#shaking myself violently can i not just explain what happens without turning it into a fic

[x-pair-o-dice-x]

Not sure if you’ve already talked about this Dice, but would you be willing to share how Phil and Kristin meet in By Nature?

Have a cake 🍰

thank you for the cake, mx. red!!! as for your question,,, i!! do not know how they meet quite yet!!!! but let’s find out together!!!!!

hmmm… i’d imagine it would have to be before the village becomes a thing.. maybe when phil is pretty young? let’s say.. young adult, early twenties?

he travels alone, something that is much easier for him to do than any other borrower, since he has wings, and can travel much faster than the average borrower.

he’s alone — not because he wants to be, but because he likes to explore, and he finds that other people just tend to hold him back.

one day, he finds himself near a house — a human house, that is. odd, this place is very far away from any other human buildings — it’s in the middle of a woods, and your can only barely see a trail that leads away from the house, presumably to a main road.

whoever lives here, clearly prefers their privacy.

they also.. don’t seem to be home right now.

and, well.. he is getting pretty sick of just eating various berries throughout the forest. you can only eat so many of the same thing before growing tired of it.

it’s a risky move — phil has absolutely no idea who lives here, or when they’re supposed to be home. for all he knows, they could come home any minute now.

but, well.. when has he ever turned down a challenge?

he ends up breaking in through a window - it was left unlocked, the human probably either forgot to lock it, or didn’t think any humans would try to break in, considering they live in the middle of nowhere.

and, well.. in a way, they were right — no humans were breaking in right now. just him.

so he gets in, and looks around for the kitchen. and as he looks, he ends up taking in the rest of the house.

it was a one story house, that much he could tell just from looking from the outside. it was fairly plain, for the most part — no decorations, just boxes laying around, only a few open.

did the human just move in? he thinks, as he examines the boxes briefly. sure enough, they were labeled, with various boxes dedicated to various things, like bathroom items, or dishes; stuff for the living room, or the bedroom. there was even a box dedicated to garden supplies.

this is perfect. if the human was in the middle of moving in, they wouldn’t notice a few things missing.

finally, he managed to find the kitchen, and made his way to the pantry.

after a moment of struggling, he opened the pantry door, and took a look inside.

it.. was fairly empty, actually. only a few shelves held food, and even then, what was there was just junk food.

guess the human hadn’t been able to go shopping just yet, phil grimaces, looking at his options. well.. there was a thing of crackers that was already open, it seemed. surely, the human wouldn’t miss one cracker?

he takes one out, and flies out of the pantry, landing on a counter.

it was as he was debating whether or not to stay and see if there was anything else he could grab, make his time here more worthwhile; that he hears the sound of something outside.

he hasn’t been around humans much, but he’s been out of the forest a few times to hear them talk about it, know what it’s supposed to be.

a car, he realizes. there’s a car outside.

and.. if there’s a car outside….

the human is back.

shit, he didn’t actually think the human would be back so soon. he- he needs to leave-

all too soon, phil hears the front door open up. fuck, too late to book it to the window. he’s just glad the kitchen is out of direct view from the front. he needs to find somewhere to hide, somewhere the human wouldn’t think to look, at least until he can make his escape.

he flies towards the top of the fridge nearby, and just hopes the human will leave soon enough.

—————————

kristin lets out a sigh of relief when she opens the door to her new home.

finally, that college class was absolutely just sucking the soul out of her. she knows she needs to take those classes if she wants to get into archeology, but by prime if it wasn’t taking a lot out of her.

at least i can just relax, now, she thinks as she heads towards the kitchen. maybe get some snacks, and put on a netflix show on her phone, spend the rest of the day like that.

she should probably work on unpacking a bit more than the bare essentials she has out already, but… that can wait for future kristin.

(future kristin absolutely hates her, but.. that’s just another problem for her to deal with.)

she walks into the kitchen, and opens the pantry door, before frowning at her options.

oh, right, i don’t have a lot in here, she thinks. she lets out a hum, before picking up some crackers.

she makes a mental note to go to the grocery store sometime(just another thing for future kristin to worry about), before turning around, and making her way towards her living room-

before stopping when she notices something on the counter.

her brow furrows, and she steps closer.

is that.. a cracker?

“what the..?” she mumbles under her breath, confused. did.. did she leave a cracker here last time she ate? she… doesn’t remember doing that, but she supposed if she did, she would have remembered to clean it back up.

she shrugs to herself, before picking it up, and eating it. doesn’t seem stale, so.. it’s good enough for her.

as she makes her way towards the living room, she notices that.. the.. the window is open?

well, that’s not supposed to be like that, she thinks, before closing the window.

did.. did she do that? but, no, she definitely doesn’t remember leaving the window open — hell, she doesn’t even remember opening it in the first place.

did someone break in?

oh hell, she really hopes no one broke in — she’s five wrong steps from being a broke college student, she really doesn’t need this right now.

she hurriedly examined all of the boxes she’s yet to unpack, but as she moves through them, she finds… nothing’s missing?

frankly, besides the window and that cracker, everything’s been looking normal since she got home..

did.. did they just stop in to steal a cracker?

..no, that just sounds absurd. she shook her head.

maybe i really did just leave the window open by accident..?

it’s unlikely, but nothing else seems plausible either.

she shrugs, and moves to lay on her couch. she pulls out her phone, adjusts the bag of crackers, and opens up a netflix show.

……..

it’s as she’s halfway through the episode when she hears a loud thunk on her window. she startled, dropping her phone on her lap, nearly doing the same with her crackers, before she sits up and looks at where she heard the noise.

laying right on the floor, presumably having fallen from banging against the window, was a little bird.

kristin jumps from the couch, and immediately runs over to it.

how in the world did a bird get in here? she thinks as she makes her way over. maybe through the open window?

but, as she steps towards it, she looks closer, and…

that’s…… that’s not a bird.

sure, it’s got the wings of one — ones that resemble a crow, she notes — but.. as she looks over it, she realizes… it..

it looks… a lot like a human..

if a human had crow wings, and was tiny — so, so very tiny.

as she stares at it, it seems to finally come out of the daze it was in, after it slammed into the window. it shakes its head, moving to push itself up — before freezing when it sees the shadow looming over it.

for a moment, it doesn’t move, until it.. it slowly looks over its shoulder, and makes eye contact with her.

blue eyes meet dark ones.

they stare at each other for a moment, while kristin takes the- the little bird-person-thing in.

it has blond hair, reaching just above its shoulders. it’s wearing a green cloak, and it’s got talons. sharp ones, at that.

the feathers on its wings, which look black on first viewing, seem iridescent in the light, now. and as she looks closer at its face, she realizes the feathers are also scattered around its cheeks, looking almost like freckles.

and as she takes a closer look at its face, she also realizes that… it.. it looks terrified.

am… am i the reason it looks so frightend? she thinks, eyes widening. oh, she doesn’t like that..

“uh, h..hello?” kristin speaks up, moving to sit down on the floor instead of looming over it. “uhm, hi. i don’t- mean to scare you.”

the- the bird, she guesses she’ll call it for now, doesn’t say anything. she’s not even sure if it can talk. hell, she doesn’t even know if it can understand her.

instead, it just backs away slightly.

“are you hurt?” she tries again, glancing up at the window, “i- i wouldn’t have closed this window if i realized you were in here.”

again, the bird stays silent.

a moment of silence, before suddenly, she moved again. she can hear the bird gasp a bit, shooting itself away, but she ignores it, moving until she’s on one knee, leaning in towards the window.

she pushes it up, until she’s sure it’s been moved high enough, and then pulls away.

kristin finally pushes herself off the floor, trying to pay no mind on how the little bird tenses, before she makes herself walk away, back to the couch.

she spares only one glance back at the little bird, before she picks up her phone and the crackers, and lays back down on the couch. she puts her show back on, and tried to not think about the tiny person in her house.

a few minutes pass, until she sees movement in the corner of her eye, and the bird flies out of her house, out the window.

she waits a bit longer, until she finally allows herself to relax.

in all honesty, kristin.. really wanted to talk to it a bit more. she has no idea what it was, and.. that piqued her curiosity.

but she could also tell that.. it was so.. so scared, so terrified. of her.

she.. she didn’t want that.

so, despite her curiosity.. she let it go.

maybe it’ll come back, she thinks to herself, but she knows, deep down.. it probably won’t.

still, though.. she can hope.

—————————

because it’s been almost two hours since i first got this ask and i don’t wanna write anymore,, i’ll just tell you what happens next.

after a few days, phil decides he wants to go back, against his better judgement.

he knows it might not end well, the human could change their mind, but.. they… they really did seem nice.

so he comes back while the human is gardening, much to the human’s surprise.

and, after a moment of hesitation, he decides to talk back to them.

they introduce each other, and he finds the human’s name is kristin.

and, over time, they get to know each other.

and.. little by little…. they fall a little bit in love with each other as each day passes.

[666writingcafe]

Virtue and Sin

Simeon

"What happened earlier?"

Given the situation that happened in the kitchen earlier, I thought it best for MC and me to share a room in the sleeping car so that I could have a proper conversation with them about it. I know that means having Luke continue to be exposed to Mammon and risk having another episode, but I don't know if I'll have another opportunity to be alone with MC, and there are some things they need to know.

"What you witnessed was greed's energy bouncing off Mammon and Luke," I answer. "The more they wanted to go on that trip, the stronger that energy became."

"And the more dangerous."

"Exactly."

"But why would Luke experience greed?" There's the million dollar question. Thankfully, MC seems smart enough to understand the answer.

"An angel's power is connected to one of the seven virtues. Obviously, we're supposed to practice all of them, but the strength of the individual connections differs from person to person. Less experienced angels tend to think that virtue and sin are complete opposites, but in reality they're merely two sides of the same coin."

"Kind of like yin and yang. Good and bad are intertwined; you can't have one without the other. And since Luke's very charitable and kind, he's more likely to experience greed and envy than some of the other angels."

"Correct." MC's following along quite nicely.

"Does the electricity happen to everyone that experiences a sin around a demon?" I shake my head.

"It's a phenomenon that only occurs between angels and demons. The effects are more internal for humans. Any signs of that electricity will be in the eyes, and even then it's so subtle that those that don't know what to look for will dismiss it as a mere trick of the light."

"I see." MC pauses to stretch their arms. "What would have happened to Luke if you didn't step in?" I sigh.

"An angel's tolerance for sin is like a rubber band; it can stretch pretty far, but eventually it will snap. Luke was moments away from throwing a temper tantrum, and those tend to be more violent than a human's."

"That makes sense. I mean, you might say that the flood that Noah experienced was the result of God throwing a hissy fit."

"How so?" I'm genuinely interested in MC's response, but I'm also testing them a bit with my question.

"Well, if something I poured my heart into creating didn't work the way I intended it to, I'd be pretty upset. Not just at the creation, but at myself. The possibility that I wasn't as good as I thought I was would hurt my pride, and I'd end up lashing out at my creation, potentially destroying it in the process."

Bingo.

"That certainly is an interesting take, MC." As much as I'd like to tell them that their reasoning is sound and that it partially explains how Lucifer turned out the way he did, I have a feeling that I'd get my ass chewed out for agreeing with the idea that God is capable of sinning. That kinda defeats the whole "He's perfect" thing.

"Do you think Luke's going to be okay bunking with Mammon?" I shrug.

"He has to learn how to control his greed and envy, and he can't do that if he doesn't know what he's up against. 'Know thy enemy', as they say." I sigh. "I hate to think of the brothers that way, especially since we were once family, but they are the Avatars of Sin for a reason. It'd be foolish of me to not take that into account."

MC appears deep in thought. I can tell that they have more to say, but for some reason they're hesitating. Are they afraid that I'll end our conversation if they keep talking?

Michael and the other seraphim would tell me that I should. A human has no business knowing this much. I know a few angels that still hold humanity in contempt for what Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden, and that's ancient history at this point.

However, I want to know exactly what MC's thinking. I find their intellect to be one of the most attractive things about them. Not that they're bad to look at--because they're not--but there are plenty of pretty people that don't have any complex thoughts in their head. It makes for rather boring conversations. At least I don't have to worry about that with MC.

"Hey, Simeon?" I hum in acknowledgement. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I was wondering what sin you're most susceptible to experiencing."

Oh. We're going there.

If it were anyone else, I would change the subject. Knowing an angel's weaknesses is powerful, and people have used that against us too many times for me to count.

But I don't think MC would do that. They've behaved too honorably.

I take a deep breath to ease my nerves.

"Wrath."

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! - 2nd Part (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

I have absolutely no patience... so here is the next part because I'm not a tease and I won't make you wait hehe. I have a lot more I might post everyday until I run out! Because like I said, no patience in my body! Also the main love is Malarkey but I have a problem and make everyone all love the OC. I'M SORRY I CAN'T NOT!! Warning is a slow burn I'm sorry I have ideas in my head and so things can't happen in the timeline without the ideas. I have to have everything ahhhhh. Anyway enjoy!

People step out of the way as the tall man pushes us through the crowd, we reach another soldier dressed in the same uniform. 

“Captain Winters, Sir!” The man's low voice carries over the commotion of the crowd, Captain Winters who is talking to another soldier turns his attention towards us. 

“Yes?” Winters replies. 

“Sir, we have a field nurse who is here somehow by herself?” The man says from behind me. I watch Winters glance over to me then back to the man.

“Sergeant Randleman there are no field nurses here and there are none meant to arrive.” Winters appears just as confused as the man, who’s name apparently is Randleman, was when I spoke to him first. Winters steps closer to me. Reading my name badge that is pinned to my top. 

“Emily Lane?” He looks at me for confirmation.  

“Yes,” I pause looking up at Winters, “Sir?” I feel compelled to also call him Sir since everyone is saying it. 

