casually, “I never saw them come back”

Satan felt the blood drain from his face and he ran out of the HoL, ignoring Beel’s “I’m sure they’re fine now!” from behind him

He barely made it out of the doors before he was summoned, and he was confused before he realized the only way he could be summoned was by you

As soon as he was there he saw you, thrown against a dumpster, barely able to hold yourself up

“Satan” you called, voice weak, and he was at your side in less than a second

He stood in front of you and you got on his back, wrapping your arms over his neck

“Tell me what happened. Who did this” his voice was firm and you could almost feel the anger radiating off him

You muttered a name under your breath before resting your head on his shoulder, trying everything you could to not pass out

“Satan, talk to me. I can’t stay awake”

That scared him, so he walked to the hospital a bit faster, but gently still as to not cause you any extra pain

He started telling you about his book since that was all he did that day, but it ended up turning into a long apology for pushing you away and raising his voice earlier. You would have cut him off but you didn’t have the strength to, so you just listened to his words, noticing the thought he had clearly put into them throughout the day

“Satan-” you started, and he instantly stopped to listen, “I forgive you”

He was silent, a sense of relief and appreciation for you washing over him and he thanked you for your understanding of his anger as you arrived at the hospital

Similar to Lucifer, he demanded you to be seen by the best doctor there was on staff, price be damned. He watched intensely as the doctor checked you out, eyeing them up and down to make sure they were good enough and treating you with the same care he would

Once you were released he had Diavolo send a car to drive the two of you back to the HoL, where Satan had had your room prepared with new pillows (the kind you mentioned liking from his room, as well as new ones of the ones you had), freshly washed sheets and duvet, and a cup of your favorite drink waiting for you (he definitely didn’t bribe his brothers to get your room ready, not that it took much bribing)

In addition, each of the brothers had pitched in to get you flowers and a stuffed animal that you’d mentioned wanting, a few weeks ago. The sight of it all made you tear up, and you wrapped Satan in the tightest hug he’d ever gotten

Asmodeus

“I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, MC, but I just need some time by myself,” he said, and you could tell he was losing his patience

“Are you sure?” you offer one last time before leaving, wanting to make sure he really wanted to be alone

“Yes! I am!” he snapped, and you felt bad for pushing

“Sorry, Asmo. Feel better” you leave and take care to close the door as quietly as you can on your way out

You were having a bit of a bad day yourself, so you decide to go walk around the devildom and let the fresh air clear your head

Which ended up being a bad idea, as you ran into one of the demons that always hit on you in one of your classes.

“Hey, MC, you finally aren’t with any of those idiot brothers” he approached you and tried to touch your arm, but you pushed it away

“Oh, they’re fiesty. I’ll have to teach you a lesson” he spat on the ground next to you and before you knew it he pushed you against a wall and was punching you senseless

It felt like he’d never stop, but eventually it did, and he left you to bleed on the road. You tried to stand up, not thinking your injuries would be that servere, but you couldn’t move. You sighed and closed your eyes, exhaustion suddenly washing over you

You knew you probably had a concussion and some broken ribs, and that you shouldn’t lose consciousness, so you did the only thing you could think to do. You summoned Asmo.

“I summon the Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus” you spoke, and there he was

“MC! Babes, what happened? Where are you hurt” he knelt in front of you and looked over your body

“Ribs...and my head...” you whined, leaning forward for him to take you in his arm

Asmodeus was stronger than you realized, and he picked you up easily and started walking you back to the HoL. “Let’s get you laying down and I’ll call a doctor” he said gently, “Then Satan and I will take care of the idiot who did this”

Until you were healed he was by your side, bringing you anything you even thought of wanting and getting the classwork you missed from your classes

Beelzebub

“Hey Beel, what’s up!” you walked into the kitchen and greeted your favorite demon cheerily

He grunted, usually a sign that he should be left alone, but you wanted some Beel time and figured you’d just be cautious and give him his space

“How was your day” you asked innocently

“Not now, MC. I’m not in the mood” his voice was firm, and you took the message

“Got it, I’ll leave” you said apologetically, and left the kitchen. You were a bit upset by him pushing you away, but knew he just needed space. You decided to walk to get takeout for dinner, and made your way to the restaurant on your own.

That was a mistake. You weren’t even halfway there when you figured later you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time

“Is that a human? Here?” you heard from across the road, and sighed, hoping to get off easy

“Hey, human!” the demons walked over to you and you stopped, deciding to at least acknowledge them so they’d think they could insult you and move along

“Wow, I’ve never met a human in real life before” one of them smirked, “I wonder just how weak they really are”

“I wouldn’t test it, just because I’m a human doesn’t mean I don’t know some demons who would make your lives miserable if you hurt me”

The other demon scoffed, “You’re lying. What demon would befriend a human”

You were getting irritated at the attitude being thrown at you, so you decided to fight back with a little sass of your own, “Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, and Lord Diavolo, to name a few” you smirked and crossed your arms

“Bullshit” one of the two demons got in your face, “there’s no way a demon like that would look twice at you”, and before you could begin to think of a comeback you felt a sharp pain in your side

You looked down to see a gash in your side, thankfully seeming to not have hit an organ, but it was still bleeding pretty badly. You didn’t know what to do, but didn’t really have the chance to do much because a few strong punches were delivered to your core immediately after

“Fuck” you mumbled as you crumpled to the ground, and heard the demons laughing as they walked away. You felt yourself bleeding pretty heavily, and knew you wouldn’t be able to make it back to the HoL

“I summon the Avatar of Gluttony. Beelzebub” you said, hoping you remembered how to use your pact correctly

He appeared before you and you let out a sigh of relief, then wincing in pain at your own action

“MC!” he instantly took off his grey hoodie and pressed it to your wound, “There’s an underground hospital close, is it safe for me to lift you or can you walk”

“I think I can walk, but can you keep an arm around me” you ask, and he obviously does

You get to the hospital and are instantly checked in and brought to a care room. Beel holds your hand and lets you squeeze it as tightly as you need as your wound is sewn up, and then the nurses give you pain medication for the next few weeks

You didn’t know the names of the demons who hurt you, but Lucifer found out easily with his many connections, and he and the rest of his siblings, along with Lord Diavolo, made sure that the two demons never so much as thought about you ever again

Belphegor

“Belphie, please let me in” you knocked on his door again, not knowing what had caused him to storm off in the first place

The door opened, but before you could say anything Belphie was talking

“MC, I’m fucking pissed right now, and the last person I want to be around is you” his voice was sharp, and you almost teared up at how genuine his words seemed

“Fine, okay, I’m sorry for trying to help” you responded before turning and running down the stairs from his room in the attic, wanting to give him space but also run away from him

You were going to try not to cry, but as soon as you stepped outside the HoL you couldn’t hold back anymore. Sniffling, you walked to the park nearby to sit at a bench and think. You pulled out your D.D.D. to text Beelzebub and ask him to check up on Belphie, but didn’t even unlock it before someone sat down next to you

You didn’t recognize who it was, and you wiped under your eyes as the demon began to speak

But they didn’t say anything near what you expected. Well, you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t to be called a filthy human by a stranger

The demon proceeded to call you names, but you were too mentally exhausted to fight back, so you just sat and listened as they tried to get a reaction from you

“What, aren’t you listening to me? Stupid human” and the demon started punching you. Hard.

You tried to fight back at first, but compared to the strength of a demon you couldn’t really do much. Once you started losing consciousness the other demon left you to sit, laughing at your wounds

You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t want to bother Belphie if he was still in a bad mood, but you needed help. You pulled out your D.D.D. and saw a text from him, reading: ‘MC, I’m sorry. Please come back, give me a chance to explain’

As you couldn’t move, you realized your only option was to summon him, so that’s exactly what you did

“I summon the Avatar of Sloth, Belphegor” you suddenly got nervous, unsure why since you and Belphie were so close, but you knew he’d help you no matter what

“MC? MC holy shit” he sat next to you on the bench and you instantly leaned into him and started sobbing

“MC I’m so sorry, this never should have happen” he had an arm around you

You sniffled, “It isn’t your fault, I was just clearing my head” you reassured him, still hurt by his previous words but not at all blaming him for the other demon’s attack

He brought you back to the HoL and gave you ice packs for the bruises that were starting to surface, making sure you had everything you needed for the next many days until you were healed

--------------------

A/N: This took me longer than I thought it would to write but I also kept taking breaks and had three classes today lol. But here it is !!! I love writing angst hehe so this was really fun

[neonlights92]

RUN: Chapter IV

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.   So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

WARNINGS: Language, some violence and smut.

A/N: SORRRRRRYYYYY!!!!

You were more confused than ever. 

When Jungkook had promised you a loveless marriage, you knew where you stood at least.

And now… Now what? 

He had kissed you and touched you - like no man ever had before - and now…. You were hungry for him. 

You’d always loved him of course.  Always longed for him.

But not like this.

Your mind kept replaying the other evening’s activities again and again.  Butterflies soared in your stomach just at the sight of Jungkook’s back. 

It was like you had unlocked a second part to your love - this one deeper, more visceral. 

It pained you to be close to him.  It pained you to be away from him.

And your husband…. 

Your husband acted like nothing was different.

In the weeks since that night, Jungkook went back to treating you as a friend.  He took you in his arms as soon as the lights went off - but apart from that, he didn’t touch you. 

You wondered if you’d done something wrong.  Had you offended him somehow? 

Was it because you hadn’t fulfilled your duty as you should? You wracked your brain again and again and again… But just came up empty handed. 

That night had been perfect.  Jungkook had been gentle and playful.  He treated you as though you were something precious to him.

Your heart swelled once again as you thought of the boyish grin he shot you… His fingers on your skin… His lips on your lips. 

God. 

You were like a woman obsessed. 

“Y/N?” 

You were pulled out of your reverie by your husband’s voice.  He was sat across the dining room table from you, his eyes scanning your appearance carefully. 

It seemed he had caught you out yet again on one of your day dreams…

It happened often these days.  Too caught up in remembering your husband’s touch, that you barely even noticed him when he was right in front of you.

“You seem distracted,” His smile was small, “Is everything ok?” 

You nodded and tried to smile back, “I’m fine.  Just uh… Tired.” 

He raised a brow but decided to say nothing, turning back to the sirloin steak he’d just been eating.

You speared a tomato onto your fork as you watched your husband eat, eyes following the planes of his handsome face and heart fluttering around your chest like a hummingbird.

Everything he did seemed to send you into a frenzy, and as his teeth closed around the piece of meat and you watched him swallow it down, your temperature sky-rocketed through the roof. 

Suddenly it was too hot.  You were seeing stars.  You felt like you might explode.

What on earth was wrong with you? 

You stood up quickly, chair scraping back loudly against the wooden floor, and Jungkook stopped what he was doing.

He dropped his fork and cocked his head to the side, “Everything alright?” 

You cleared your throat loudly, tucking your hair behind your ears and pressing your hands against your thighs. 

“Yes.”  You bit your bottom lip, “Yes.  Everything’s fine.  I just.  I’m not hungry.”

His eyes moved to your empty plate, “You’ve barely eaten anything.”

You laughed - the sound empty and hollow - and shrugged, feeling the nerves climbing up your spine.

Could he sense just how anxious you were? 

“I ate a big lunch.”  Your tummy coiled tightly, “I think I’ll just… Go.  To bed.” 

The word bed sent another rush of heat through you, and your cheeks flushed bright pink.  Jungkook’s face was a mask of neutrality.  He never gave a single thing away.

Why couldn’t you be the same?

Hadn’t you both been raised in the mob?

“Okay.”  He licked his bottom lip and your legs trembled at the sight, your hands reaching out to the edge of the table, to steady yourself, “I’ll come join you after I finish.”

You nodded tightly, moving away from him as quickly as possible. 

You felt his eyes following you, even as you left the room, but you refused to meet his gaze. 

That would mean things were truly over. 

Jungkook’s gaze could cut through you like a beam of light, almost.

It should’ve been embarrassing how he affected you.  And yet… You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You reached your bedroom and entered quickly, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the cool surface of it’s wood.  You took deep breaths in, calming yourself down, and steadying your pulse now that you were alone.

Your husband was going to be the death of you. 

Jungkook seemed to have no idea what he was doing to you.

And you couldn’t blame him for not knowing.

You were being absolutely ridiculous. 

Weak at the knees from the sight of him eating? 

How old were you?

What was wrong with you? That wasn’t how a woman of your age acted.  It was ridiculous.

And yet… You couldn’t hate yourself for it.

Something about this newfound lust for your husband seemed to send the blood in your veins fizzing.  You felt like a new woman.  Like a lioness had been set free inside of you.

It was cheesy - completely absurd even - but you couldn’t help it.

You wanted your husband to ravage you.

You giggled at your own thoughts, moving towards the ensuite bathroom and running the warm water.  Maybe a bath would help you relax.

It felt like you’d spent the entire evening tense in your husband’s presence - waiting for him to do something that would set you off again - and now your muscles were paying for it.  

You dropped some lavender into the bath, and ran a bubble bar under the tap, watching as foam formed across the steaming water.  This was exactly what you needed. 

The water was heaven against your skin as you sank into the tub, closing your eyes and ridding your mind of your husband’s handsome face.  You could think about him later, couldn’t you?  

Except his long, slender neck kept materialising in your mind's eyes.  You watched again and again as he swallowed the steak, and then slowly it was you he was swallowing.  Your thighs rubbed against one another in some attempt to quell the heat you felt in your core.

But it was just the same as it had been the last few weeks. 

Soon you couldn’t keep yourself occupied anymore, and your hand started to slide towards the apex between your legs.  You imagined it was Jungkook’s fingers dancing across your skin, moving against you - lips covering as much as they could.

It wasn’t the same of course but it would do.

Your fingers finally reached their destination, and you arched your back, wishing it was your husband’s tongue on you.

“Jungkookie,” You breathed, giggling at the nickname you knew he hated, “Oh God.”

A throat cleared itself from behind you. 

You sat up - ramrod straight - and whipped your head around to find your husband himself standing in the open doorway, arms crossed.

“What was that you called me?”  His eyes were dark with lust, “Jungkookie?”

“Oh.”  The word slipped out of  your mouth without your permission, “What are you doing here?” “I came to check up on you.”  He hadn’t moved from his position at the doorway, “I was worried about you.  You were acting so strange at dinner.”  A smile that was somewhere between kind and cruel played on his lips, “Now I know why.”

Your heart was slamming against your chest, as you remembered exactly where you were.

Naked.  In a bathtub.

Your husband didn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t stop on my account,” He rose a brow, “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

You felt yourself trembling.  He was enjoying this. 

This… Game.

He was enjoying the way you burned for him.

“I - oh… God.”  You were mortified - but somewhere beneath the shame was something brighter… Harder, “I’m sorry.”

He licked his lips and finally, finally took a step towards you.

“What for?”  He shook his head and came towards the bathtub, kneeling down so his face was level with yours, “I’m flattered my wife masturbates to the thought of me.  You only needed to ask if you wanted my help.”

Your cheeks were blazing, but the look in Jungkook’s eyes was dampening your embarrassment.  

“I didn’t think… I wasn’t sure.”  You licked your bottom lip and his gaze snapped down to your mouth, “I wasn’t sure you wanted me like that.  Again.”

His eyes lifted to your own once more, and this time it was like they were on fire.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night Angel.”  His words were rough, coarse, “Believe me.  I want you like that again.  As many times as you want, actually.”

Your heart felt like it might rip itself out of your chest. 

His hand reached up to your face, and he stroked a finger down your cheek. 

You thought he might kiss you - you wanted him to kiss you so badly - but he pulled away after a moment, and his eyes disappeared down to your legs.  He couldn’t see you properly, not with the bubbles in the way, but he seemed to want to devour you.

“Can you touch yourself again for me?”  He asked after a moment, eyes sliding back up to your face, “I’ve never seen anything sexier.” 

You were sure you were about to hyperventilate. 

He had not just said that. 

He didn’t mean it.

He couldn’t, right?

Jungkook had been with some many more women before you - older, more worldly… Well seasoned.

And yet, his eyes were looking at you with absolute conviction.

You nodded after another long pause and he smiled - that smile that you loved - eyes crinkling into two crescent moons. 

He didn’t stand, as you thought he might, instead moving onto his knees and resting his chin on the edge of the bathtub.  

He nudged your hand and you started to move it down the length of your body, watching as Jungkook’s gaze stayed stuck on your fingers. 

“God.”  He whispered, as though to himself, “So fucking hot, Angel.”

Your hands disappeared under the water, and you felt yourself shiver as your fingers touched your most intimate place.  Your eyes closed then, focusing on your pleasure, and after a moment you felt your husband’s lips on your naked shoulder.  

You opened your eyes and watched as Jungkook licked his way up your neck to the shell of your ear - biting playfully on it.  You groaned at his ministrations, and almost moved your hand away from your centre, when his own fingers enveloped yours. 

“Jungkook - your shirt -” 

“Don’t care,” He groaned, moving his fingers against your own - soaking his probably very expensive clothes, “Jesus.  So hot.” 

You arched into his touch and tried to slip your hand away from under his but he wouldn’t let you.