“How did you get here?” Winters asks. I let out a chuckle. I have been wondering the same thing. I sober myself when Winters gives me a confused look. I probably look crazy standing here laughing to myself. I go to open my mouth to say, oh I don’t know I was pulled through a portal of some sorts, but that coming out of my mouth in this situation might not be the best idea. My mind races. How the hell do I explain this? I open and close my mouth, Winters frowns at me squinting his eyes as if daring me to speak. 

“I, uh…” I start to say. Think! Think of something to say, these men are looking at me like I’m crazy.

“Emily, how did you get to Holland?” Winters asks again, pushing me for an answer.

“HOLLAND?!” I blurt before my brain can catch up. The two men seem shocked by my outburst. I cover my mouth with my hand before anything else can come out of my mouth. 

The two men share a look, I glance from one to the other. “Bull, why don’t you take Emily here to see Doc, she seems to be in shock.” Winters takes my shoulder turning me back to the care of Randleman aka Bull apparently. 

I am once again being pushed through the crowd by Bull. People are still dancing and cheering, a man approaches with his eyes closed and lips puckered out steering straight for me, I flinch back, my arms coming up to deflect the incoming kiss, a nervous laugh bubbles from my lips. I look back at Bull trying to gauge if he just saw that as well. He leans close to me, “They’re celebrating.” 

“I can see that.” I watch other soldiers move through the crowd; they are swarmed, being hugged and kissed as they walk. 

“What are they celebrating?” I ask. 

“The Germans have left, they are liberated.” he answers, still moving us through the crowd. 

The Germans? 

We stop at a commotion in the road, a woman next to us is grabbed by two men. They violently rip off her dress, I gasp moving forward to try and help her but Bull’s grip remains firm. I turn to face him showing my distress, “It’s not our business darlin’.” 

I continue to watch, spotting other women stripped of their clothes and their hair has been cut. The woman that was next to me cries out as a man with scissors hacks her hair. A lady is dragged by us with a symbol painted on her forehead, I step back into Bull realising what that symbol is. My hands shake and my chest heaves, the world spins. A swash sticker is painted onto the foreheads of other ladies. 

Where am I? What is going on?

“You alright there lil’ lady?” Bull notices my panic, holding me up as my legs almost give way. 

“What is the date today Bull?” I pant, my eyes darting around. I’m wrong, this is a reenactment of some sorts. This isn’t happening. 

“Well today is the 16th of September.” Bull replies looking confused, his cigar hanging from his teeth as he speaks. My breath leaves me in a short huff as the answer did not comfort me at all. 

“The year, Bull?” I ask, my words holding an ounce of hope that was soon to be extinguished as he opened his mouth to speak once more. 

“Why 1944, of course.” He says matter-of-factly, his eyebrows pulled down over his eyes even more, his expression mimicking a mix of confusion and concern as he looks at my face, trying to gauge my thoughts.

“1944?” I choke out. NO NO NO NO. I try to catch my breath, steady my heart rate but it’s no use. Black dots dance around my vision. Panic rises in my chest, my stomach twists. I spin around looking for the portal I came from. Where was it? 

“Emily take a breath.” Bull’s muffled voice says in my ear. I shake my head pushing away from him. I stagger backwards hitting people as I go. Bull follows closely, holding out his hands to catch me. This has to be some sick dream? That's right, this is a dream! I raise my hand striking it to my cheek, it stings but I am still here. Bull looks at me shocked by my actions, I raise my hand again readying myself for another blow, harder this time. My hand is caught mid-air, my other hand also captured by a very concerned Bull. 

“Bull,” I say very seriously, “I need you to hit me.”

“Hit you?” Bull questions. “I’m not going to hit you darlin’.” He keeps my hands in his, I’m sure he’s worried what I will do next if I have free reign of my hands again.  

“Bull, Emily.” Winters appears next to Bull, he glances at the position that Bull and I are in. “As you were.” He says bewildered, moving forward with the rest of the soldiers. Bull pulls me towards him, tucking me under his arm and following Winters through the crowd. I don’t struggle, I march forward like a zombie, my brain has officially shut off leaving me detached from reality. In my mind I am back in my apartment, making dinner and then sitting down to watch a show then crawling into bed to get up and do the same thing the next day.   

After some walking we leave the crowd behind moving away from the town, Bull continues to follow the rest of the soldiers still having me tucked under his arm like an injured bird. I don’t talk, I listen as the soldiers banter, most of what they say makes no sense to me. Dusk falls quickly, the group makes camp on the side of the road we have been walking for the day. I get given food and water, I slowly sip my water but I give my food to Bull, my stomach is still twisted in knots. I know none of it will stay down. Bull asks if I am sure to which I nod, he takes the food from me and quickly eats. None of the other soldiers seem to pay much attention to me, I guess since I have been so quiet and mostly hidden behind Bull for most of the day they didn’t see me. My white uniform top is now dirty and sweaty, my feet hurt from the constant walking. I'm sure I have blisters on the backs of my heels. A hand taps my shoulder, I jump swinging around to see Winters standing over me. “Emily, I need you to come with me. You too Bull.” Bull stands quickly following orders, I stand slowly and trail behind the two. We make our way through the makeshift camp, only one tent is pitched, the rest of the men are sprawled out on the grass under the stars, quietly chatting to each other. We make our way to the tent, Bull and Winters disappear inside. A thought crosses my mind, run, while no one is looking, run back to the town, find the portal and forget what you saw. I freeze glancing around the dark land that seems to sprawl for miles. No, something in my gut tells me I need to stay with these men, if I run I could find much worse. I shuffle my feet following the men into the tent. As I enter Bull and Winters sit at a table that has a map pinned to it. 

“Emily, we radioed command and there is no record of a field nurse by your name.” Winters looks up at me, I still stand wringing my hands in front of me. I wrack my brain for an explanation. 

“I’m independent, Sir.” I state. 

“Independent?” Winters hums. “And how did you get to Holland?” 

“I was signing up to be a field nurse in England, when I heard whispers of Paratroopers making their next jump into Holland. I also heard they had only a few medics, so I figured I would meet you in Holland and join you and your men, Sir.” I lie through my teeth. I keep my stare steady, and my body language relaxed to make my lies more believable. 

“Why were you so frantic in the town then?” Winters asks. 

“I got turned around in the crowd, Sir. I was worried I had missed my opportunity to join you. I was trying to tell Sergeant Randleman but I seemed to have confused him.” I glance at Bull, he watches me closely. 

“Why did you ask for the date? Specifically the year?” Winters continues with his interrogation. 

“Well I was tired from all my travels, I had fallen asleep at the place I was staying, when I awoke I was unsure of how much time had passed, since I didn’t want to miss your arrival. I felt like I had slept for years.” I internally cringe at how easily the lies roll off my tongue but I need to ensure I stay with this group.    

Winters pauses thinking about my explanation. He looks towards Bull as if trying to read his mind, they share a glance as I watch them. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth chewing on it nervously. 

“Well Emily we do need more medics. Have you been trained?” Winters turns back to me raising his eyebrows as he speaks. 

“Yes, well no technically. I am in my last semester of training, I only have a couple of months left.” I say. 

Winters brows draw together. “I guess that’s good enough, we are desperate.” he sighs, leaning back in his chair.  

“But you haven’t been trained in combat?” He continues. 

“No, Sir. I am medically trained but have not been on the frontline. I understand not all medics carry a firearm, and are just there to help the wounded.” I answer. 

“That’s correct. Well I cannot prepare you for what you are going to see on the frontline, and you understand Emily that you could also die on the front. There is no guarantee for your survival.” His strong stare pins me to the ground, I gulp. I have seen war movies, most of which I had to watch through my hands. I hated seeing the men being blown to pieces and shot down. 

But this wasn’t a movie. I couldn’t watch through my hands, I was here on the front fighting against the Nazis. The thought hadn’t sunk in. How much danger my life was currently in, like Winters said there is no guarantee for my life. But what is my life? Is this it? Stuck here in 1944? Or when the war is over, if I make it through, do I find another portal? Is there another portal? It’s strange to think how quickly it all got turned upside down, this isn’t a dream, I’m stuck in a time where I do not belong.  

I pull myself from my spiralling mind. “I understand Sir.” I say firmly, holding my ground, making my words as believable as I can. 

Winters stands a small smile spread across his face, he reaches his hand out to me, “Welcome to Easy Company Emily Lane.” I take his hand gripping firmly with a single shake he releases me. 

“Bull, get Miss Lane here some proper attire and supplies.” Winters turns to look at Bull who is already nodding and making his way out of the tent. I follow Bull as he holds the tent flap up for me to walk under. I follow him from behind, having to take double steps for his every one, he grabs things from piles, rummaging through bags, he turns holding up a shirt measuring it to my body. 

“Seems you’ll fit the small.” He says, a new cigar is hanging from his teeth. I follow him as he grabs things and passes them back to me, by the time we are done I can hardly see where I am going. “Oof” I grunt walking into something hard. 

“Hey, watch it tiny.” A man says in a thick philly accent. 

“Oh I’m sorry.” I say peeking out from behind the mountain of gear in my arms.     

“Aye, who are you?” he squints trying to get a better look at me in the dark. 

The group of men that stand around with him also pique interest, five pairs of eyes land on me. 

“Are you lost?” The man I bumped into speaks again. 

“No, not lost.” I say, staring back at him. 

“She’s our new medic.” Bull speaks from behind me. “Are these boys hassling you Lane?” He leans forward but says it loud enough for the group to hear. 

I look over my shoulder at him and smile. “No, they aren’t giving me any trouble, but I think I could take them if I wanted.” Bull lets out a laugh, patting me on my back. 

“You’re going to be trouble Lane, I can already tell.” He chuckles. “How about I introduce you to these men before you try and fight them all?” I smile up at him. 

“This right here is Bill Guarnere,” he points to the man I walked into. “And that is John Martin, but everyone calls him Johnny.” Martin raises his hand giving a small wave, I smile back politely. “And that there is Joseph Liebgott, George Luz, Webster and Donald Malarkey.” Small hello’s and hi are said as they are introduced. They all look basically the same in the dark in the same uniforms, and I have no hope I am going to remember anyone's names. 

“Hi I’m Emily Lane, but everyone calls me Emmy.” I say semi waving my hand from under the pile of clothes I am holding. 

“Emmy, what on earth are you doing here?” the man who I believe to be George Luz says smiling. 

“Well I heard you needed medics so, here I am.” I let out an awkward laugh. “I better go get changed, but I guess I will see you around?” I cringe, when was it hard to talk to a group of men? 

Luz chuckles, “I’m sure we will Emmy.” a cheeky grin forms on his face. I don’t know what that smile means but I move quickly to find somewhere to get changed. I feel the men watch me as I go, I hear them fall back into conversation once I am out of view. 

I turn around looking for a place to change, in front of me a field spans out with trees in the distance, behind me the men have made camp and are lying in the grass, huddling around in groups talking. I turn in a circle, trying to find the best spot. There are trucks parked on the grass but men sit in them as well.

“Emily.” Someone calls from behind me, I whip around to see a tall man standing in the shadows, I glance down at his arm a white band on his sleeve shows the red cross, the sign for medic.

“You must be Doc?” I say moving closer to him.  

“I am indeed, I have your medic pack here. Bull told me to give it to you.” He hands over the army green bag with the red cross mark on the front. I take it trying not to drop the clothes I am holding. 

“Thank you, Doc.” I say. 

“Call me Gene.” I nod at his response, “Do you know what is in this bag?” he asks.

“I think so? A powder that stops infections, gauze, scissors, Tourniquet, medical tags, safety pins, tweezers?” I say off the top of my head, I actually have no idea what could be used in the 40's. I am so used to modern medicine, they would have no gloves, no alcohol swabs to disinfect gear.

“That’s about right, but I will let you have a look through by yourself if you have any questions come ask me.” he says turning to leave. 

“Ok, thank you Doc. Sorry Gene.” I say loudly as he walks away. 

“Miss Lane.” I hear from the other side, OMG now what. I turn to see Winters poking his head from the tent. I straighten, this man seems to be in charge here. I can't piss him off. 

“Yes, Sir.” I make my way over to the tent. 

“Emily, are you wanting to change?” he motions his head to the armful of clothing I am carrying.

“Yes please Sir, I couldn’t find anywhere private.” I shuffle forward and into the tent. Winters steps out, closing the flap behind him. I move quickly putting the clothes down on the table, I start by taking off my shoes and socks. Then shimmy my pants down, kicking them to the side. I empty the pocket of my uniform top, my hand grips something cold. I pull it out to inspect it. My mouth drops. No goddamn way! I clutch my phone in my hand, letting out a strangled gasp. 

“Everything ok Emily?” Winters asks from outside the tent. Oh fuck! I thought he left, he’s probably making sure that no one comes in while I change. 

I clear my throat, “fine.” my voice cracks, “I’m fine.” I say in a clearer voice. OMG, OMG, OMG I mouth. How the hell did I not lose this. I tap the screen and almost shriek, it lights up. The time and date have not changed from when I was back in my own time. I open the screen, no bars. Well I would be more surprised if I did get reception. 87% battery, I need to keep this on me, I mean if I go back to my own time I don’t want to have to buy another phone. I power down my phone and place it on the table. I search through my pockets, pairs of medical gloves, I place them down next to the phone. I pull more from my pockets: pens, pencil, a mask, hand sanitiser, omg I could kiss myself for always having the most full pockets. The last thing I pull out is a small black case, I open my earphones to find them sitting in their charging ports, the green light flashes. God I am good, they’re fully charged. But unfortunately I am unsure how long they will last as I can’t power them down like my phone. I place them down on the table as well. I take my name badge and pin on watch off my top as well. 

I quickly get changed into the uniform given to me, leaving on my bra and underwear I slip into the pants doing the belt on the tightest loop so they don’t fall down and a white cotton t-shirt, I pull on my black thick socks and combat boots. The boots are a bit big but if I wear a couple pairs of socks they should be fine. I button up the long sleeve shirt, pulling on my jacket. I tuck the helmet under my arm and the medic kit is slung across my body. I gather the items from my pockets and slip them into my kit for safe keeping. 