“No, no Angel,” He whispered against your ear, alternating between kisses and licks, “This is a team effort, okay?” You nodded then, desperate to finish - desperate to make him happy.

Desperate that he was touching you again.

His nose nuzzled into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, and that was what did it for you.  That act of intimacy - the way he seemed to be enjoying every inch of your skin - tightened the coil in your core until it snapped, and you fell apart into a million tiny pieces.

Jungkook encouraged you through it, landing kisses wherever he could and petting your core carefully, wanting you to enjoy every second of it. 

After a moment, when you relaxed, he pulled away and you whined a little eyes still closed. 

“C’mon,”  He said softly, and you opened your eyes to meet with his, “This isn’t exactly comfortable, is it?” 

You shook your head and giggled a little at the look on his face.

So open - so inviting. 

His hand was reaching out to yours and you took it, no longer caring that you were naked, and standing up yourself.

His eyes scanned you hotly, and something akin to a blush covered your whole body.  When he looked at you again you shivered at the appreciation in his gaze. 

“Beautiful.”  He murmured as you stepped out of the bathtub, arms tightening around your waist and lifting you up effortlessly.

You laughed again at this, “I’m getting you all wet.” “Don’t care,” He answered honestly, lips meeting your own finally as he kissed you with all the fierce passion of somebody in love.

You tried to tuck your feelings for him away - to enjoy the moment as it came - but you couldn’t help it.  Your heart was swelling to nearly double the size, you loved him so much.

Jungkook carried you over to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed carefully and climbing on top of you.  His arms caged around you, but you felt safer than you ever had.

You knew he’d never hurt you - never force you to do something you didn’t want to.

“Take this off,” You whispered after a moment, tugging on the collar of his shirt, “I want to see.” 

He smirked then, in that way that was so quintessential Jungkook. 

“Alright Angel.  So needy.” 

You didn’t even deny it, nodding furiously as you watched the shirt slide off his shoulders.  You gasped when his chest was revealed, not even attempting to hide your astonishment.

He was so… Beautiful.

He groaned at the look on your face, cupping your cheeks and pressing a hot kiss against your mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that.”  He whispered against your lips, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I could say the same for you,” You answered back, voice hoarse with desire, “Your pants, Jungkookie.” He pulled away and rose a brow at the nickname.  You bit your bottom lip and smiled.

“Please?” The word slipped out of you - sweet as honey.  He laughed.

“Alright,” He pressing a hand to your forehead and then started working on his belt buckle, “But only because you said please.” 

You watched as your husband stepped out of his trousers - heart hammering against your chest as he stood glorious as ever, in a pair of tight, black boxers.

You knew what tonight might end with.  You knew what you were offering up to him.

But the truth was… He’d had your heart… Your body… Your soul, since a long time ago. 

So you weren’t scared.  Quite the opposite in fact.

You were ready for this.

You were ready for him.

He kissed you again - fervently - and you felt the blood rise to the very tips of your ears.  God.  You loved him so much, it felt like you might burst. 

He tugged his boxers down, and you felt him pressed up against your thigh.  It might have made you anxious, were it anyone else, but with Jungkook it just felt… Right.

He pulled away slightly, eyes meeting your own, “Is this… Okay?  Do you want to slow down?”

You shook your head quickly, hands coming up to cup his face.

“No.  I want this.”  You cleared your throat, “I want you Jungkook.  Make me yours.”

Your husband’s eyes softened then, and you saw something deeper than just affection or lust.  You saw something whole and full.  Something you’d felt for him for so many years.

Your heart soared. 

Could your husband learn to love you, too? “Okay,” He whispered against your lips, “It might hurt a little Angel.  I’m sorry if it does.” You shook your head, “I don’t care Jungkook.  As long as it’s with you.” His face seemed to melt then, like butter on a hot day, and his fingers pushed into you - opening you up for what  you knew was coming.

And then he was inside you.  He slid in gently, slowly, and though it hurt - you knew you could handle it.  He stopped and pulled away slightly, hands moving your hair out of your face - eyes roving your features.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, and his lips were so close to your own it was like he was kissing you.

You nodded, “I’m fine.  I promise.  You can move, please.”

He smiled then - soft and caring - and you knew the love you had for him was shining in your eyes, but you didn’t really care.  Not anymore.

When he started moving inside of you, you pressed your hands against his back, pulling him closer, wanting his skin against your own.  He was so precious to you.  So perfect.

And he was yours, wasn’t he?

He had to be.

His lips covered your own and you felt him tightening, tightening, tightening and you knew what was coming.  He pulled back slightly, eyes screwed shut.

“Is it okay if I -” 

You nodded quickly, frantically, “Anything you want Jungkook.  Anything.” His eyes opened then and they were so beautiful - so open and honest and you felt like you might drown in them.

And the words slipped out of you, before you even really knew what was happening.

“I love you,” You whispered just as Jungkook reached the peak of his pleasure.  

His eyes widened as they met yours, and you smiled.

Even if he didn’t love you back… It didn’t matter.  Because he was yours.  

He had to be.

He collapsed on top of you after he was finished, breathing heavily, and you enjoyed his closeness with open arms - running your fingers up and down his naked back.  After a moment he pulled away - a small smile on his face.

“That was…” 

“Amazing?”  You supplied, grinning.

He pressed a hand to your cheek and kissed the side of your mouth, “Yeah.  Amazing.” Your heart swelled. 

Maybe all was not hopeless.

//

Your husband was gone when you woke the next morning.

His side of the bed was cold, and even though he wasn’t there to greet you, you were still warm from his touch.

Everything had changed between you… Hadn’t it?

It couldn’t stay the same. 

Not after the way he’d kissed you.  Not after the way he’d held you. 

You sighed to yourself feeling light and frothy inside.  He hadn’t said he loved you - but the way he’d looked at you last night…

He could learn to love you.  Your marriage didn’t have to be cold and desolate as he’d promised you.  Things were changing. 

You stood slowly, legs sore and aching - and pulled a nightgown around you.  It had been hours since you’d had a drink of water - and you blushed as you thought of how much exercise you’d actually endured since last night.  

You tried to make yourself look as presentable as possible… But secretly, you sort of wanted all of the help to wonder if Jungkook had finally made you yours.

It was silly, maybe, but the thought of others knowing that your husband wanted you in any capacity, brought a glow to your skin. 

You slipped your feet into some slippers and smiled to yourself, stepping out of your bedroom and almost skipping down the hallway.

It felt almost like you were floating on a cloud.

You started making your way towards the kitchen - intending to make yourself a quick breakfast - when you noticed that the door to Jungkook’s study was slightly ajar.  You crept towards it, intending to surprise him with your presence, when you noticed he wasn’t alone.

Your heart swam all the way into your throat as you noticed that Jungkook was standing in front of a woman.  

You couldn’t see her face - only the back of her head - but you knew it was a woman when she spoke. 

“You promised you’d wait for me.” There was a tremble in her voice.

“I couldn’t… There wasn’t anything I could do.  It was decided for me.” 

Jungkook’s eyes were unreadable.  You felt your chest tighten.

“This was why you kept me a secret,” You could hear the tears in her voice, “This was why you kept up the pretense of fucking around.  So you could marry her?” 

Your husband’s eyes widened and he stepped towards her, grabbing her by the arms. 

“Keep your voice down Violetta,” His voice was soothing, “She’ll hear you.”

Her shoulders were shaking and you realised she was crying, “I don’t care Jungkook.  I thought you loved me.  Was I wrong?”

There was a long beat of silence.  Your husband’s eyes softened then, and the mask dissolved. 

“Violetta…” 

And then she reached up and pulled your husband towards her.  And she kissed him.

Your heart cracked right down the middle and you choked back a sob.   Jungkook pulled away from her almost immediately - his eyes darting to meet with yours.

He’d heard you.

“Y/N!” 

He moved away from Violetta and as you turned, your eyes connected with hers. 

She was beautiful.

Your world crumbled like dust around you, and you spun around quickly, running towards your bedroom and slamming the door shut.  You used the locks your husband had assured you were only a precaution, and fell to the ground - leaning against the surface of the portal. 

After a moment, Jungkook’s voice came from the other side.

“Y/N.” You didn’t say anything.  

“Y/N.  Please.  Open the door.”

The sobs started rolling through your body. 

“Y/N… Please.  Y/N please, let me talk to you.”

It was too late.

Too late.

You felt like you were collapsing in on yourself - like a dying star.

Violetta.

Violetta.

That was who he loved.  Not you.

Never you.

//

[hard--mode]

Here's the notes for everything that would happen up until the end of the story.... as far as I had it figured out. You'll notice things are a lot less fleshed out the later things go. That's a big reason why this never got finished. the longer I tried to keep the thing running, the more I realized I never had any idea what I wanted to actually DO with this story which made it pretty hard for me to keep up. it's hard to write a story you're trying to take seriously if all you really have are jokes, it turns out.

I haven't reread any of this or edited it at all so who knows what kind of notes I might have written in between things haha

P: so as i was saying about undyne-

C: who’s undyne?

Everyone freezes. Chara just walked right up to papyrus without being noticed. Paps freaks out for a sec before he pulls sans into a huddle. Chara frowns and tries to peek around.

~Montage of papyrus’s excitement and harder puzzles, death montage

~Junior jumble: its sudoku now

Chara’s doing puzzles and sees flowey spying. They shout him over

C: HEY! still following me, loser? Don’t you have anything better to do? (but they smile)

F: somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t get killed too much out here

Flowey pops up closer to them

C: nah, I’m fine! I’ve got that reset power!

F: not for long considering how much you use it (mumbles. Rolls eyes??) (some depiction of chara dying a lot in the bg)

C: by the way…. In the ruins you were telling me to use it… care to tell me more about it since you seem to know so much?

F: I-... uh… well you already know the most of it. It just resets you back to your last SAVE point like nothing happened. Only beings with a powerful SOUL can use it, so monsters with their weak souls can’t.

Chara stops their puzzle work and sits to even the heights: Can flowers?

F: what the heck are you-... oh, no no no. I’m different.

C: so you have the power too.

F: No! I mean-, i used to before you came around. Yeah.

C: so you’ve done resets. (urging him on)

F: yep.

Chara waits a while: ...thats all you have to say?

F: yep

Travel scenes from here on out depict chara and flowey together

Gauntlet:

Flowey remarks that he doesn't remember a save point being before it. Chara goes along and gets paps’ bit. He does to activate it

C: wait this isn't for real right? U can't be srs!!!

P: yeah I am, this is hard mode!

Just show chara repeatedly spawning at the save and running back in with flowey watching them

Then cut to the end chara on the other side of it panting and exhausted, papyrus shocked but also beaming

P: wow you did it!! I'm so proud of u human! I didn’t think you would actually be able to get through it--- I mean- drat! Foiled again! I'll get u one of these times!

Papyrus runs off and Chara watches him with a look of wonder in their eyes.

F: don’t get too excited. his pride is cheap, he’s proud of everyone and every thing

Chara grumbles and marches forward: whatever. I don’t hear you saying you’re proud of me, so why do I have to listen to what you have to say

F: You know, you’re gonna have to fight him soon. Didn’t sans say so? What are you going to do then, die over and over until you give up or are you going to try to murder him just like you did with Toriel? :)

C: I am not! I’m gonna talk him out of it and go right past him like everyone else. Who knows! Maybe he won’t even fight me because he’s that cool. Even if he does, he’s probably a wimp anyways.

F: I wouldn’t be so sure! I bet you don’t stand a chance.

C: shut up! Quit following me if you’re gonna be this useless.

Paps fight

As papyrus carries their body to the shed to rest. Opens on their vision returning and they see their hands hanging toward the ground.

C: why didn’t you kill me? You’re stronger than everyone else, you could easily do it. Why dont you finish me off so everyone can leave or whatever it is you need me to do? Why did you hold back?

P: OH! YOU’RE AWAKE!

C: you held back…

P: OF COURSE i DID! I COULD NEVER KILL YOU, YOU’RE MY-- I HOPE I’M NOT BEING TOO FORWARD, BUT I LIKE TO THINK OF YOU AS MY FRIEND! AND EVEN THOUGH WE DO NEED YOUR SOUL, YOU DESERVE A FIGHTING CHANCE TO DO… WHATEVER IT IS YOU’RE TRYING TO DO.

Chara is too shocked and confused by the sentiment: I don’t… I don’t understand?

P: WHAT’S SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT A FRIEND NOT KILLING YOU? HUMANS ARE SO STRANGE ...OH! I SEE NOW! THE REASON WHY YOU CARRY YOUR KNIFE LIKE THAT. IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE MORE AFRAID OF US MONSTERS THAN WE COULD EVER BE OF YOU!

He sets them down in the shed on the dog bed.

P: I’M SORRY, HUMAN! I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU MORE WARNING IF I HAD KNOWN HOW YOU FELT.

C: then… does that mean you’re going to let me go?

P: ABSOLUTELY NOT! I ALREADY CALLED UNDYNE TO MEET ME SO SHE CAN TAKE YOU! AND YOU NEED TO REST NOW AFTER ALL THAT!

C: !! I-I don’t know who Undyne is, but I can’t do that. I’m in a hurry to get out of here.

P: HMM… IF YOU’RE IN A HURRY THEN… NO, NO YOU CAN’T! WE NEED YOUR SOUL, I CAN’T JUST LET YOU LEAVE. UNDYNE’S REALLY COOL TOO, YOU’LL LIKE HER!

C: No, I have to go.

P: AGH, WELL… I SUPPOSE IF YOU CAN GET PAST ME BEFORE I CAN CATCH YOU, THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO. BUT I WON’T GO EASY ON YOU!

Cut to chara walking toward waterfall, papyrus calling after them to come back and hang out sometime. They keep walking and mutter to themself: Sorry, but I’ll get out of here before that ever happens.

WATERFALL

They see monster kid and side eye sans as they charge in, hurriedly.

Chara keeps flowey around and asks him to read the words for him. FLowey says it’s not important at all to anything they’re doing. It’s just monster history junk that means nothing if chara’s trying to leave. Chara’s like shut up cmon help me out maybe there's clues. FLowey reads some history stuff in waterfall treating it like shit they already know

F: why do you care about all this garbage anyway?

C: I dunno, I guess it just sounds familiar. Like a story I heard a long time ago.

Chara stops suddenly and checks their phone. Flowey asks what’s up

C: i thought it rang… you didn’t hear-

The phone starts ringing. Papyrus is cheerfully on the other end and they walk and talk.

He tells them about how he heard so many horrible things about humans and the surface but chara was much nicer than he ever expected. Chara asks where he heard that and he says a flower told him. Chara covers the receiver and looks around for flowey, suspicions of him raised.

Montage w monster kid and umbrella

Chara falls from undyne’s spear attack and wakes up in the trash with flowey over them.

F: hey, wake up. I can tell you’re not dead so hurry up and get moving.

Chara’s kind of bummed: she killed me four times back there. And it wasn’t even a fight. I couldn’t talk her down or… i couldn’t even talk to her, I could barely see her.

F: what, are you giving up or something? You know she can kill you as much as she wants and you aren’t gonna die.

C: I know that! I know this is just like a game where you can keep on going but… it hurts. And it’s exhausting.

F: what will you do then? Sit here in this trash and do nothing?

C: *sigh* no. I’m just feeling down in the dumps.

They smile and get up.

As they’re walking out, they hear a click and someone to tell them to “hold it”

Mad dummys behind them and she just has a gun. Pointed directly at chara. She starts on her thing about the cousin and then blook saves the day.

Chara meets up with blook again. They go to where the snail races used to be. It’s all busted and unused

C: what’s this supposed to be…?

B: oh…. this used to be a snail farm…. And this was a race course…. For snails…. But a long time ago people started to call the races “insensitive” so we had to close them…. Sorry you can’t have any fun racing snails…

C: why was it insensitive…?

B: ...i’d… rather not talk about it………..

Timeskip

C: hey flowey! What’s up with this place and snails?

F:...i wouldnt know.

montage

After waterfall where undyne says how many souls they have

C: flowey… if they have 6 human souls, that means 6 others fell down and died here, so…

F: what?

C: i just- i mean you were the first one i met-

F: no, no, no, ive never killed anyone. You’re the only human i’ve seen since i woke up

Chara relaxes: ok. So you dont know anything about them.

F: no. i heard some things from toriel, not much. It’s too late to try asking her, but she’s seen all of them. She was there at the beginning even.

C: the beginning?

F: you know…. When humans started falling down here and monsters started killing them.

Chara goes silent in thought: wait… how… long has this been going on? How old is toriel?

F: dunno

Chara after having a rough time: it’s hard, but no matter what happens i can just keep trying. I’ll make it out of this! You believe in me right, flowey?

F: no i think you should give up.

Page/chapter ends there. Next is chara going up to fight undyne.

Open on a riff on the “long ago” cutscene that chara cuts off by saying they already know this story

Undyne screams SHUT UP!!! I’m doing my HEROIC MONOLOGUE!! Whatever, I bet you haven’t heard the part about the King and Queen’s human child who died of illness and their other son who was killed by the humans when he tried to return their body to the surface?!