“Almost done in there?” Winters asks from outside. 

“Yes Sir.” I reply, the tent flap opens as he walks back in. Winters scans me from head to toe, a small smirk forms on his lips. 

“You forgot one thing.” Winters reaches into his pocket pulling out the red cross band. He gestures for my arm. I reach out my right arm, he steps forward and slides the band up, I look down at him watching him intently. Winters eyes meet mine, I look away quickly embarrassed I was caught staring. Winters laughs softly pulling safety pins from his pocket pinning the band to my sleeve, as he pins the last one I gasp. He looks up worried, scanning my face, “Got you.” I smile, his face cracks into a smile. “Indeed you did.” 

He finishes pinning the band taking a step back to admire his work, I feel my face flush shy from being scrutinised by him. 

“Well now you look the part.” He steps forward again, taking my helmet from under my arm. He gently places it on my head. “You always wear this, you got it?” I nod the helmet falling in front of my eyes from the movement. He chuckles, pushing it back up.  

“Well I think you should show me how good your skills are.” Winters crosses his arms in front of him. 

“My skills?” I am confused. 

“I have a wound on my left leg, ricochet bullet. Gene was going to come dress it but you’re here now.” He sits as he talks, pulling up his pant leg for me to see the wound. I kneel down in front of him to better look at the wound, the lighting in the tent is poor but it will have to do. I pull gear from my medic bag, gauze and a fresh bandage. I pull down his sock to see the affected area better. The bandage on his leg is dirty, blood has seeped through the previous dressing. I look up at him as he watches me. 

“You should be keeping off this, no?” I ask, wondering what the other medic had told him. 

“I mean I can’t really, these men rely on me.” he sighs, he looks tired. I cannot imagine what this man has seen, his face looks young but his eyes hold scarring memories that he will never be able to unsee. 

I remove the bandage on his leg, the wound appears small, and the wound bed appears to be granulating and no slough seems to be present. There appears to be no sign of infection, I press the back of my hand over the area to feel if it is hot to the touch, which it isn’t. There is no sign of erythema around it and the edges are actively healing; they pucker up due to the trauma of the ricocheted bullet entering the skin. 

I feel Winters’ eyes on me as I assess the injury. “Do you have water?” I ask looking around. 

Winters pulls a canteen from his belt, handing it to me. I tip the water from the canteen onto a couple of pieces of gauze. Then pouring the water onto the open wound, “ah.” Winters gasps flinching. 

“Sorry.” I say continuing with my task, I clean the injury itself and around it, to help stop bacteria from entering the wound. I pat the skin dry, I apply the new clean dressing tying it around his leg to secure it. I sit back on my haunches looking up at Winters, he smiles seemingly impressed with my work.          

“So what’s the verdict nurse?” he tilts his head as he asks the question. 

“No sign of infection, which is good. Should be healed soon. It would heal faster if you didn’t walk on it so often but I can compromise with you on that. How about when you have time, you elevate your legs, to help reduce the swelling.” I say gathering my supplies and tighten the lid back onto the canteen before handing it back to him. 

“Well I guess I can do that for you.” he says, taking the canteen from my hands. I stand making my way to the exit. 

“Goodnight Captain Winters.” I say. 

“Dick.” he replies.

“Where?” I exclaim. 

The man looks confused, I stare at him eyes wide. My hand lifts to point at him. 

“Yo..” I mumble. 

“Me.” He says pointing at himself. 

My eyes are big as saucers at this point, what is this man asking me?

“Right now?” I ramble.

“What?” his face scrunches in confusion. I mean he’s cute, but like I just met him. I reach my hands up to my top button undoing one. 

“I mean I guess.” I say slowly unbuttoning my top, unsure if this is the request he just made. 

“Emily what are you doing?” He seems genuinely concerned.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” I stop unbuttoning, I think I have read this situation very wrong. 

“My name is Dick, Richard Winters.” He states.

My mouth falls open and my cheeks become hot, I’m sure my whole face has turned the darkest shade of red. 

“Dick short for Richard.” I gape, the cogs in my brain finally turning. 

“Your name is Dick.” I half shout, covering my mouth. I hastily do up my buttons. I am so dumb what is wrong with me, I could hit myself. 

“Well… ah… goodnight Dick” I mumble hurrying out the tent. The cool breeze brings relief to my hot face, I fan myself trying to catch my breath. I need to find somewhere to sleep or hide, I need the ground to swallow me whole, that's what I need.   

I rush back to the group of men most of which are sleeping, I see Bull’s larger figure sitting quietly talking to others. I make my way to him, carefully stepping over the men sprawled on the floor. I sit next to Bull. He appears to be my comfort, not that I know him well but from the interactions I have had with him he seems to be a kind person. He smiles down at me when I seat myself next to him.

“Saw you in Winters’ tent, everything ok?” he asks, leaning closer for me to hear him. 

“Yeah, yup, oh yeah, fine I’m fine, so good, grand even, yup everything is a-ok” I ramble quickly looking back at the tent I just ran from, cringing at how the interaction ended. I wanted to curl up and die. 

“Ahh, are you ok?” Bull frowns in confusion, tilting his head to get a better look at my face that I ducked down out of view. 

“Yes, yup.” I reply, popping the p at the end of my sentence. 

“Alright, get some rest.” Bull says, lending me the blanket from his legs, I slip under it next to him relishing his heat. Exhaustion pulls at my eyes, even on the cold hard ground my body yearns to rest. Bull moves next to me coming closer so our bodies are almost pressed together, I rest my head on my medic bag, as the world around me fades.

[raspberryfingers]

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 28)

WARNING: Mentions of death and miscarriage

—————

“Grip it like this, there you go. You’re going to bring your shoulder back and then…” 

Tywin was standing directly behind me, hands and arms on top of mine as I held the fishing rod. He motioned with me, bringing my dominant hand backward and then promptly bringing it forward, casting the line into the water. I smiled, turning back to him rather proudly. 

“I’m slowly getting the hang of it.”

“Yes, you are. You can go ahead and prop it up until there’s a bite,” he instructed, motioning to the wooden stand beside me. I did so, making sure it was firmly in place before looking at him again. 

Tywin was sitting on a large rock, and I giggled to myself as I moved over and sat on his lap, facing away from him so I could watch the rod. It caught him rather off guard, but he gave me a low hum and brought his hands down along my arm. 

“Is everything alright, my lord?” I teased, fully aware that he was rather enjoying our position. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my neck.

“You ought to be more careful, wife. If you continue to provoke me, I’m afraid my restraint will grow thin and I’ll have no choice but to ravish you here in the open,” he teased, arms wrapping around my waist now. I turned my head a bit and kissed him, rather amused by this sentiment.

“In front of all your guards?”

“What will they do? Spread rumors that a man is fucking his wife?” Tywin pointed out, making me shake my head. He was far too much sometimes, though deep down I loved it. 

He began to reach forward, hands grabbing at my skirts. I held my breath as he started to lift them, one hand creeping underneath and coming to my thigh. 

“Tywin…” I whispered, trying to caution him but perhaps spurring him on by accident. HIs hand continued to raise, but I noticed the line tug just before he reached his destination. I instantly got up, moving forward and beginning to pull the line in. 

“Be careful with it. Go slowly,” Tywin instructed from his seat, watching me carefully and rolling up his sleeves. He had forgone his coat today, opting for something more casual. Similarly, I was wearing something fairly loose and plain. 

With as much precision and care as I could, I reeled in the line, beginning to laugh when I pulled the fish ashore. I flexed my gloved hand, reaching down and grabbing it from among the rocks. Tywin stood then, preparing to show me how I ought to hit it against the rock since it was still squirming. He placed one hand on my back and the other on top of mine. 

“The movement doesn’t need to be violent, or that strong. You’re just tapping it like this,” he explained, moving my wrist more than anything as we hit the fish against the stone. It was a curious thing, and I’d never realized this was part of fishing. I had honestly just assumed it involved standing near the shore for hours and waiting.

I threw it into the basket, absolutely full from some fishing that Tywin had done without me. I had decided on breakfast with Margaery and Tommen this morning, for they had desired to hear all about the trip to Casterly Rock.

It had truthfully been quite nice, and I enjoyed a great deal of Tywin’s family. None more than Genna, of course, for she had been a constant companion the entire week. She managed to convince Tywin to take us out to Lannisport, where we had enjoyed quite a lot of local goods and received most of them for free. Though I certainly suspected that Tywin had paid them afterwards anyways, for he was continually walking behind us.

Beyond that, Tywin and I spent a good day out hunting, spending the night out under the stars and enjoying a delicious meal just as we had years ago. On top of that, the most curious thing had happened. We had seen a White Hart.

Tywin and I had merely been walking through the woods, set on finding a stag or two when I heard a branch snap nearby. I had turned then, and immediately gripped his arm. Tywin had been just as shocked as I to see the large, beautiful animal. Neither of us lifted our weapons an inch, utterly shocked. As far as we were concerned, White Harts were only found in the Kingswood. Evidently not.

I had not told Margaery and Tommen about that, though. I had the odd notion that perhaps only Tywin and I were meant to see it, even if that was irrational logic. 

“You’re going to get quite good at fishing,” Tywin said, snapping me from my thoughts. I turned to him, raising a curious eyebrow. He was sitting on the rock again, and he invited me to sit on his knee. I smiled and did so, running my hand over his hair and kissing his cheek.

“What gives you that impression?”

“You’ve always been a rather quick learner. Plus, this is a good way for us to get out of the keep without having to go so far as the Kingswood,” Tywin reasoned, adjusting the line before handing me the rod. I stood up, taking a few steps forward and casting it out just as he had shown me. He looked rather proud when I turned around to check for approval. 

“We ought to stay out here all day, Tywin. It’s far too nice out to spend it inside that wretched keep,” I said, taking a deep breath in. This little shore beside the Red Keep was one of the few outdoor places in Kings Landing that did not entirely smell awful. Instead, it merely smelled of the sea, and I found that comforting somehow. 

“It is rather nice, isn’t it? There have been birds chirping all morning,” Tywin noted, looking around. A few were flying around, but I suspected the mass choir must’ve been hiding in a bush somewhere. 

“It sounds like there are quite a lot of mockingbirds and sparrows somewhere. It’s lovely,” I observed, listening closer and identifying a few different calls I was familiar with. My husband nodded, looking around. It seemed neither of us could quite identify where they were coming from. 

“I think you’ve got another bite there,” Tywin said, making me instantly turn and reach for the line. I began pulling it in, smiling as I grabbed it from the hook and moved to hit it against the rock. Tywin had been correct, I certainly was a quick learner. 

“It must be tiring, Tywin, to have a wife who is good at nearly everything she does,” I teased, propping my knee up on his leg and placing my hands on his shoulder. He glanced up at me with an amused look. 

“It is tiring to have a wife who is so modest,” he japed, making me laugh rather loudly and smack his arm. I leaned down and kissed him anyway. He gave me a low chuckle as I did, hand cupping my face.

“We ought to go back in. Tommen may have taken the day to go pray at the sept, but I fear I still have work. Plus, this is more than enough for us to have for dinner tonight,” Tywin said with a sigh, looking down at our full basket. I frowned just for a moment, but I didn’t let him see it. 

“Of course. The king shits and the hand wipes,” I said, smiling at the condescending look my husband gave me for using that saying. He utterly detested it, and that of course only inspired me to use it more.

Tywin picked up the basket with one hand and then offered me the other arm. I took it, of course, and accompanied him up the steps to the walkway. He handed it to one of his guards.

“Take this to the kitchen,” he commanded, continuing to walk once it was entirely in the other man's hands. I raised an eyebrow.

“Would it hurt you to say please or thank you? Do you need to relearn those words like a toddler?” I joked, wondering why he was constantly so kurt with the people around him. At least he was always decent to Cerella, even if it only was because I had insisted upon it. Cerella had been my one confidant in King's Landing, one of the few people who did not work for Littlefinger, Varys, Cersei, or Tywin. In a way, she had begun reporting to me. That was more for our personal enjoyment, however. Any scheming would come from either my grandmother or Margaery. 

“I thank them by paying them more than I ought to,” Tywin grumbled, helping me with my skirts as we went up more stairs.

“I’m merely suggesting that it costs you absolutely nothing to show more personal gratitude. Especially after they stood there watching us kiss and flirt for about an hour,” I noted, laughing to myself and shaking my head. They were lucky I hadn’t allowed Tywin to go any further. 

“Ahuh. I’ll consider it.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing he was absolutely ridiculous. A ridiculous man with ridiculous chambers I thought to myself, absolutely sick of going up stairs. There was a reason nobles in the Red Keep never developed gout.

“You said Tommen is visiting the sept today?” I questioned, recalling what he’d said earlier. Tywin nodded with a sigh.

“Yes. According to Tyrion, he’s been going quite a bit, usually with your sister but sometimes without. I believe she told him about the miscarriage, for he asked me what would happen if he didn’t have children yesterday,” he explained, making me feel rather melancholy. I was half surprised and half not that Margaery had decided to tell him.

“I see. And what did you tell him?” I questioned, knowing that Tommen’s claim to the throne was already rather weak, and meaning that if no heir was produced the succession would be quite a mess.

“I told him not to worry about such things yet. He and Margaery are still young, I’m not concerned.”

“And- And what if Margaery is infertile, Tywin? I won’t stand by and watch her be killed trying to birth a son as so many women are,” I questioned, voicing my fears on the subject. It was one of the most compromising things for any highborn woman. 

“I don’t genuinely believe that to be the case, but should they continue to try with no success, then the line of succession will come into question a bit more prominently. It is not a concern for me currently,” he reasoned, giving me a reassuring look. I sighed, nodding and trying to swallow whatever uneasy feeling I had. I was always prone to worrying for my siblings, even if Tywin was probably right. 