C: No I think I heard that one too? Why are you telling me all this anyways??

U: because this is an UNSKIPPABLE CUTSCENE!! NYAAAGGGHHHH!!!!!

Chara’s getting their ass beat and on low hp: I’ll die in a hit or two. But that’s fine because I’ll just start this over. I’ll start from… where was the last save point…

A vision of them with flowey. Their eyes go red and the flashback cuts in between shots of them running from undyne

F: I think you should give up

Ch: what… give up?? I thought you were on my side with all the telling me to keep going and-and the hanging out with me?!

F: as if you had any other choice but to keep going! We both know you don’t.

C: so you’ve just been following this whole time waiting for me to give up and die, huh?! Why, are you trying to steal my soul just like everybody else?!?

F: it doesn’t matter how hard you try, you’re going to die! And die and die and die! You can reset as much as you want, it won’t change that! So what if I am waiting for you to give up? You’re the last thing keeping monsters trapped down here. If you give up, you’ll give everyone what they want!

C: I thought you wanted to help me?! I thought you were my friend!

F: I would never be friends with a human! You’re all nothing but killing machines!

C: I haven’t killed anyone!

F: You killed Toriel! No number of resets can change what you did! You’re a horrible, disgusting human just like all the others and everyone would be happier if you were dead!

Flowey could say something about dying down here is better than their inevitable death on the surface. Their death would at least be worth something. Mean something

Chara escapes the fight, undyne collapses, and they walk away. they tell themselves they won’t give up. They don’t need help, especially not from that dumb flower. They’ll live to spite him and everyone else who tries to kill them

Chara goes in and meets alphys and overall is p meh abt it bc bad mood. Alphys helping them through the underground makes them talk to themselves about how they dont need flowey, they can do this themself. Friends are no good.

hotland is as normal. probably figure out some indication of things not right. make the game seem broken bc they arent supposed to get so far like this

Chara meets with sans at mtt resort for food reluctantly. Lets him say his piece. After he’s done threatening to kill them chara says to his face that they really don’t like him.

Need some hubbub about them having to kill asgore to get out. Theyll be like yeah I know that (somehow)... oh but I need a plan… how will i come up with a plan..

Flowey finally appears to chara again just before they get to new home and tries to talk them out of leaving. Disparaging the surface and telling them they could live happily down here. Chara says no, it’s too hard because people are constantly hunting them down and being the last soul, no ones going to stop that. He says that he’s sorry for the way he was before

Chara smiles back, and then looks away: What you said before… about.. My inevitable death on the surface…

F: that was… don’t worry about that.

C: are you afraid of it?

F: well- yeah, it’s a dangerous place. Everyone knows that.

C: I’ve died a lot more times down here than I ever did up there.

A beat

C: you go back and forth a lot between talking about how I should stay down here because it’s better… but also if I die down here… everyone gets to go free… to the horrible, awful surface.

F: uh,, did I say all that…? I may have contradicted myself a little… I guess… in the end I just wanted an excuse for you to stay around. I really don’t want you to die.

C: so you did see me as a friend after all?

F: well…you reminded me of someone who was my friend. I wish we could have been friends.

C: Do you think… If I reset back to the beginning and did this again, if I said the right things… we could have been?

F: No… You could be as nice to me or as mean to me as you want. No matter how many times you reset, some things never change.

C: ...Did you ever… have to reset because you killed someone?

F: ……….once… and then I never reset ever again. The power to reset… makes you do bad things. It’s wrong. I had to stop because i knew… I’d make someone really upset if I kept messing around.

C: well, in that case… I guess I’ll just have to get the rest of the way out of here without any resets!

Flowey smiles: I dunno, keep one or two under your belt. You’re a pretty big klutz.

C: Thanks for helping me out of here, flowey. Even if you just did it because you were begged.

Can you imagine a more paranoid flowey who is less interested in attacking you and regaining the reset ability, but is pleased af that you have the reset ability because that means you can't die, and instead he spends the entire game trying to convince you that humanity is hopeless. That there is nothing on the surface world returning to. That it's safer, down here.

he's part of the reason why things are so much harder

he's the one that starts the rumors about the dangers of teh surface world

there's a definite sense of paranoia all across the board

When they approach new home, flowey appears one last time and grabs chara by the hand, telling them not to go. They can live in the underground, they’ve made a lot of friends here. Chara says that they have to go, they’ll find a way to get out without killing asgore. Flowey says that he tried to stop them, this is as far as he’ll go. This is goodbye. They bid their farewells and chara goes along, but flowey secretly follows them, much less detectable than ever before. It’s revealed when he’s hiding with the flowers.

Chara walks up to new home, regarding it as a vaguely familiar sight. They walk down the many halls knowing exactly where to go. The monsters speak as they go through the motions. They find a cookbook in the kitchen with a page for snail pie missing. Chara mumbles about already knowing the story and that they should all shut up. They walk more quickly to stay ahead of them. Then one mentions the snail pie and chara stops dead in their tracks. No that’s not how it happened- they stop, and take back off.

They are stopped by sans in the judgement hall, glaring at him.

S: well I had a whole speech to give ya, but you look like you’re in a hurry. You’re a weird kid, but you’re fine. The king’s up ahead.

OTHER alternative: chara realizes something’s wrong and runs back to get everyone, probably threatening to kill asgore to convince them to come quickly. Sans is avoided due to the mob approaching behind them “I heard the word that you’re on your way to kill the king.” c: are you here to stop me? “Nah. But you’d better have a good plan to back yourself up, kid. King’s up ahead”

They run up to asgore, no nonsense. Some time is taken to progress things. As they leave the throne room, flowey watches from the flowers, chara looks back to confirm he’s there.

Asgore draws up the souls, the fight is about to engage, before he can smash “MERCY” chara yells: ASRIEL. Get the souls.

Everything stops. Flowey is behind them, stunned and confused. Chara turns and asks him what he’s waiting for. Hurry up and take the souls before everyone else gets here. Nearly every last monster is coming, if he can become godlike and absorb them, it will be enough strength to break the barrier.

Flowey is confused, how do they know that? Chara tells him he did it before. Doesn’t he remember? Doesn’t he remember them?

Either flowey does it and something happens, or flowey waits too long and chaos erupts which gets them killed, and then chara and flowey have to meet up and workshop.

Final fight:

He probably says some shit about frisk and how he cant lose frisk again, chara must insist that theyre not frisk. When they say their name is chara, he hesitates for only a moment. Finally, when chara’s pinned and about to seriously die…

C: you remember it now too, don’t you? It took me a while, I couldn’t remember a thing until i started hearing your name around. You’re an all powerful god now, you should be able to remember it all better than me

A: shut up.

C: would frisk want us to fight like this?! Would frisk want you to kill your own sibling?!

A: c-.... You’re… you’re really chara?

He lets them go

They reach the conclusion that frisk messed with everything and put them here with no memories so they could do something frisk could never do. Frisk thinks they deserve to live, no matter how much the two may disagree. They have to play along. Asriel is a god and can use his powers to break the barrier and bring EVERYONE back to life so they can live together happily.

go to final fight and everyones already there, things are very confused, flowey takes the souls and things glitch out (screen phases between bosses) and chara realizes this isnt how things are supposed to be, tells asriel theyre sorry for their baggage but he doesnt understand bc he isnt theirs, and then they gotta find frisk somehow

OR... they realize things in the speech and don't go to fight asgore bc theyre finding flowey... they feign fighting asgore and then suddenly tell flowey to take the souls("Asriel! get the souls!" and thats the first time they call him by name)...? i like that a bit better. they start going on about crazy shit that makes roided out flowey kind of lose it at them which leads to them apologizing to their own asriel but then realizing they need to find frisk

but HOW do they find frisk

The end shows chara asriel and frisk hugging eachother, all alive and well. Then the two are “processing…” and remember that oh, theyve done some dark messed up stuff.

[electricopolis-net]

S02E06: The Game Show Killer (Part 7)

7. Goodbye

This is where it all started, Bob thought to himself. I always end up here...in the hospital.

“He wants to see you,” said Dr. Flask, opening the door to the hospital room. “I told him it was a terrible idea, but would he listen? No.” He paused, expecting Sparker to make some kind of remark, but he said nothing. “In any case...don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t,” Bob said quietly. “I promise.”

He passed through the doorway and stripped off his overcoat, then sat down on a stool placed next to the patient’s bed. Sam Gale laid there, his eyes closed, his chest moving up and down with slow, even movements.

After a moment, he opened his eyes slowly and gave the doctor a weak wave of his hand. “Thanks, Dr. Flask.”

“I’ll be back in ten,” said the doctor, checking his watch. “Try not to kill each other.”