We had reached his chambers, and I was relieved to finally be done. I wondered if perhaps the tower of the hand had been designed as a joke, merely to add another burden onto the person already doing so much work.

“Can I pick your coat for the day?” I asked excitedly, smiling as we entered the bedroom. Tywin nodded casually, knowing I rather enjoyed dressing him. I opened up his closet, looking through and pondering my options. I reached for his smooth, black leathered one. It was a favorite of mine, because whenever it was under the light, a gorgeous golden pattern was revealed. It was very Tywin, seen as merely dark and straightforward but actually quite detailed and complex.

“Here, this one,” I said, motioning for him to turn around so I could help him into it. He gave a subtle smile, doing so and shrugging the garment on. 

“Am I allowed to choose what gown you wear? Since I’ve granted you permission to choose my coat,” Tywin questioned rather smugly, clearly wanting to. Even if I said no, I knew he would end up picking. 

“Go on, Tywin. Have it your way.”

He lifted my chin with his index finger, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead before beginning to look through his options. I was almost entirely certain he was going to pick out something red, which was rather unfortunate because I’d been wearing the damned color the entire time we were at Casterly Rock. To my surprise, he pulled out a dress that was distinctly Tyrell.

“This one?” I questioned as he handed it to me. Tywin instantly nodded.

“I’ve missed seeing you in your flowery dresses. As you said, you will always be (Y/N) Tyrell. Not Lannister. I’ve enjoyed picturing you as one for the last week or so, but red is not the only color that flatters you,” he explained, scanning my face. I couldn’t resist a smile, especially as he began to help me change into it. There was something so dear to me about being a Tyrell. We weren’t as honorable as Starks, as conniving as Lannisters, or as wild as Martells, but we were somewhere in between. And even if our words were dull, they perhaps made us the most unsuspecting, and that had always done us well. Plus, as commander of the largest army in Westeros, how could I let that identity go?

“Do you want to know something interesting, wife?”

I turned around, facing Tywin now that he’d finished with the back of my gown. I raised an eyebrow, suspecting that he was going to make a rather stupid comment.

“What is it, husband?”

“As much as I enjoy seeing you dressed in Lannister colors, I have missed this aspect of southern fashion,” he said, holding my gaze before motioning to my cleavage with his eyes. I only scoffed, having already known he was going to make that joke. 

“Well I’m glad you enjoy it, Tywin. Although I must say, for a man who sees me entirely naked nearly every night, I would think you ought to be used to it by now,” I pointed out, holding his chin between my fingers and forcing him to actually look at my eyes. He instantly shook his head.

“No. I will never be used to it, I promise you that. What I especially enjoy is watching all the men stare when you walk by. They stare so desperately, as if begging you to notice them. They want you more than anything, and you never even notice them because you’re too busy holding my arm and smiling at me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, (Y/N)?” 

Tywin was holding my face, and I could feel the intensity of every word he spoke. I had no clue what to say, as my words felt stuck in my throat, but my heart was pounding; I loved this man so unbelievably much.

I was about to open my mouth and reply, but we heard the faint knock from the main doors to Tywin’s chambers. Of course, if we could hear it in his bedroom, it was rather loud. 

We broke apart from each other, both wondering who could be out there. Tywin had assured me he had no meetings when we decided to go fishing this morning. 

Suddenly, the distinct sound of the bells ringing echoed through Kings Landing, and we instantly looked at each other with the distinct understanding that something was very wrong. Rushing out of his bedroom, we were met with a frantic looking Jaime, who had burst in despite being unannounced. I felt my stomach drop.

“Father! Father…” 

Jaime rushed toward us looking quite shaken, and both Tywin and I were absolutely frantic as we awaited his news.

“What’s happened?” Tywin asked quickly, watching his son swallow to catch his breath.

“It’s Tommen… he- he was on his way back from the sept and enormous amounts of wildfire were thrown in lit tubs from the house windows. His carriage exploded instantly… he didn’t stand a chance,” Jaime explained, choking back tears. 

For a moment, I glanced at Tywin, who seemed both deeply upset and furious. He'd always had a gentle affection for Tommen, and I was certain that this hurt much more than it had to lose Joffrey. The fury, of course, would rain hell down upon the assassins. 

None of that was currently crossing my mind, however. There was only one thing I wanted to know.

“My sister! Margaery! Is Margaery ok?” I asked in a panic, stepping forward and grabbing Jaime’s arms. He nodded instantly, trying to calm me by holding my shoulders too.

“She didn’t go with him. She stayed behind this morning, feeling somewhat ill,” he assured me, instantly relieving some of my fear. 

“Which members of the kingsguard were with him?” Tywin questioned with a scowl. Jaime thought about it and sighed.

“Meryn Trant was with him, I know that much. Whoever else, they’re all dead now,” he said, hands clasping onto his belt. He couldn’t meet his fathers eyes.

“Does Cersei know?” Tywin asked after a brief silence, to which Jaime shook his head ‘no’. My husband nodded, sighing out. I moved away from Jaime and placed my hand on his back, rubbing it gently.

“I’m going to tell her right now.”

“Go on then. Keep her in her chambers, I will go speak with her shortly,” he instructed, to which Jaime nodded. He left us then, and we were alone.

There was silence for a minute as we both processed the news we had just received, although the bells had continued to ring. I wondered if they would slowly drive me insane. 

“Please tell me… it was not you.”

I turned to Tywin, furrowing my eyebrows with a slight hurt. I knew I couldn’t blame him for wondering such a thing after what I had done to Joffrey, but I hated feeling as though he didn’t trust me.

“No, of course not. I would never have harmed Tommen. He was good to my sister, and he would’ve been a good king. He- He was such a sweet boy… I don’t understand why…” I trailed off, trying to consider who would’ve possibly wanted him dead. Tywin relaxed, knowing I was right. I had no need to want Tommen gone, and I had never been unreasonable about that sort of thing. He took me in his arms then, and I squeezed tightly. Though he wouldn’t dare show it, I knew this had saddened him quite a bit.

“You ought to go to Margaery. I suspect she will need you just as Cersei will need me,” he whispered after a moment, and I knew he was correct. I had intended to go even before he’d said it.

“I know. I expect people will convene in the great hall afterwards… there is much to discuss,” he sighed, pulling back and kissing my forehead. I nodded, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Will you be alright, Tywin?”

“Yes, my dear. All will be well. Go to Margaery now, hm? I will- I will see you later.”

There was a sort of sadness in his voice as he said it, almost as if he knew something I didn’t. I was unfamiliar with the look on his face, and it made me nervous. After a moment, I realized I did know it.

Defeat.

Something about seeing that expression on my husband made my blood run cold, but I forced myself to push aside my concern. Margaery needed me. Yes, Margaery needed me.

I held Tywin’s hand as I moved away, only letting go once I was physically too far away to continue. I turned my back then, leaving the room and picking up pace once I was outside. That was the last conversation I would have with the Hand of the King.

—————

Cersei could not look at Jaime. It was too painful. She had known this would happen, one way or another. The prophecy dictated that Myrcella would die too, and that fear had also gripped Cersei. She knew she couldn’t take losing her last child, for the news she had just received was already painful enough. 

“Cersei?”

The sound of the door to her chambers opening and the voice of her father instantly made her head snap around. She found him standing in the doorway, a sort of frantic look on his face. To see her father at this moment was the last straw, and she could not hold back sobs as she rose from her sofa, rushing into his arms. Tywin’s rare comforts made them all the more important when she received them. 

“Father… Father…” she whispered, crying against the cool black leather of his coat. One of his arms had wrapped around her, and the other hand was holding the back of her head. Slowly, he had begun to pet her blonde hair. 

“I know, Cersei. I know.”

The sound of his voice in her ear managed to make her cry even more, but she needed it. Oh Tommen, her sweet boy. The rhythmic falling of Tywin’s chest was a small comfort, and somehow from this perspective she felt that all would be well. She felt safe behind the unbreakable defenses that her father had spent his entire life putting up, even if in truth they were an illusion. Well, it would not matter if other men continued to see it too.

“Father- on the way here I was informed that they caught the assassins. It was a small group of sparrows… it is believed to be an act of retaliation for the way they were suppressed,” Jaime said suddenly, swallowing awkwardly and hoping this would not upset his father. But of course, this would infuriate Tywin. How could it not?

He had been merciful by only beheading the High Sparrow and for what? The ‘public opinion’ had cost the life of his grandson, and a sort of guilt filled him. It was his fault for doing something he hated: taking half measures. 

“Let the crime fit the punishment then. They’ll meet their end with wildfire,” Tywin scowled, fury in his eyes as he looked at his son. Cersei lifted her head, her red and wet eyes finding her fathers. She said nothing, but Tywin understood that this look was one of gratitude. His daughter had certainly always been one for revenge and theatrics, after all. 

“What of their trials?”

“I will preside, of course. As will Mace Tyrell. Perhaps Tyrstane Martell as our third. Dorne needs to be brought into the fold more directly,” Tywin suggested, still holding Cersei in his arms. As much as he wished to save this conversation for later, he knew it would not be avoided.

“What if they demand a trial by combat?” Jaime questioned, knowing that the Mountain was no longer an option. Tywin’s jaw went rigid for a moment, and he squinted his eyes in contemplation.

“Then so be it, let them face my wife. They could all face her at once and they still wouldn’t stand a damn chance.”

Jaime was surprised to hear it, and he reflected that perhaps Tywin had a newfound trust in you. He supposed you had killed the Mountain, but putting you in any sort of risky situation always made his father nervous. Although, now that the Mountain was dead, he doubted there really was anyone in Westeros that could manage to beat you. And it’s not as if the sparrows exactly had a wide array of choices, either.

 Jaime wordlessly nodded at his father, looking down and walking towards the door. As he did, Tywin reached out, letting his hand come to Jaime’s shoulder. All would be well. 

After a moment, Cersei was alone with her father, and she began to fear she might pass out. Her head was swimming, and she could hardly focus. She gripped Tywin’s arms, taking a deep breath to try and stabilize herself.

“You ought to sit down, Cersei,” he suggested softly, helping her back toward the sofa. She sat down compliantly, staring at the floor through her teary eyes. Her hands would not stop trembling, and she felt as if she was stuck. There always is a feeling of utter helplessness when tragedy strikes. 

“Here, drink. It’ll help,” Tywin said, pouring water into a glass and then striding across the room. He held it out to Cersei, but she shook her head and looked down.

“I don’t want water. I want wine.”

“I’m not going to give you wine. Drink, Cersei.”

It was more of a command that time, and she knew that her father would have his way. She relented and took the cup, taking a slow sip of water. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d tasted anything but wine, and it felt awfully sobering. Tywin sat down beside her as she drank, pulling her into his side and resting his head on top of hers. 

“I cannot offer you your son back, Cersei, but I will give you justice. I promise you that,” he whispered, sighing deeply. Cersei shook her head, beginning to cry again.

“I thought that Oberyn Martell’s death would bring me peace. I thought it would soothe the loss of Joffrey and it never did. I just want Tommen back,” she sobbed, leaning into his shoulder. Her father knew the feeling all too well. Killing the maester who had delivered Tyrion had never made Tywin feel Joanna’s death less sharply. He wished it had been the maesters fault.

“I know, Cersei, and I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around her entirely. He had developed a headache in the last half hour, and he knew it would not go away for quite some time. He wished he had decided to enjoy another ten minutes fishing with you.

“What of Myrcella? Now that Tommen is gone… she is the last child of Robert Baratheon,” Cersei wondered, voice cracking as she cried. For a moment, she genuinely believed herself. Tywin sighed, shaking his head.

“The succession will inevitably become a problem. Most of the lords of Westeros will not want a queen on the throne, even if it has been 200 years since the dance of dragons. Some will support her claim, but not nearly enough. No matter what happens, the stability of our family will be prioritized. I will not tolerate any conflicts over a useless chair. The only thing that matters is our family. So long as we hold power, it doesn’t matter who bears the title of king or queen,” he assured Cersei, sighing out. The last thing he would ever allow was the destruction of their family, especially because it would make them no better than the Targaryens. 

“Does Jaime’s position in the Kingsguard disqualify him?” Cersei questioned softly, feeling her fathers thumbs wiping her wet cheeks. She was still leaning against him.

“I don’t believe it’s ever happened before. I would assume so, but it is another reason why court will be especially messy. I expect people have already begun to yell and argue over the subject,” Tywin reasoned, shaking his head with absolute disappointment. Why had the gods subjected him to such a position? It truly was a curse to be so good at this job.

“If not Myrcella and not Jaime, will it go to Tyrion?” 

While Tywin’s contempt for his youngest son had considerably lessened over the last few years, mostly due to your fresh perspective, Cersei’s certainly had not. As far as she was concerned, Tyrion was 100% responsible for her mothers death.

“He has the most ‘legal’ claim, yes…”

There was a sort of hesitation in her fathers voice that made Cersei curious. She lifted her head, her eyes finding Tywin’s and holding his gaze. It only took her a few seconds to realize. Neither of them said a thing, wordlessly realizing both understood the scenario.

“How will they decide?”

“I imagine they will call up a council and vote just as they did during King Jaehaerys’ reign. It will also depend on whether or not there is a chance that his wife is pregnant.”

Cersei nodded, sighing and holding her father again. She couldn’t help but wonder if someday the history books would mention this. She felt entirely certain that the last decade had dealt with more problems and claims to the iron throne than all of Westerosi history. She found herself wondering how much more complicated the court would make it today. 

—————

“Margaery?”

When I entered her room, I could not find my sister. I scanned the room, thinking perhaps she was in bed or in the privy. When I realized she wasn’t, panic settled inside me. I called out for her again, louder this time. 

“I’m out here.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, rushing toward the balcony and looking around. I found her sitting on the floor, arms wrapping around her legs. She had been sitting directly in front of a column, and therefore I had not seen her at first. Margaery’s eyes were red and slightly puffy, and I could tell she had been crying. I slid down the side of the pillar, sitting beside her.

“I’m so sorry, Margaery,” I whispered, kissing her forehead as she leaned onto my shoulder. She sniffled again before speaking.

“He was such a sweet boy, (Y/N). He didn’t deserve to die, especially not like that,” she muttered, a few more tears falling from her eyes. I nodded, reaching across her and gently rubbing her arm.

“No, he didn’t.”

We were silent for a moment, and then I felt my sister swallow. She looked up at me, a deep pain in her face.

“Did you hear? It was the sparrows. They were upset over the beheading and they… they wanted revenge. Ser Elias told me they found them and put them in the black cells. They’ll stay there until their trials,” Margaery revealed, making my eyebrows raise with surprise. I would’ve asked how she had found that out before I had, but I knew better with the way that news traveled in King's Landing.

“Tywin will make certain that Tommen receives justice. He’ll probably ask father to be a judge again, and of course father will vote however Tywin would like him to,” I said, feeling rather confident about that fact if nothing else. When Margaery said nothing, I instantly looked over. More tears were falling from her face now.

“It’s my fault. I told him about the miscarriage right after you left. I felt bad that I had kept it for him so long so I… I told him. That’s why he’s been visiting the sept so much. He’s been praying for a child…” Margaery admitted, beginning to full on sob. I instantly wrapped her in my arms, shaking my head vehemently.

“No, Margaery. Never say that again. Never. It is not your fault. If the sparrows wanted revenge, they would’ve gotten it one way or another. And I know I shouldn’t say such a thing but… I’m glad that it was only him. If you had been in that carriage too, I- I don’t know…”

Suddenly, I was on the verge of tears too, and I couldn’t even finish my sentence. All I could do was clutch Margaery even tighter, petting her soft brown hair. The thought that I might’ve lost her today if she had decided to go with Tommen was terrifying. I hated that I was so powerless against death, especially when it came to my family.

“What hurts even more is that… well, the reason I stayed behind this morning was because I got my monthly and was feeling rather nauseous. There’s not even a chance that I’m carrying his child,” she sighed, leaning into my palm as I wiped her tears. 

“Oh Margaery… I’m sorry.”

She had always wanted a child, and the prospect of a future king had only enhanced that desire. And no matter who succeeded Tommen, marriage to them wasn’t exactly an option for Margaery. Myrcella was both married and a woman, and of course Tyrion was married to Roslin Frey with a child on the way. I supposed if Jaime was to be relieved of his vows, then perhaps there was that, but I had a general feeling that that would not happen. 

“Every single man I marry seems to die. I’m cursed,” Margaery sighed, laughing at herself with a sense of self-deprecation. 

“No, sweet girl. You’re not cursed… certainly unlucky, but not cursed. You will find happiness one day, Margaery. You’re still young, you have plenty of time.”

“But what man will want a woman who has been married three times already?” she sighed defeatedly, leaning her head back against the stone pillar. 

“A man who loves you very much. Or, perhaps you’ll even end up with a woman,” I suggested, and we both began to smile.

“Father would rejoice. Two homosexual children, and a third obsessed with sword fighting and opposed to children,” she remarked, making me laugh and shake my head.

“Well, he’ll have at least one child. I pray it’s a girl, it would be lovely to see highgarden passed on to a woman.”

“Yes, it certainly would.”

We sat in silence for a while, and I reflected that the birds were still singing just as they had been all morning. The only difference was that in the last hour, it seemed that one species of bird had begun to sing much louder. The Sparrows.

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady 

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul 

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8 

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice 

@muscari-fae @lostgirllulu 

@abigfanofgameofthrones @smalltownbigheart 

@frombloodandflesh @supernaturalismyreligion666

@thanyatargaryen @rey26 @hexandale @pkawaiidesu5394 @aimsro

[lady-o-ren]

Just Between Lovers

Ao3 Link (Here)

There's going to be callbacks to earlier chapters (and a reference to the show Coupling that involves the number 3 that I couldn't shake). That's on purpose and not me being a super lazy writer. Although I am very forgetful 😅 Also the way this chapter begins is the way I first imagined this story and what made me want to write it.

And thank you to all you loyal readers and cheerleaders! I couldn't have done this without all of your immense support!

But please forgive for any mistakes and typos too. Google docs double saved some lines and I'm not entirely sure I spotted them all.

//

Chapter Eight

 My hands were shaking violently as I struggled to undress, desperate to get into the bath and burn the cold from my flesh and bones and drown out the world around me.

 But I was reluctant to bare myself completely for I wasn't entirely alone.

 Frank was watching me from the edge of the bathtub with unwavering, almost frightful attention, trying to figure out if I was in my right mind or not through the clouds of steam.  

 He thought I'd been attacked when I came staggering through the door home, seeing me mad-eyed and drenched to the bone with a red scrape down one side of my cheek and a fat lump above my brow.

 He had flown to my side, hands groping all over me without a care for gentleness, demanding what the hell had happened.

 My mouth had parted breathlessly as if I'd been slammed mercilessly in the gut before I finally gasped out a terrible sob realizing Frank wasn't some figment of my imagination. That he was as real as me. Which meant everything before had to have been a dream.

 Another stupid dream.

 "I can handle the rest from here," I assured Frank, crossing my arms awkwardly over my chest, as I shivered down to my toes. "Go on to bed. I'll - I'll be there shortly. "

 Frank made a dismissive sound as he gathered my clothes from off the floor, soaked with rainwater that pooled around my bare feet, and tossed them into the hamper.

 "I can't leave you alone, not with a bump that big. What if you have a concussion?"

 I went to check the water filling up the bathtub, trying to hold myself together and not fall apart in front of him again.

 "I don't have a concussion, Frank," I said, despite feeling every symptom cut me raw and to the bone. But I didn't have the strength to worry nor did I care. " I just took a bad fall. My own fault for running without paying attention."

 "Claire . . ." Frank came up behind me and laid a hand on my back that had me flinching away.  

 "I'm sorry," I apologized, and reluctantly turned to face him, unable to explain how his touch now felt like a strangers to me.

  How he wasn't the one I was dying inside for.

 Frank just shook his head but I could see how much my reaction troubled him by the tightening of his jaw that deepened the prominent lines around his mouth.

 "Don't be, Darling. I'm the one pestering you while you're shaking like a leaf. Go on and take a long hot soak while I make you a cup of tea and get something for that poor head of yours too. How does that sound?"

 I didn't want anything but I nodded anyway.

 "That sounds perfect," I said, giving Frank the most miserable attempt at a smile I could muster and pressed my palm to his smooth cheek.

 His face softened ever so slightly at the gesture and he kissed my hand with warm affection before closing the door behind him.

 Left alone, I finally broke down and collapsed against the side of the porcelain tub. My stifled cries slashed my throat raw and to the point I could barely breathe, trying to convince myself that he . . . he . . .

 My heart stopped dead, lifeless in my chest.

 I couldn't remember his name.

 Why couldn't I remember his name!

 It was there burning the tip of my tongue and I ached to speak it again.

 But the harder I tried to remember - tried to summon every detail of his face, the sound of his laugh - his joy - the way he made me feel when his heart spoke to mine - the faster he began to painfully slip away from mind and heart until all I had was a vague impression that there was something I'd forgotten.

 Something very precious . . .

 //

   Days passed by in a blur after that where I drifted from one moment to the next, not taking much notice of anything or anyone unless forced to, as I was overcome with a strange sense of loss and longing that I couldn't make sense of.

 Frank spent the rest of his time off watching over me with the patience of a much aggrieved saint, but did so at arms length. Afraid that he'd trigger me to tears or a splitting migraine which I was prone to now ever since that night I blacked out in the rain which only worried him more.

  Today, however, I guess he'd had enough.

 I was in the kitchen sitting by the window, wondering why my bowl of cereal was giving me a sharp stab of deja vu as I spooned it to glue, when I heard Frank's voice suddenly beside me.  

 "What were you saying?" I asked, glancing up at him apologetically.

 Frank sighed irritably (he must've called my name more than once) and took the seat opposite me.

 "I said that I'm taking an extended leave from work. I was already thinking about moving here anyway and I think now is as good a time as any to get things sorted between us before I hand in my notice."

 My spoon hit the side of the bowl with a hard clink as I stared at him, completely taken aback.

 "You mean to live here? With me?"

 "Maybe someplace larger, but yes," he said with some amusement as he pushed the bowl aside to grasp my hands. "I wanted to talk to you about it earlier but then you had that 'fall' of yours -" he eyed me speculatively, but continued on. "So I thought it better to wait. But that's been our problem hasn't it? We've been locked in this ridiculous stalemate waiting for the other to see reason and have only succeeded in driving each other further away. So if I'm the one that has to make the sacrifice and move then so be it. I miss you too much to keep away."

 If Frank was meaning to be romantic he was failing.

 "A sacrifice?" I repeated , jerking my hands from his. "You say it as if I'm the one who's been the problem."

 His eyes narrowed with surprising coldness at me.

  "You're the one that moved away, Claire. Not me."

 "For an opportunity that you agreed to! You promised that we could make it work but you've barely kept your end of it. I'm the one having to come to you more often than not."

 "And I'm keeping my promise now by giving you exactly what you've been wanting," he said with growing frustration.

 "And you? What do you want?"

 "Isn't that obvious? I'm moving here aren't I?"

 "Which you see as a sacrifice!"

 Frank groaned and leaned back into his chair, pinching the space between his eyes

 "You sound like a child, you know that? Arguing in circles and trying to pick a fight with me. "

 "What the hell does that mean?" I demanded.

 "You tell me." An angry flush crawled up Frank's throat and   darkened his eyes that glared at me. "You walk around here day after day as if your heart's been ripped out from your chest. I don't know if it's because you've lost a patient or - or -"

 I didn't justify filling in the accusatory blank for him and pushed myself away from the table.

 "I've been like this for months, Frank, and you're only just now bothering to give a damn about me?"

 "I could say the same about you," he shot back, and I felt something akin to a roar rip out of me that started a brutal back and forth over who was at fault for bringing misery to our relationship.

 Then there was a lull in our shouting and I found myself standing and grasping the kitchen counter for support, exhausted by the very idea of us.

 "I think you should go, Frank. Back to Oxfordshire before we hurt each other anymore."

 Frank looked at me with genuine alarm and grasped me by the arms. "You don't mean that, Claire."

 "I do," I said brokenly, and pushed his hands away. "And I'm sorry but . . ." I swallowed hard. "I can't do this anymore. All this heartbreak . . . it's killing me." It wasn't just him I was referring to. There was something wrong with me that had nothing to do with our relationship. " I just don't have anything left to give you anymore."

  "Claire . . ." He reached for me once more, his heart breaking before my eyes. But I took a step back.

 "Please, Frank." My throat tightened and my eyes began to burn. "Just go."

 After a long moment's pause, Frank reluctantly retreated to the bedroom to gather his things. But before he left, he pressed his hand to my shoulder and murmured something softly against my cheek that he sealed with a kiss goodbye.

 Maybe he had said I love you.

  I would never know.

 All I heard was a loving whisper by my ear that had me in tears.

 "It's not a sacrifice to be wi' ye."  

 //

   Frank of course didn't completely abandon me. He wasn't that much of a bastard.

 He was always calling me, wanting to know if I was eating and sleeping right, that I wasn't working myself to the bone (as I was prone to do in his opinion), and showering me with more attention now that we were on a break than he ever did when we were together which made me angrier than I was before.

 Geilie indulged me the best way she knew how.

 By celebrating as if I'd just been released from a twenty year prison sentence.

 We spent our days eating delicious trashy food and spending money on worthless trivial things and in-between she was my shoulder to cry on thinking my tears were for Frank. They were, but not entirely. What I truly grieved for still remained a mystery to me though I felt its presence in the painful, gaping hole that had formed in my heart and mind, pleading desperately for me to remember.

 I felt my chest throb just thinking about it as Geilie dragged me through the streets of Edinburgh like a mouse hunting for cheese.

 "Where are we going now, Geilie?" I asked her for the hundredth time.

  "Look ahead," she gestured with a cock of her head to where the last burst of sunlight caught on the lettering of a sign hanging above us.

       ~  T H E   W O R L D' S   E N D  ~  

   This was the pub that Frank, Geilie and I had been banned from after they both got nearly every person in the establishment into a glass and bone-breaking brawl.

 Frank ended up with a split lip, bruised rib and a puffy nose that I had to stuff with a tampon while Geilie nearly landed herself in jail and had never been more pissed when she was let go with only a stern warning.

 "We're not allowed in there, you know that," I said, but my friend tugged me in anyway.

 "Aye, but I sweet talked the owner last night. In bed. Would ye believe me if I said he had  three   fecking . . ."

 Once we were seated inside (and while Geilie entertained me about tripods over our free drinks) my eyes wandered around the pub that had been around before the days of Culloden, passing over one face to the next out of simple curiosity until one stranger in particular stole my breath away.

 He sat at the other end of the pub, broad-shouldered and straight backed, his face turned from mine, with vibrant red curls that I had only ever seen in the twilight hours of my bed, writhing in my sleep.

 "He's a big laddie that one," admired Geilie, following my line of sight. She drummed her fingers against her cheek nestled in her palm. "And redheided too," she winked.

 "I don't know what you mean," I lied and took a long drink from the cold pint between my hands.

 "Liar, liar, face on fire," Geilie cackled, kicking me teasingly under the table. "But ye're lucky the color suits ye, brings out that queenly gold in yer eyes, cause the laddie buck is coming this way and Christ, is he gorgeous. Definitely packing three big, bonnie -"

 I moved to clamp my hand over my friend's giggly, pervy mouth and she nearly fell out of her chair dodging me.