The door closed with a click and left the two sitting there in silence. They stared at each other for a long moment, the quiet of the room settling between them. One of his arms laid motionless on the bed, fixed with an IV. Bob’s eyes traced the line back to the bag of solution.

“You look like hell,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “I heard that lady did a number on you.”

Bob smiled, touching his jaw lightly. “You don’t look much better,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I almost killed you,” Bob said. “I think that at least deserves an apology.”

“I owe you one, too,” Sam sighed. “For...for not getting the hint. For agreeing to such a stupid, harebrained scheme. If I’d known who that woman was, I never would have given her the time of day.”

Bob reached over and laid a hand gingerly on the man’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Sam. Anyway, she’s in jail and you’re not, so there’s that.”

“Yeah.” Gale gave Sparker a lopsided grin. “And you’re out of a job.”

Sparker shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “...For now.”

“For now? You mean they’re letting you back on after you tried to kill Percy King’s daughter?”

Bob shook his head. “That’s the crazy thing,” he admitted. “When Mr. King learned about it, he just laughed it off. He said the ratings were the highest they’ve ever been, and that was what…” His voice faltered. “That was what really mattered.”

The silence fell again, and it grew stifling. Sam opened his free hand, extending it a little. Bob took it. It felt strange, cold, almost like a statue.

“Tell me something,” Sam said slowly. “It wasn’t like this when we were young...was it?”

“No,” Bob replied. “Remember that time we went to the Summer Theater?”

“The abandoned one?”

“That’s the one.” Bob gave Sam’s hand a squeeze. “We found the costumes in the back and tried them on, and you found the microphones hidden in the boxes. I…” His mouth grew dry. “I told you I wanted to be a star, that day.”

Sam Gale smiled sadly. “It hurts, doesn’t it? All of this.”

“Yeah.” Bob’s voice cracked as he tried to hold back a sob. “It...it hurts a lot, Sam. It’s like we’ve been twisted and pulled so much that--that we don’t even resemble ourselves anymore. It’s okay if you can’t forgive me,” he added, sniffling. “I wouldn’t either, if I were you.”

“It’s not about forgiveness,” Gale said, his fingers tightening around Sparker’s. “And if it were, I’d be the one asking for it. I just…” He sighed. “I just want to be free. From you, from this. From everything.”

“That’s right,” Bob whispered quietly. “From everything.” He paused, then lifted his other hand. He clasped Sam Gale’s hand in both of his own, warming him. “I know you said it wasn’t about forgiveness, but…” He swallowed. “I forgive you, anyway.”

“Thank you.” A squeeze. “I forgive you, too.”

They were quiet for a moment, and then a polite knock came from the door.

Bob Sparker stood up, tucking his overcoat under his arm. “You gonna be okay?” he asked Sam.

“Yeah,” the patient replied. “I’m getting the best care in the city.” He grinned. “At least, according to my doctor.”

“Be careful with that one,” Bob joked, as Dr. Flask stepped back into the room. “Flask's got absolutely no bedside manner at all.”

Dr. Flask rolled his eyes. “That’s enough out of you,” he responded, waving Bob out the door. “He needs his rest. You’ve done enough damage for one lifetime.”

“I know, I know.” Bob stood in the doorway, hesitating. He turned away from the man in the hospital bed. “Hey, Sam...goodbye.”

“...Goodbye, Bob.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Bob Sparker alone in the empty hallway of the hospital.

The End

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes! 

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much 

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

    March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

    April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

    April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

    April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[daddyjackfrost]

i accidentally deleted your request anon😭 but i managed to take a pic before! so, here it is!

prompt 36: “fuck you scared me... don’t you do that ever again!”

prompt 37: “are you afraid to die?”

warnings: angst, talk about death, kinda grim, self indulgent (just a bit! y/n’s thought process) car accident, loss of memory, crying osamu

osamu miya x gn!reader (intended lower case)

in the comfort of the darkness, you sat on your sweater on a hill that overlooked your neighbourhood.

after a long day of school and work, you managed to squeeze some time of solitude for your thoughts.

with your knees pulled to your chest and your chin resting on your crossed arms, you inhaled the sweet scent of freedom.

out here, away from the busy streets and tall buildings, you were free. out here, with only the trees and stars to keep you company, you were content with life.

you heard rustling behind you and shut your eyes, inhaling a long breath before you heard a familiar voice quietly call out to you.

“here,” you whispered.

you didn’t turn, nor did you look up. osamu laid a jacket beside you before sitting down next to you. his arm brushing against yours.

“how’d you know it was me?”

you smiled. it was the same question he asked you every time he received a text from you and met you up on your hill. and every time, you gave him the same answer.

“just a hunch.”

osamu drifted his eyes away from your face to the stars. there wasn’t much of a difference, he thought. the stars were just as captivating as you, you more so. you were just as fascinating as the stars, shining brightly in solitude and the dark.

without making any unnecessary noises, osamu leaned back on his hands, kicking his legs out in front of him.

he needed this break just as much as you did.

in the silence of the night, you and osamu sat together, letting the stress and sorrows of the previous week slip away.

simultaneously, you both leaned back, your heads resting on the soft fresh grass.

you gently shut your eyes, reminiscing in the quiet atmosphere. no one was here to bother you. there were no looming assignments or demeaning parents.

out here, it was just you and the stars.

and osamu.

“are ya afraid to die?”

your eyes flew open, and you turned your head, grass tickling your cheek.

osamu’s dark grey eyes twinkled as he stared into your eyes. you thought about his question. obscure thoughts tangled with apparent ones.

you turned your head, facing the dark sky.

“not really.”

osamu hummed. “why not?”

you lifted your hand, spreading your fingers so each nail connect with a stare.

“because it’s inevitable.”

osamu raised his eyebrow. shifting to his side to face you completely. “care to expand?”

“i’m not afraid to die because the second you’re welcomed into this world, you’re introduced to the concept of death. you know you’re going to die. so you live while you can.”

osamu’s eyes were set on you. you always sounded so old—mature—when you talked like this. like you knew things he couldn’t understand.

fate he couldn’t fathom.

“i’m not afraid to die because i’ve been preparing for it my whole life.”

you turned your head to meet osamu’s curious eyes.

“that’s a bit depressing,” osamu laughs.

you grin at him, your lips pulling into a breathtaking smile. “it is.”

after a few silent moments, you whispered,

“memento mori.”

“what?”

you pretended to squish the stars in between your thumb and index finger like grapes.

“it’s a latin phrase that originated from ancient rome.”

“what does it mean?”

osamu loved your knowledge of random things. he knew an abundance of phrases from different origins because of you.

“remember that you will die.”

“god, y/n,” osamu sighed. “you’re so grim.”

you smiled. “what? it keeps me grounded.” osamu let out a light chuckle.

“no matter what i do, how much money i make, who i marry, i’m not going to live forever. i won’t go down in history unless i do something monumental. i’ll live, i’ll aim for a good life, and then, inevitably, i’ll die. it helps remind me that stress and sadness does eventually come to and end.”

you licked your lips. “are you afraid to die?”

osamu shrugged. “yeah. i am.”

you shifted your weight to your side so you were completely facing him. with your arm bent under your head, you rested your head on your elbow.

“how come?”

osamu shifted his eyes to the ground before meeting yours again.

“i guess i’m afraid of not living my life to the fullest. i wanna be happy. do things that’ll make me smile. i wanna die knowing i lived the best i could.”

you gently smiled at him. “what’s stopping you?”

silence.

osamu stared at you like he didn’t know how to comprehend your question.

what was stopping him?

he was young, talented, and persistent.

a heavy realization fell upon osamu. there was nothing stopping him. he was stopping him.

the only person who stood between his happiness, was himself.

with a goofy smile, osamu turned to face the stars.

“nothing. nothing at all.”

you smiled at him, happy he understood. you gently pushed yourself up, letting out a small yawn. you stretched your arms, sighing when you heard your shoulders quietly crack.

“time to go home.”

osamu let out a whine. “do we have too?”

you stood up, brushing your jeans with your hands. you grabbed your sweater, slipping it on.

“yes, ‘samu.” you narrowed your eyes at his frown. “we have school tomorrow.”

osamu rolled his eyes, but got up anyways. he grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder.

“let’s go home then.”

you both walked down the hill and into the street, bickering and laughing.

your heart felt so full. this is what you were afraid of losing. this laughter and feeling of content. you weren’t afraid of dying, you were afraid of loosing the feeling of your heart being full forever.

so when you pushed osamu out of the way, and a car came blazing towards you, you didn’t have a moment to think about what was going to happen.

only that you really liked laughing and would miss it.

before the pain took over, you remembered hearing osamu’s loud and panicked voice yell your name. the last thing you saw were his tear-filled grey eyes.

***

the smell of antiseptic, stainless steel, and blood filled your senses and your eyes flew open.

as quickly as you opened your eyes, you squeezed them shut. the bright lights of the hospital room too strong for your weak eyes.

the machines around you buzzed and you groaned. pain had enveloped you completely and you licked your dry lips.

your head was pounding and your memory was hazy. you pulled yourself up, wincing in pain when the iv in your arm moved with you.

you gently opened your eyes, blinking to get used to the bright white light.

your eyes swept across the large hospital room and your frowned.

how did i get here?

your eyes fell on a mop of grey hair and you blinked a few times to clear your vision. your eyes took in the male sitting by your bed, his eyes closed and his lips pulled into a frown.

you tried putting a name to the far familiar face, but you came up empty, and at that thought, you started spluttering, trying to form words.

at the sound of your hoarse breath, the grey-haired man’s eyes flew open and locked on you.

your eyes were locked on the rheumy and heavy-lidded eyes, the taste of familiarity on your tongue but unidentifiable.

“y/n...”

the voice you had heard in your dreams whispered a name you knew was yours.

you licked your cracks lips. “water.”

immediately, the trance the man was in has broken and he sprang up, grabbing a water bottle and handing it to you. you hesitatingly grabbed it, staring at the lid before gently twisting it.

the man stared at you, his eyes burning holes into you. you kept your gaze on your bed, afraid of the pain you felt when you looked at him.

he quickly left the room, yelling an unfamiliar name loudly.

you drank half of the water bottle before twisting the cap back on. you leaned back, wincing. you gingerly brought your hand to your forehead, gasping at the feeling of bandage.

a tall, thin and pale man with light brown hair and round glasses walked into the room. he wore a long white coat and was holding a clipboard. the same man with grey hair and a women of much shorter height with tear-stained cheeks walked in behind him.

the man, whom you assumed was a doctor, walked up to you, keeping a distance. he smiled at you before motioning to the chair beside you.

you nodded, unable to use your words.

“y/n, i’m doctor kim.” he waited before you met his eyes. “do you know where you are?”

you stared at him. he waited patiently until you gently nodded. “the hospital.”

doctor kim smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“that’s right. can you tell me your full name?”

you stared at him, your eyebrows furrowed. you tried remembering, but your head began to hurt profoundly. it was like there was a wall that separated you from your memories.

“it’s okay,” doctor kim whispered. “you must feel disoriented.”

you didn’t nod, just fought the wall. you knew that you had a last name. it was right there, but unaccessible.

after a few painfully silent moments later, you let out a heavy sigh.

“l/n. y/n l/n.”

doctor kim smiled and the women in the corner of the room let out a sob, her hand coming to cover her mouth.

you stared at the women, a wave of familiarity hit you and you frowned. you knew her. so why couldn’t you remember?

“y/n,” you turned your head to face the calm eyes of the doctor. “you were in an accident.”

your frown deepened. “i don’t... remember.”

doctor kim nodded, his eyes glancing at the clipboard before he smiled a faux smile at you.

“you hit your head really hard. it’ll take you a few days to regain all your memories. you remember your name, that’s great process. over the week, your memories should all come back to you.”

you nodded. an accident? why didn’t you remember? and why was the man with grey hair staring at you like that?

doctor kim checked the machines before making his way to the door. he smiled at you and then looked at the women.

“ms. l/n, can you come with me to fill out a few pages?”

your breath hitched. your eyes were locked on familiar ones and you quietly whispered, “mom?”

your mother painfully smiled at you before running out the door behind the doctor. you watched her go with a frowned.

you turned your head to the man who stood in the corner. his posture was rigid and you were sure he hadn’t blinked since he walked in the room. his gaze unwavering.

you shifted your eyes from his, his gaze too intense.

“can i... can i sit?”

you nodded. his voice was intensely familiar. it was the voice you heard in your dreams. the one you had grew attached too.

osamu sat on the chair with hesitation. he was feeling so many things at once. you had been in a week long coma, and osamu hadn’t had a moment of rest since he sat with you in the ambulance.

osamu let out a heavy sigh, bringing his hands to cover his face. you watched him from the corner of your vision. he felt so familiar, so why couldn’t you recall his name?

osamu began to cry, his shoulders shaking.

you turned your head to face him, your lips set into a permanent frown. for some reason unknown to you, your heart hurt at the sight of his tears.

“fuck, y/n,” osamu lifted his head. his eyes brimmed with red. “you scared me.”

you stared at him, unsure of what to do. you didn’t know why you had scared him. but his shoulders shook and his lips trembled, so you stayed quiet.

“don’t you— don’t you do that ever again!”

you just silently watched as the grey-haired man cried and yelled at you. “don’t you ever push me away! don’t you ever try and save me again!”

the room was heavy with silence. the grey haired man sobbed into his hands and the machines buzzed in your head.

you don’t know what compelled you to say this, but you did anyways. it felt right. like the man crying in front of you deserved to hear these words.

“i won’t. i’m sorry.”

at the sound of your voice, his crying grew quieter and after a few moments, he wiped his tears, his bloodshot eyes staring at you.

“promise me.”

you saw the whirlpool of emotions in his grey eyes and although you couldn’t decipher them, you promised anyways.

when he smiled, his cheeks using muscles it hadn’t in a week, you suddenly felt guilty.

you had promised to a stranger.

a stranger who seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

a stranger who seemed to think you knew him.

i didn’t know what kind of angst you wanted anon, so i kinda went with the flow! also, i was too lazy to add capitals. so. i think it adds to the theme. sure.

also yes. doctor kim from dr. romantic. sue me.

taglist: @h-grangerstudies @elektrosonix @snoozless @ackerpotato @asterroidd @rinrinniesstuff @bokuatsubro @literaleftist @howcanyoubreathewithnozaire @addicedtoeverythinganime @felixsamour @megumeee @aghashiii @fail-big @kailleis-sunshine

requests are closed.

hana’s author note.

[tomtenadia]

Remember Us - 7

I know we are in full Rowaelin month but I thought to give you part 7 as a present...

There is a small library scene in perfect theme with Day 4. (This is not part of Rowaelin month. Just a coincidence)

The chapters are getting less angsty. As I mentioned in a post a few days ago... i Finished the story and it has 10 parts. That was the original plan and I promise a HEA

-------

Rowan had spent the entire day going through all of their albums. Evalin had offered to look after Freyja, but instead he had kept the girl in his arms while sitting on the carpet and and album in front of him.

He had just finished the one about Thomas and now opened the one dedicated to his daughter. They were both still a working in progress as it looked like Aelin would just record the stages in their lives.

“Look, who is this one?” The little girl pointed at the picture and babbled something.

“This is you.” He told her in a loving tone “the most precious thing in our lives with your brother.”

“You did it, Fireheart.” Rowan kissed the head of an exhausted Aelin, while the doctors were busy cleaning and checking on their daughter.

The nurse walked to them with a bundle in her arms and gave it to Aelin “I think your daughter is ready to meet you.” And placed the baby on Aelin’s chest.

Rowan sat at her side, his arms around her shoulder as he drew closer his two women.

“She is like you, Ro.”

He kissed her forehead “I love you both. Madly.”

In another photo he saw Thomas in the hospital bed near her mother, kissing his sister head and the caption read Thomas is officially a big brother and he finally gets to meet his sister. 

“ ‘Mas” babbled Freyja, pointing at the photo.

“Yes, that is your brother.”

Page by page he followed his daughter life and as it happened for Thomas, some moments became familiar all of a sudden.

Looking at photos had been a great idea but with Aelin’s captions had been even better as it was as if someone was actually telling him the story.

He looked at a couple of more albums but then he felt an headache coming and his vision was getting tired as well, so he grabbed Freyja and went to lie down on the sofa, making sure that she was tucked in safely between him and the back of the sofa. Evalin was busy doing chores around the house. He pulled the little girl to his chest and he started humming a tune while his hand caressed her head.

Not long after they were both asleep.

Evalin appeared back in the living room not long after and when she saw the scene in front of her she almost cried. Then she took her phone and snapped a picture and sent it to Aelin Your husband and your daughter are having some quality time together.

*

“How’s the study session going?” A younger Rowan paused beside a table in a university library.

The blonde woman in front of him groaned in exasperation “med school. Of all the degrees I choose from, I went for the worst one.” Her head collapsed heavily on the books in front of her “I want to be a neurosurgeon, I don’t care about the kidneys. Why am I studying this crap?”

Rowan smiled and placed a cup of coffee on the table “you need caffeine.”