 "One of these days, Geilie!" I threatened even as I laughed.

 "Aye, aye, to the moon, I ken," Geilie said once she got herself upright and lifted her chin as an offering, laughing along with me until someone cleared their throat.

  I turned to a sight that made my heart take a soaring, joyful leap.

 The spirited blue of his eyes. The bold lines of his face. That sensitive, tender mouth. All familiar to me somehow!

 I think I even knew his -

 "Och, I'm sorry for interrupting," said the redheaded stranger looking shy. "But I saw ye there - I mean here. Sitting. And I thought - weel, ye looked just like -"

 "Jamie! You're Jamie aren't you?"

 I blurted, not knowing how I knew his name but felt like it had been secreted away somewhere inside me for this moment here and now to finally speak.

 "You remembered me?" He breathed with awestruck relief and passed a hand through his lovely curls setting them astray.

 "I didn't think ye would what wi' the blood and all and it being months ago now and wi' the punching and the kicking and -" He stopped himself from blabbering on with a shrug and bashful grin and for a moment we just stared at each other, lost in the others eyes.

 "So ye two ken each other?" Geilie was observing us with keen, curious eyes, glowing with something indistinct that surely must've belonged to that great, great grand witch she descended from.

 "Yes - I mean no. I mean -"

 Geilie took pity on me and directed her witching eyes on Jamie, his gaze having never wavered from me.

 "Why don't ye put yer tongue back in yer mouth foxcub and tell me how ye met my best lass?"

 Jamie sweetly blushed right to the tips of his ears peeking out from his thick mane of curls then pulled a chair from another table, hesitating for the slightest moment for permission, before moving it beside mine to tell the tale of how we came to know each other.  

 //  

 As it turned out I had met Jamie during the brawl at the pub nearly a year ago.

 I had been trying to get to my two idiots trapped in the middle of the rowdy crowd when some drunken sot staggered into me and knocked me down to the sticky floor. Before I could be trampled on however, a pair of strong hands had lifted me up from behind and pulled me away from the fray safely to the back where the exit door led to the alley outside.

 "Are ye a'right, lass?" Asked my rescuer, as he gently eased the curls from off my face to see if I were hurt. Just as I was about to answer, I glanced up and gasped at the sight of his face.

 Though the light was dim and threatened to go black with every flicker that somehow still attracted a ring of moths above us, I could see that the stranger had already experienced his bloody share of the fight. He had a spectacular knot on his brow the size of a small plum with a gash that cut across it and bruising that reached down to his eye, swollen shut.

 "I should be asking you that! What the hell happened?" I of course knew what happened, and carefully held his bloodied face between my two hands. The physician in me already claiming the poor lad mine to care for.

 "A bottle of Glenfiddich," he winced, skin hot to the touch, as I traced his injured features with my fingertips, feeling for bumps and breaks, right down to his chest where his shirt was spotted with blood and soaked with whisky. A damn waste of a cute Flaming Lips shirt.

 "The wee shiteheid who threw it got it twice as bad though. I think he's still flopping like a guppy on the floor somewhere."

 Seeing as he towered over me and was built like goddamn Thor, I bet the unfortunate fellow was halfway on his journey between heaven and hell and could only hope that it hadn't been Frank.

 "But dinna fash over me, lass. My heid is harder than a rock -" Which he tapped with his knuckles. " - and this lot is nothing compared to the wee savages I teach," he assured me before glancing warily over his shoulder.

 "You're going back in there aren't you?"

 He laid a big hand over mine stilled at his chest. "I'm afraid I have to."

 I yanked myself from his grasp with a sudden blood thirsty urge to punch this idiot on the nose.

 "You're all the same aren't you?! Bloody stupid men always needing to cockoff to a fight!" I shouted, fists clenched, thinking of Frank and his fucking pride.

 The lad's one good eye, a beautiful piercing blue, glimmered with humor that sparked a terrible thunder in me somewhere between rage and passion that had me shaking.

 "Any other day lass I'd like to argue wi' ye, ye look the type partial to a good bite," he smiled cheekily, making my heart's blood spike. "But I'm going back into that shitehole to get the Englishman before he's torn apart. He's yers isn't he?"

 My mouth parted wordlessly as I nodded, embarrassment coloring me ugly.

 "And I'm sure ye want him in one piece too if only to kill him yerself, am I right?" I nodded again. "So ye best meet us up front. But if ye dinna see me just holler for Jamie and I'll find ye, Sassenach. I promise ye."

 He then reached for me as if to caress my cheek but pulled back with regret plainly etched on his face, apparent even with the swelling. And I strangely felt something much the same as he left me with the warm whisper of his touch and the heady scent of whisky but most alluringly of balsam trees.  

 //

   "And then?" Geilie implored, looking excitedly between Jamie and I, likely imagining some great steamy love affair that I somehow kept from her.

 Jamie cast a sympathetic eye towards me knowing it hadn't been anything of the sort, having witnessed the fight that had erupted between Frank and I the second he was delivered to me, and left before I was able to thank him properly.

 "I brought back her man like I promised then went to see how my own lads had fared. And seeing as no one needed stitches we helped clean up the place a bit and earned ourselves a free pint after," he answered.

 "Aren't ye a boy scout," quipped Geilie, deflated with disappointment. "And you -" she bopped her chin at me." Why didn't ye tell me any of this?"

 I shrugged helplessly, having barely remembered much until that moment.

 "None of us were at our best that night, you know that especially -" my tongue stumbled on Frank's name and I hurried past it with a shake of my head. "So I tried my best to forget about it all."

  And so went my battered faced rescuer who became just another casualty of the night.

  Except now I was starting to realize with heart pounding clarity that I hadn't forgotten him at all. That Jamie was the one I had been dreaming about all this time.

 And somehow Geilie knew it too.

  "Oh, I think ye remembered plenty, lass," she smirked, and gave Jamie a wink. I groaned inwardly and kicked her under the table hoping violence would stop her from opening her big fat mouth.  

 But who was I kidding?

 The woman was the daughter of Lucifer and she kicked me right back.

 "I'm missing something aye?" Jamie tilted his head and lifted a ruddy brow at us.

 "No!"  

 "Yes!" Geilie grinned evilly. "This is kismet. Meant to be shite. Ye ken that right? I could puke my guts out right here on the both of ye but I think I'll go and talk up the bartender and leave ye two to talk."

 She was already on her feet when I tugged on her wrist.

 "Geilie, you can't -"

  She leaned down for only me to hear.

 "Forget about the professor, Claire. There's nothing for ye there. But this - Him -" she whispered with gentle encouragement before she pinched my side. "Ye're meant to fuck this bastard filthy."

 And off she went with a skip in her heels to the bar leaving me alone with a man I knew better naked than clothed.

 "What my friend said -" I began to say, smoothing my hair from my face.

 "About kismet and all that?" Jamie asked, tinged just as pink. "I have to admit when I saw ye here I thought the verra same and risked looking like a fool just to talk to ye, to see if maybe ye remembered me too."

 I glanced down to my fingers testing together in my lap.

 "I wouldn't think I was memorable enough to recall."

 He made a gruff sound that made me lift my eyes to his, looking at me as if I were mad.

 "How can ye say such a thing, mo nighean donn? You were so fierce and lovely that night. I haven't been able to forget how yer eyes burned like molten gold, the great thunderstorm of yer curls -" His big hands made a motion like an explosion that I wasn't sure I appreciated yet there was nothing but unbridled admiration beaming from his gaze, making my stomach flip.

  "Ye even had me wondering if ye gave yer man a black eye -" He paused, mouth twitching at the corner. "Did ye?"

 I fought back a grin and did a horrible job of it.

 "Very nearly. And you're terrible for asking." I shoved him playfully, making him laugh. A deep, hearty sound that sweetened his features. "But go on."

 He rubbed his shoulder in mock offense, continuing.

 "Aye, weel, it was only after that I realized I never asked for yer name and not a day passed that I didn't regret it. Until now that is - unless ye think me a fool and tell me to sod off, " he added jokingly, yet there was a hint of genuine worry in his tone that I would do just that.

 Instead, I brought my hand between us.

 "Claire Beauchamp," I smiled. "And no, I don't think you're a fool, Jamie -"

 "Fraser," he smiled back, looking at me as if he'd won some grand prize, and took my hand in his where a shockwave passed from his skin to mine, imparting a jumble of images through my mind of him, us, together, that went beyond any dream of ecstasy.

 It felt like a promise of a future yet to come.

 It should have sent me running, thinking myself mad just like I had that rainy day. Instead, for the first time in a month, I felt at peace.

 Like something infinite had finally clicked into place.

 "Did you feel that?" I breathed, feeling my body pulse with excitement.

 Jamie squeezed my hand, chest swelling beneath his shirt as if his own heart was fit to burst.

 "I felt it the very first time ye touched me, Claire."

 Just then my phone began buzzing where it laid on the table, making us both jump.

 "I'm sorry," I said , sounding flustered, and reluctantly reached for my phone where someone was calling me with the annoying persistence of a horsefly that needed to be swatted.

 Looking at the screen I saw it was Frank and felt an immediate twinge of guilt. There he was trying to get a hold of me, desperate to fix things between us, to prove himself to me. I had craved this type of attention from him before but now . . .

 I glanced back at Jamie. His eyes were on the screen, brows narrowed with recognition. I flipped it facedown.

 "We're not - We haven't been -"

 A small sad smile crossed his face, eyes filled with gentle understanding and the gray gloom of disappointment, as he asked me the only question that mattered.

 "Do ye want me to go?"

  "No," I breathed.

 His throat bobbed.

 "Want to talk about it - Him?"

 Jamie cocked his chin at my phone and I shook my head.

 "No."

 His ribs then expanded with eager breath and his fingers splayed on the table double tapped.

 "Weel then . . ." Jamie said, with a look of bright hope that mirrored my own as the tips of my fingers grazed his.

 "Well then . . ."

//

A/N: I have a long ass note on the ao3 link if you want a little insight into this chapter. Thank you again for reading!

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Chapter Ten: Thank You For The Venom Pt. 2

“Dorian, what exactly are you drawing now? Tell me it's not more brutal deaths of Freddy again this time around.” Lust asked, becoming both annoyed and concerned at the level of hatred Dorian was displaying.

 “No..though that would’ve been perfect for Freddy..” Dorian eerily responded as he finished the crayon drawing of Greed getting his top half being obliterated by a plasma beam of some kind.

 “Wait…is that supposed to be Greed? You should’ve added in his dumbass smirk in there for good measure.” Lust said, impressed with Dorian being able to draw Greed’s shoe pants relatively well. Giving the thumbs up, Dorian went to draw the smirk with his crayon. Lust just watched on as she sipped her afternoon tea when Envy and Dolly returned from their outing at the museum. It had taken them a while to pick out the right blackberry mead. It turned out trying to find the exact blend from nearly four hundred years ago was a challenge to say the least. Ultimately though, through sheer hardheadedness and intense craving, Envy managed to get that blend. That mead was held proudly in Envy’s grip like a war trophy as they shifted back to their preferred form after being out of the apartment for a good chunk of the day. Dolly, on the other hand, was absolutely surprised that Envy wasn’t feeling drunk after tasting so many different samples of blackberry mead. Lust gave Dolly a smirk as she saw the confused look on Dolly’s face, placing her tea down. “You realize that appearances aren't the only thing Envy can change, right?” Lust said in her smooth tone as Dolly took her seat.

 “What exactly do you mean?” Dolly asked, now wanting a bit more answers as Envy jumped in.

 “I like being in control of myself, so with alcohol, I simply just enlarge my liver or speed up my metabolism to avoid getting drunk.” Envy explained, putting the blackberry mead away into the fridge to chill for a while before it gets served.

 “That’s fair enough, drunkenness isn’t very pleasant for a lot of folk from what I understand.” Dolly said, accepting the fact Envy does commit unseen body horror to themself to maintain self control.

 Envy was relieved that the reason was accepted straight up and not being forced to explain why they hated being drunk. The upside of being with the younger homunculi was very much the fact they had never seen Envy drunk before, unlike Greed who saw it as a ‘whimsically funny’ story to recount or heaven forbid Danta spoke about it. It's almost amusing to think that most people believe that drunkenness is simply saying silly things or doing something trivial for laughs that a factor is often forgotten, the loss of muscle control. Envy hid chuckle at the little overseen fact, best to let the others think it's just the former rather than the gruesome latter. The drawing Dorian made caught Envy’s eyes as an eyebrow raised a bit. “Is that supposed to be Greed?” Envy asked, impressed that the shoe pants legs were done pretty well in crayon. “Yes, he even has the shit eating smirk too..” Dorian replied, proud of his rather violent piece of art.

 “If I give you some photos of some certain people, think you can make drawings of them with the dumbest possible faces possible? I’ve been needing some things to throw darts at.” Envy asked when the apartment started to shake.

 Without having to think much, everyone, Dolly having to pick up Dorian, ducked under the table to let the tremor pass by. Envy and Lust looked at each other with widened eyes as they both knew where that tremor came from. It simply had to be the underground city, their home, there was no other explanation for it. It lasted about a minute or two when the tremor from down below ceased and Envy made a dash for the phone to call up Sloth to figure out what the hell just happened. Lust was checking over Gluttony as Dolly slowly got up from under the table with Dorian. The line picked up with Sloth on the other end, still having that lifeless zombie like tone. “I see you’ve noticed the tremor too.” Sloth stated, expecting this call to happen the moment Dante set off on her quest to reinforce the city down below. “You could say that, now, what exactly happened to the underground city?” Envy asked, trying their damndest to keep their temper down.

 “I suppose you didn’t know, there was an explosion in Dublith and Dante made a rash decision to reinforce the underground. I’m not exactly sure what she reinforced the underground with just yet though.” Sloth plainly said, not once getting worried about what the living conditions will be like just yet for the underground. “So you’re telling me to go see it for myself? Thanks for being so useful there Sloth.” Envy snarled as they slammed the phone on the receiver.

 “Envy, what the hell happened?” Lust asked, now that she was done checking over Gluttony and ready to focus on the bigger picture. “Well Lust, Pride’s little ego hunt has caused Dante to panic and transmute the entire underground. We're going to have to check on it right now.” Envy said with anger in their tone. “That’s not going to work, one of us has to be here to do the afternoon check in on the target and ready him for pick up tomorrow.” Lust explained, becoming fazed and annoyed with the rollercoaster this job has been. “I need backup in case the underground is unstable seeing as she went out of her way to transmute an entire underground city.” Envy defended their plan, especially since they’ll all have to go back down there eventually.

 “If it's really that big of a deal, maybe I could go with you and let Lust take care of Freddy.” Dolly said, mainly because she was curious what this underground hellcity looks like.

 “Dolly, really, it’s alright, it can wait.” Lust said, hoping Envy won’t be stupid enough to let the eldritch being get close to a death fearing monster. “That sounds like a deal, Lust, we’ll be back later.” Envy said, not really thinking at this point. “But what about Dante!?” Lust responded, now having to put her foot down. “Shit…I’m going to call Sloth again to check.” Envy said as they went right back to the phone to call up Sloth again. “I almost forgot about the wretched creature, thanks for the reminder Lust.” Dolly hummed, having forgotten her brief encounter with the human hermit crab after witnessing the massive mead tasting Envy did.

 Envy held a finger up to silence everyone in the room as they waited for Sloth to pick up. As per usual with Sloth, she took her time forcing Envy to wait until the line was picked up. Flustered from being placed on the wait, Envy tried to stay calm with the use of rather violent mental images.

 “Is everything alright? You’ve called back a whole lot sooner than I’d thought.” Sloth asked, failing miserably in sounding concerned.

 “Yes, I just needed to know if Dante is still down there.” Envy explained, not thrilled with having to speak again with a humanoid doll.

 “I see you’re still avoiding your mother, but no, she’s still down there. I do, however, think you should see her, Dante is afterall preparing to make a new Pride.” Sloth unemotionally chidded before dropping the news of a new Pride. “Wait, you’re lying, right? Dante wouldn’t do something that brash, it’s way too soon to consider making a new Pride and does she even have a candidate?!” Envy yelled in shock before asking in a fast manner.

 “Sad to say, but our current Pride has rubbed Dante the wrong way today. So his termination notice will be arriving any time during the following two to three months. I am also surprised that you don’t know who the candidate is considering you were the one to kill him not too long ago.” Sloth said, feeling no amount of pity or worry for her other employer, figuring Dante will just make her work under the new Pride instead.

 “Dante and I had a deal that she wouldn’t make a homunculus based after targets I had to terminate. She knows damn well that’s going to cause fights, what is Dante even thinking at this point!?” Envy snarled over the phone, hating how conceited Sloth was turning out to be.

 “I truly don’t care either way, I am afterall not paid enough to give any sort of concerns at this point. So long as Dante fulfills her promise to make me human, then I have nothing really to argue about.” Sloth simply said as the sound of the elevator could be heard in the background, likely Dante returning from her homemade hell down below.

 Having to bite their tongue on telling Sloth the truth, Envy slammed the phone back on the receiver, Lust looking rather concerned at the aftermath of the interaction. Likewise, Dolly was just as concerned about the latest development along with the juicy nugget of information about how homunculus are made. Dorian, on the other hand, went to draw an appallingly hideous portrait of Sloth, handing it to Envy. With a sigh, Envy accepted the disaster portrait of Sloth to throw darts at later on. “You’re the only good thing that Freddy has made.” Envy commented as Dorian blank faced patted Envy on the back.

 “Is Dante seriously considering making a new Pride on such short notice?” Lust asked, not liking where this trainwreck was going.

 “She is and she’s using Hughe Maes for it. The asshole wouldn’t even have the normal ten year training time either, Dante is determined to execute that stupid humanoid doll within a month or two.” Envy groaned as they face planted into the table.

 “That is going to cause a mess for all of us….what exactly did Pride do to get that reaction!?” Lust was ready to leave the apartment to confront Dante herself, before her attention turned to Gluttony. “Oh, that’s because we just lost Lior.” Gluttony spoke up innocently after listening into the conversation. “Gluttony…what do you mean we lost Lior?” Lust was now panicked seeing as Lior was their key location. “The radio said so, Pride’s wife is pulling troops out and trials are being held soon.” Gluttony explained, pointing to the radio, Lust nearly dropping her cup of tea. “That’ll do, that would certainly do the trick in getting Pride executed so soon.” Envy admitted, getting up from the table and motioning for Dolly to follow.  

 Picking up Dorian and getting him into her backpack, Dolly got ready to follow Envy out of the apartment to see the underground horror show. Lust did feel a little relieved that she didn’t have to watch over Dorian once again, but at the same time was considering just leaving Dante seeing as this whole plan is going up in smoke. On the other hand, Dolly was mentally debating with herself over the implications that were spoken over on the phone. Were the homunculi really based on dead people or were they like some sort of weird, rock eating vampires from being resurrected by alchemy? There was one thought alone that stung the most when it first appeared, was Envy someone she once knew. Clearly, Envy couldn’t be William, right? Deep in the back of Dolly’s mind, however, there was the chance that Envy could be William, they can, afterall, shapeshift. “Hey, earth to the Parfait Haired Pipsqueak! CAN YOU HEAR ME!?” Envy raised their voice, snapping Dolly back into reality and right in front of the stairway to the sewers. 

 “Yep, sorry, I must have been thinking a bit too hard.” Dolly said, a bit embarrassed she zoned out like that again. “Whatever, look, you’re going to have to focus while we travel for the elevator. The elevator is a bit well hidden, so it’s very easy to miss if you’re an absolute disaster of a homunculus.” Envy explained as they led Dolly back down into the sewer.

 The rats of the sewers clearly were glad to see the odd duo with their horrid clay monster as they scurried once again past their feet. Running a hand along the sludge like sewer wall, Envy felt along to find the button to open up the elevator. Dolly couldn’t help but wince at Envy as they had to touch the disgusting interior with a plethora of diseases marinating from the collected wastes. For Envy, however, they would likely just cut that hand off after this check up on the underground. An audible click-like sound could be heard as the wall of the sewer started to split apart and revealed the elevator to the underground city. Wasting no time, Envy motioned for Dolly to get into the elevator before following her in as the doors closed to the descent. The creaks and moans of the elevator were concerning to say the very least as Dolly, Envy, and Dorian stood. Carefully, Dolly looked over to Envy, deciding to break the silence in hopes of drowning out the unnerving sound.

 “Are there any rules in regards to the underground city?” Dolly asked rather than ask the real question that was on her mind.

 “Not really other than no fighting in the living quarters unless we’ve been breached. Though, I can’t guarantee that one will remain as the only rule until I can get a good look at the underground.” Envy said, eyes narrowing a bit at the idea of possible more rules to be added underground.

 “Look, you made a face earlier while I was on the phone. Just understand that killing off certain humans is simply just part of the job, sometimes our fellow homunculi if enough rules are broken.” Envy added, feeling now was a good time to have this chat. “It wasn’t that, even though that part about killing being a requirement is concerning. How exactly do you feel about that policy?” Dolly responded, already having the idea they were on the murder happy side of things with Gluttony being a convenient body disposal method. 

 “Would you ask a farmer how they felt after having to kill a chicken for meat?” Envy asked in return, figuring using Dolly’s own terminology skills to get the point through. “Okay, that’s fair enough, but are you honoring the kill?” Dolly the flesh-eating eldritch being responded.

 “I’ll need to explain that a bit more.” Envy raised an eyebrow once again, Dolly at this point proving to be a little curve ball when it came to conversations. “Well, are you using everything from the body like eating the meat or using the bones for weapons?” Dolly said, hoping that would explain things better. “Congratulations, I’m now going to try my hand at human bone weapons. Now, what exactly was on your mind?” Envy proceeded to ask, their reptile eyes right on Dolly. “Well..you said that the homunculi were based on people who have passed. Did I know you beforehand? You knew a line that someone had once said in a conversation from a long time ago.” Dolly finally spilled, a bit anxious about what the answer would be. “I don’t know, I do like to play a bit, especially if I’m bored.” Envy danced around the question, feeling a bit in the mood for a mind game. “Bored you say? Well, I suppose I can tell you a story in exchange for an answer.” Dolly said, making eye contact with Envy. “Not another ghost story, that one lost my interest.” Envy stated, though they did enjoy seeing Lust being unnerved by it. “No, not a ghost story, a story from my past. Perhaps you might like to hear it.” Dolly explained, having a bit of an idea in her mind.

 “Interesting, now why exactly would you propose that?” Envy asked, an eyebrow raised as they watched for a response. “Well, you did share a bit of your past with me earlier in the museum, it’s only polite if I did the same. Perhaps this could be something to trade as a way to relieve some boredom as you’ve put it.” Dolly explained, hoping this would work and get her some answers.

 “Interesting, I’ll take you up on it, but, if you mention anything of my past to anyone, I’ll unleash a horrible plague in your hometown.” Envy shrugged as if it was really nothing.

 “And let me guess, you’ll name it after me too for good measures?” Dolly casually snarked a bit.

 “Well of course! I simply have to make sure it’ll be something to haunt you for a long time. Now, enough stalling, share the story.” Envy had quipped right back, clearly they were the most relaxed in this hellevator.

 Dolly smiled a bit as she pieced together a story that’ll likely get Envy’s attention and sure enough, there was one from recent times that would be of use to her at that moment. It was quiet for the time being, mainly Dolly wanting to tug Envy’s chains a bit. Dolly waited a bit for Envy to get impatient before smiling and starting the story finally.

[georgiaheartsdilfs]

→ you're distracting (part 2) klaus m x f!reader

part one: her instead of me tagged: @the-big-bad-klaus @secretdreamlandmentality @multifandom-boss-bitchmy masterlist ↪M A S T E R L I S T

prompt ↪ You're human, living in the world of supernatural beings wasn't a new concept to you but the idea of falling in love with one was. You had been Klaus's friend for a good bit of a year or two, in that time you had fallen in love with him. You always saw him with Cami, some even said that they were in love so, being the good friend you are you decided to keep your love for him a secret... until Cami rubbed it in your face. warnings / other notes ↪ Camille O'Connell Slander <3 ↪ when the call come to the story you are in red italics, klaus is in black italic ↪swearing and angry stuff ↪ on the phone you are red italics, other person is black italics I dug myself a grave, each word deepening his frown before I walked out. No one would escape him like I could, no one could escape him like I could, without consequence. Luckily my apartment was a place he couldn't enter without my permission, my life was based on pure luck. Pure luck that he wouldn't bite me, pure luck that he wouldn't go spastic on me. As the next day hit, the sun blaring in the face, the voices of the citizens as they greet their neighbours hello. Hopping out of my bed, pushing any loose strand of hair out of my face, I walk over to my balcony door swinging them open to reveal The Mikaelson meeting happing across the pond. Watching their lips move, words coming out. All of them standing around, Hayley giving Klaus the look of disapproval whilst Elijah stands behind her with no emotion, Rebekah and Marcel shaking their heads, Freya doing the same. Klaus, being Klaus, explaining his elaborate scheme that he would go through with despite everyone's opinions. Then Camille, walking into the room only to notice that level of knowledge in the room. Looking around she leaves, the look on Elijah's face as he watches Camille leave.

As the morning continues, I move walking over to my bathroom. The Mikaelson meeting started getting violent which was something I had seen a million times, it's not something I liked to see but it just happens. Turning the shower on, the water falling out of the shower head I step inside. Closing the glass door, the water falling onto my body, rolling off like repellent. All my thoughts were focused on two things, Camille and Klaus. Camille kissing Klaus. Camille holding Klaus. Camille comforting Klaus. All things I could do without having to date him, yet she had to date him in order for it to work. The relationship was the only reason the world liked Camille, the relationship and the fact she can serve booze. The thought of him waking up to her, seeing her face as her eyes fluttered making his heart go wild. I could do that to any man that spoke to me, yet I didn't, I only wanted him. That's it, I will see him today, like I said.