Aelin lifted her head “yes, in IV.” She extended her arm and Rowan chuckled “you are the doctor, you will have to perform that on yourself.” He laughed and patted her head “I can tell you the legal repercussions of me performing such a procedure without a licence.”

Aelin grabbed her coffee and drank avidly “smartass.”

“A smartass you love?”

“Keep dreaming, Whitethorn.”

When he woke up again he was not ready for the splitting headache. He tried to sit up but dizziness hit him hard and then a wave of nausea. He jumped off the sofa but crashed on the carpet. Rowan fought to stand up but his body refused to obey “Evalin,” he croaked, grabbing his head in his hands.

A moment later Evalin was at his side “Rowan, are you okay?”

He crashed back down on the carpet and groaned. Evalin slowly helped him to sit back up and she felt panic rise “I should call Aelin.”

“No,” said Rowan in a whisper as he stood shakily and sat at the opposite side of the sofa away from his sleeping daughter. He should not be around the kids. No one should be around him while he was in that state.

And in that instant nausea hit again and he grabbed his stick and slowly dragged himself to the bathroom, collapsed on the floor and emptied the content of his stomach in the toilet.

***

Aelin had just finished surgery when she noticed the worried text from her mother. Rowan was not well.

She changed from the scrubs, paged her second, told him she had a family emergency and that she had to go back home. They all knew her situation and he was understanding. She had finished her surgeries for the day so finishing early was not much of an issue.

She drove home with her heart racing with panic. She knew the complications after a brain injury and she was worried. Her mother had not specified what happened but her tone seemed frantic.

Once in front of the house she parked quickly and once in the house she found it quiet. Her mother was sitting on the sofa reading to Freyja and Thomas was on the carpet playing with his toy cars.

“Where is he?”

Evalin looked up at her “in bed. He was sick, complaining of strong headaches and he said he was tired.”

Aelin dropped her backpack and ran for the bedroom and found him asleep.

She walked to him and sat at his side at the edge on the bed and slowly caressed his head. Her strong, amazing husband looked fragile, tucked in bed and sleeping on his side. The time in the hospital had left his mark and his frame was now thinner. Her hand ran through his hair once again and then deposited a gentle kiss and in that instant his eyes popped open as she chastised herself for it.

“Hi you,”

“Hi,” his voice gruff “you are home.”

“Mum texted me that you were not well.”

He tried to sit up but Aelin kept him down “you need to rest. What are your symptoms?”

Rowan’s head collapsed back on the pillow “headache, dizziness and nausea.”

Aelin’s hand was in his hair again “it’s normal. From one to ten, how bad is the headache?”

“Seven.”

She stood and came back a moment later with a glass of water and a tablet “Just a light dose to help you a bit.”

Rowan took the water and the medicine and once he was done Aelin lay down at his side, snuggling  close to him, her hand on his chest. Rowan’s arms as if on instinct went around her frame but did not hug her tight. He had no energy.

“I dreamt…” he closed his eyes for a second “I dreamt of us in the library. You were complaining about your degree and kidneys,” he told her softly “I brought you coffee.”

Aelin chuckled against his chest. She did remember exactly the day “that was when I started to fall for you.”

“Tell me,” he said, his lips brushing her hair.

“Somehow you had memorised my schedule,” she began her tale “so you would pop up in the library and keep me company studying. You with your laws and me with my crazy med stuff.” She looked up at him and found her husband staring at her “during my anatomy exam you offered to be my skeleton and I revised on you.” She flicked his nose and the gentle flinch of his nose reminded her so much of him, his usual reaction “At the end of a crazy exam you brought me cake and once my session of exams was over you asked me out.”

Rowan gave her a weak smile and she could see the tiredness in his face “you asked me to move in with you on my birthday and my present were the keys to your flat. I moved out of mine the next day and Aedion moved in with Lysandra and took my place.”

“Are we good friends with them?” He asked with interest. So far they had never discussed their friends and he thought it was time to try.

Aelin nodded “Aedion is my cousin. Lys and I were flatmates and she is my best friend.” Her hand brushed his hair once again, the gesture was relaxing and Rowan seemed to enjoy it too, his features much more relaxed “then we have Lorcan and Elide and the six of us kinda form a nice tight group.”

“Do they know about my condition?”

Aelin nodded “I explained to them and the only reason they haven’t visited is because I knew it was going to be too much so I told them to wait.”

“Thank you,” he said softly while his hand brushed her back “I can’t just yet.”

Aelin nodded again and his expression morphed as if he wanted to ask her something but hesitate. His hand moved “can I?” And Aelin knew what he meant. She took his hand and pushed it under her t-shirt and on her tiny baby bump “I don’t know yet if it’s a girl or a boy. I have a check up in two weeks and will see if we can find out the sex.”

His thumb moved gently as if to greet their child with his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said a bit too quietly.

“I should let you rest,” Aelin tried to move but his hand grabbed her writs and pulled her back down against him. He had been enjoying that moment they had shared. His arms went around her frame and pulled her to him. 

“You love to cuddle.”

“Do I?” He told her rising an eyebrow.

“Sometimes when mum takes the kids we do enjoy a lot of naked, adult cuddling.”

Rowan’s heart raced in terror “I am not…” he stopped “I can’t yet.”

“Shh…” said Aelin, placing a gentle finger on his lips “We are not doing anything you do not want to do.” She told him with love.

He pulled her even closer and tucked her head under his chin, and the position felt familiar all of a sudden, her scent enveloping his nostrils. Everything about her felt familiar, the shape of her body against his, her scent, they way she fit perfectly in his arms.

They were in silence for a moment until two small cyclones joined them.

“Dad.” Shouted Thomas quite loudly and Rowan groaned, his head not appreciating the decibels coming from his son.

“Quiet, Tom, dad is not well.”

The little boy zipped his lips and climbed in bed. Freyja padded to her father’s side and extended her arms in a gesture to be picked up. Rowan turned and lifted his daughter in his arms and pushed her under the blankets with Thomas and Aelin joined them a moment later.

“We are keeping company to dad but we need to be quiet. Can we do that?”

Thomas nodded eagerly and Freyja kept sucking on her pacifier. The little girl climbed on her father chest and Rowan rolled on his back to help her curl up properly. Thomas was tucked in at his side and Aelin’s arm reached over and enveloped them.

“Sorry, they really missed you.”

Rowan shook his head “this feels really nice and normal.”

Aelin smiled and brushed Thomas’ hair “believe me on a weekend it is, and if I am not working the four of us love a long morning in bed together.”

He chuckled and loved the image “What about the names?”

Aelin grabbed Freyja’s hand in her and kissed it “Thomas was a character in a sci-fi series that we both love. He is an Admiral and quite amazing. He is actually my fictional husband. Freyja, we took it from a mythology book.”

Rowan laughed “so I have competition.”

“Can you be an admiral?”

“I order you to kiss me, soldier.” Rowan felt a smile tug at his lips and Aelin stared at him with fondness. Then leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his lips.

“Bleah,” said Thomas in protest. Aelin stamped a big kiss on his cheek “feeling better now?” And the boy grinned and climbed down from the bed “lego.” And he ran away.

Aelin sighed “he has a lot of energy.” And now that her son space had been vacated she scooted closer to Rowan and her hand was on the girl’s back on top of Rowan’s.

“I love the kids. It’s been only a few days but I love them madly already.” He whispered looking down at his sleeping daughter. Then back at Aelin and for a brief moment he saw sadness in her eyes. Loving the kids had been easy. His feelings for her were far more complicated. He felt something but could not put a name on it yet.

“With you is…” he paused, searching for the right words. He had caused enough pain already “complicated. There is something, I can feel it, but I don’t know if it’s just the memories or my actual feelings.” His hand ran through his hair “I don’t know how to explain it clearly.”

Aelin kissed his forehead tenderly. For as much as she wanted her husband back, she was not going to rush him. He would need time and she was willing to wait. She had waited at his bedside for so long to have him awake again that she was happy to take even the small acts of affection he was willing to give her.

“I want you to have your husband back, and I am trying…”

“Shhh…” she said to him, a gentle kiss on his lips “I have him back, and I can see more of him coming back everyday. You don’t realise it but he is there.” She patted his chest “My husband is right here in my arms.”

Rowan’s hand grabbed the back of her head and pulled her to him for a fierce kiss. Aelin melted at the contact. The kiss felt like coming home and for a moment it swept away all her fears.

“Does your husband kiss you like that?” The smirk on his face and his playful tone was him and she pulled back, coming up for air. 

“Seems like you remember this part very well.”

“It does help that my wife is stunning.”

Aelin smiled. He had called her his wife. Had he accepted his life? Had he accepted them?

She looked at him in his pine green eyes looking for an answer.

“Yes.”