Storming out of my apartment, throwing my coat over the shirt that he had given me once to keep me safe. My phone vibrates in my pocket as I huff placing my keys in the keyhole of my door making sure it's locked. "shut up" I mumble pulling the phone out to answer it. hello? yes, y/n, it seems like you've done a number on my brother i was wondering if we were to expect you today? what? i mean yeah i was just on my way over. splendid bye bye Well that was an unexpected call, Elijah seemed concerned. What does he mean I've done a number on Klaus? Walking out to the footpath, the cars were driving past like crazy. There were a few chances to run past... if i were a vampire. Finally making it across, I see Marcel speaking to Elijah and Rebekah. They all seemed pissed off "hey originals and marcel" I wave making them all turn their heads to face me. All with angry looks on their faces, Elijah sighs "y/n, you've made it." he says sort of relieved "yeah there was traffic." I point back at the road "you need to have a word with Nik." Rebekah cuts me off "oh?" I say puzzled. "Whatever you said to him last night, he's refusing to leave this house." Marcel says as I look between the three of them "how do you know it's my fault?" I ask, I don't see how my words could affect the great Klaus Mikaelson. "He just repeats your name, Camille came towards him today-" Elijah stops to take a step closer "he didn't look at her, he just said you're name it's just odd" he continues and I nod "I suppose I need to undo what I did?" I mumble. My arms crossed they all nod eagerly "he has to go out to get a medallion soon, he can't do so if his mind is on you." Rebekah says in the kindest way she could, obviously it didn't sound like that. Stomping away "I didn't feel like talking to him today, but when three of the strongest vampires kinda say i have to" I mumble walking slowly up the steps "i suppose I have to" I huff reaching the top "where is he?" I look down to him and they all point towards their foyer. Opening the door to the foyer I see Klaus on his chair, contemplating his recent life choices, or so I like to think. I stand in front of him and every emotion on his face had disappeared, with a swift cock of the eyebrow emanating his 'power' and his confidence "save it" I mumble putting my hand up, the cockiness fading on his face. "I was coming to visit you today, maybe later you know like i said. Until Elijah calls me saying I did a number on you." I say in a sassy tone as he opens his mouth "you did not do a number on me" he says rolling his eyes. "the repetition of my name says otherwise, I didn't know what you were saying but I did see it from my balcony." hands on my hips looking at him and he looks away, his tongue rubbing along the inside of his cheek. "what?" I say as the look on his face gets cocky again "you leave me and my thoughts all night" he says "what klaus mikaelson doesn't think?" I ask him blocking the view of my apartment from his chair. "i broke it off with Camille" he says catching me off guard "and what? what's that mean?" I ask him "you, you're distracting you know." he says pointing at me and I nod rolling my eyes. I raise my shoulders, what was I suppose to do with that information? "yeah i get that a lot?" I shrug "so what?" I continue, he just ended a relationship because i was distracting? that's ridiculous. "no one has ever made me question what I've felt for someone before y/n. no one, and then you come along and then i don't know if i like you or i love you." he mumbles standing up "about last night, it was stupid and sure distracting or whatever but you didn't have to end things with Cami." I say to him. "then why did you tell me all those things love" he said getting closer to me "because i was angry, i thought you'd understand that i had to let something out." I say saving myself from the already dug grave. "yet you'd know i'd do anything for you." he says intimidating me "i mean y-no, i don't know about that." I say jumbling up my words. "you did, that's why you told me to come

back." he says placing a hand on my cheek. My face starts to flare up, his thumb gliding across my cheek. "i do love you, you know." he whispers "i didn't say anything about love, Niklaus" I say, whenever I called him Niklaus I was nervous, anxious even. I was finally the closest I have ever been to his lips, they were so close I could kiss him. That isn't me. Yet my every instinct is telling me to do it. "I can tell, your heart is beating differently than it usually does, it's faster, more bold if it makes sense." he whispers not removing his hand, my heart was going 105mph if that was even possible. "love is something that takes years" I say trying to smoothen the curve "i'm a thousand years old, y/n, i think i know when people are in love." he chuckles. "but Cami-" "Camille knew what she was getting herself into, it was all a perfectly placed plan." he smile sweetly "so the whole rubbing it in thing?" I ask him, it didn't quite make sense. I'm so sure Camille was in love with him, as he was her. "i told her to do it, I wasn't quite sure at first, of your feelings." he smiles removing his hand as I quickly grab it putting it back and he chuckles lightly. "you love me? and you planned this?" I ask him and he nods "just the way you like me, all plans, all thought." he says getting closer "all smirks and cockiness with you isn't it?" I ask "all questions with you." he responds. Screw it, I lean in kissing him. He places his other hand on my cheek, holding me safely, he kissed back immediately. The moment I had been waiting months for was finally happening. We pull apart and I look at him with wide eyes "wait" I say wide-eyed and he gives me a confused look "if we get married..." I pause pointing at him savouring the taste of him on my lips. "i'd be hope's step mother." I say excited "I thought you'd like the fact that you'd be my wife more..." he says laughing "thats fine too" I laugh.

[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!

[beyondspaceandstars]

The Sleeping Situation

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: minor mentions of blood, minor (non-descriptive) violence Summary: You finally convince Bucky to sleep with you in the bed, as opposed to the floor, but you find it doesn't exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would, leading to some taunting emotions and revelations. A/N: This one went over pretty well on ao3 so fingers-crossed y’all enjoy too! idk how different audiences are - i just like sharing my work :)

Masterlist

You had finally convinced him. After weeks of hints and attempting, he had finally placed himself beneath the duvet, snuggled up right next to your body. 
It was something close to a miracle. Bucky had been sleeping on the floor for as long as you could remember. It had become really something you accepted — like clockwork, after watching a show or movie in the bed, he’d let you doze off then untangle himself to go to the living room.

When you first moved in, he didn’t think you really noticed. He’d always be up before you anyways, nothing seeming out of place but as if you possessed some sixth sense, you could always feel Bucky’s arms leave your waist as he went to retire in the living room.

During attempts at bringing up the bed, Bucky would dismiss it, saying he just hated how soft it was. He couldn’t get comfortable. He wasn’t used to it at all. And while you didn’t doubt this for a second, you still felt something deeper worries had been brewing.

You had decided to start small by having Bucky stay cuddling after your nightly movie viewing. You two would lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, mindlessly talking about whatever was going on with your days. He seemed at peace with this until your eyes started drooping. Within seconds, the grip on your waist would vanish and he was heading out.

It was fine, though, since you had your moment together and he had found some way to relax in the bed. While you never wanted to push him, you wanted him at least content.

The next level was napping. After work, nearly every day, you’d announce you were laying down for a nap and ask Bucky if he was tired. Usually, he’d just shake his head. But one day he looked absolutely spent and wordlessly followed you into the room. A thrown arm around you loosely, he was able to get some shut-eye…for about 15 minutes. Soon he was uncomfortable and placing a kiss on your cheek, following it with a recoil of his touch. Still, you were taking the win and slowly but surely, the time spent napping would go up. Days bast but eventually he was up to an hour in the bed, napping peacefully.

When he finally decided to take the step to join you for a full eight hours in the queen-sized bed, you were quite shocked but easily overwhelmed with joy.

The movie had just ended and you were closing the laptop when Bucky left the bed. You frowned, watching his figure disappear to the bathroom, worried he was already backing out before cuddles and pillow talk. But you didn’t say anything and instead got comfortable on your side (well — the whole thing could’ve been your side at this point).

As you drifted off, a heavy arm snaked its way around you as you felt the other side of the bed dip. Blinking your eyes opened, you looked over your shoulder and was greeted by a nervous-looking Bucky staring back at you.

You turned to face him and asked, "Everything okay, honey?"

He nodded, "I- I’m going to try- try sleeping here if that’s okay."

Your eyes beamed as a smile you couldn’t suppress made its way to your face. "Of course," you said and placed a good night kiss on his lips. "Sleep well."

"You too, doll," Bucky mumbled and placed another kiss on your forehead. You curled up into him, feeling that he got more relaxed and his heartbeat went steady, drifting off to sleep.

***

Shaking. You were disrupted by something…shaking. Violently. Your first thought as you blinked, waking yourself out of your dazed sleep, was that a spontaneous earthquake was happening.

Except once your mind adjusted, it didn’t take very long to realize the mattress was the only thing shaking — and was the result of Bucky twisting and turning in fear next to you, lost in a nightmare. At some point, he must’ve untangled your cuddling bodies but thankfully that allowed you to sit up quickly, not trapped under whatever was happening.

You watched him, quite stunned to see Bucky thrashing around uncontrollably as whatever images and scenarios took over his brain. You didn’t really know what to do. All your brain could focus on was getting him out of his own thought. You needed him to calm down and know he was perfectly safe.

"Bucky?" You mumbled, your voice scratchy from the tears and fears creeping up. He didn’t react, only whispered some words to himself that you didn’t understand.

You hesitantly reached out for him, placing an experimental touch on his shoulder. He didn’t react at first so you called out his name again and tried shaking him. That was apparently not the right move because the next thing you knew, you were being flung off the bed, the side of your face against your bedside table on your way down. You landed ungracefully on your side, groaning at the unexpected pain.

The fall must’ve been loud enough because the next thing you could comprehend was watching the bed and seeing a very confused and dazed Bucky sit up. He was looking around the dark room, sweaty and anxious. When your eyes met, any color left in him faded. You could practically see the gears turning as he realized what he had done. You on the other hand were still quite surprised by the incident, simply choosing to stare at your boyfriend, watching him scramble off the bed and kneel at your side.

"Doll?" Bucky asked right beside you but his voice sounded so far away.

Taking some deep breaths, your shaky hand came up to your cheek as you felt something wet. Looking at your fingers, it was a sad mix of tears and blood.

A hand being placed on your shoulder made you snap back. You jerked away, turning towards your boyfriend. Bucky was practically frozen watching you, hands in the air, as you rushed to put space between you two.

Realizing the consequences of your actions, your heart sunk and you began apologizing. "Sorry, sorry," you mumbled, trying to furiously wipe away the tears and blood. "I- What happened? Are you okay?" You situated yourself to sit criss-cross in front of him.

"Am I okay?" Bucky shook his head in disbelief. "Are you okay? I- I’m sorry. God, I don’t even know how to apologize for this I am- I am so sorry, doll, I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t me, I swear, it- I had a nightmare and I just- I don’t know what happened." He was rambling, body shaking as he didn’t know what to do. Where to begin. How to explain. His mind was torn as a part of him wanted to hold you… And the other part wanted to leave you forever, utterly terrified of himself.

"Yeah, you seemed a bit upset," you mumbled, trying to hold your hand to your scraped cheek. Bucky saw your struggle and darted to the bathroom to get a washcloth, offering all he could as his words were failing. He handed it to you then took his seat again on the floor.

You dabbed your skin, checking the cloth as the bleeding slowed down. You weren’t sure what to say, either.

"I didn’t know what to do," you finally whispered, looking down at the carpet beneath you. "You were shaking and tossing and- and I just wanted you to wake up. To know you were fine. You seemed so scared-,"

"Alright, alright," Bucky mumbled, cutting you off as he saw you beginning to get worked up. Your body was shaking now as you recalled the last few minutes. The pure suddenness and terror that took over the room. He placed an experimental touch on your knee and, thankfully, you didn’t jump away. "You were fine, doll. This isn’t your fault. I- I knew I wasn’t ready to sleep with anyone and I got ahead of myself and now… Look what happened. God, what have I done?"

His jaw clenched as he spat out the words. You jumped slightly.

"Bucky, you didn’t mean to-,"

"But I did it," he said. "I hurt you and now I think maybe this just isn’t…" He faded off, his hand leaving your knee. He turned towards the bed as you tried searching him for anything, any answer.

"James, don’t." You shook your head. Bucky’s head whipped back to you as he heard the anger, the seriousness, in your voice. "Don’t say whatever you’re going to say. Let’s just go back to sleep and we can figure stuff out in the morning."

Bucky bit his tongue. He just nodded at your request, seriously not trusting his words anymore. He had half the mind to walk out, disappear into the world without you, all in the name of keeping you safe. And like the mind-reader you could be, you knew it. You saw it in his entire demeanor. He was practically planning an escape route at that very moment.

You two finally stood up from the floor. After disregarding the washcloth, you found your way back under the duvet. Bucky wordlessly gathered a blanket and left for the living room, knowing very well this bed was going to be the last place he fell asleep for a long time.

"Bucky," you called out as you were turned away from him. He stopped in the doorway. "To talk in the morning you have to actually be here."

He didn’t respond and instead just nodded his head as if you could see it. Then he promptly exited the room.

While the bleeding had stopped, the tears weren’t as you only heard the sound of Bucky walking to the living room.

***

Bucky was there in the morning and you talked — you. Only you could formulate words as difficult as it was while Bucky sat across from you. The guilt, shame, the exhaustion, all of it was painted on his normally sweet face.

You had told him you were fine, were feeling better. You were going to be okay. You understood the bed situation and wouldn’t pressure him into sleeping anywhere he was uncomfortable. You just desperately wanted him to be okay, to feel safe and happy in this space with you. Bucky just nodded along as you began attempting to write out a plan in case that had happened again. Nothing seemed to bring a true conclusion but there was at least the idea that there’d be no more touching of either person in their sleep, at least for the time being. It crushed you both, but neither of you commented.

He didn’t really offer much input besides agreeing with your points. Every other word out of his mouth was "sorry" so much so to the point you had to beg him to stop it.

He mostly just listened which you generally would enjoy from any man but in this case, you knew it gave his brain time to wander. Probably still planning how he would get himself out of his. But you didn’t want him gone. He was practically the perfect significant other in every sense. No one had ever treated you with such kindness and respect. Showered you with romance and kisses. Surprised you with date nights and flowers. You were just at a bump in the road and you didn’t want to get stuck behind it so easily.

Few days had passed and stuff seemed to be edging back towards normal. He had begun even holding your hand again, just a gentle touch to work his way up, reminding you greatly of when you first started dating, but you were welcoming it all with great patience.

You were standing at the kitchen counter cutting up vegetables for dinner when Bucky came home. He had a therapy appointment that day and usually emotions could be all over the place when he came home. Some days were good, some days everything would get under his skin.

Today, though, he seemed just… fine. He came in quietly and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before grabbing a beer from the fridge. He asked if you needed any help and when you shook your head, he went over to sit on the couch, watching whatever reality show you had mindlessly playing.

Moments passed and you had just begun sautéing the cut-up veggies when Bucky spoke, cutting through the silence quite surprisingly.

"I told her what happened," Bucky said softly. You froze, eyes trained on the skillet in front of you. His therapist. He had told her.

"Oh?" You asked, silently cringing at your stupid response. Neither of you had exactly brought up the incident since that morning after. And if anyone was going to resurface it, you had assumed it’d be you, so hear him so casual was making your heart pound.

"Mhm," he hummed. "I told her my first reaction was to leave."

"Bucky-,"

Footsteps started towards you, stopping at the little kitchen bar. You could feel him watching you as you tried focusing on the cooking produce. Your breath started to get caught in your throat, so much worry and concern washing over you.

"She wanted you to come in one session," Bucky tapped his fingers on the counter. "So we can talk."

You frowned and finally turned towards him. Worry was splashed everywhere on his face. Your heart practically sobbed. "Bucky, we did talk about it."

He shook his head profusely. "No, you talked," A beat. "I stood there like a statue, thinking of ways to leave you. Ways to get out of this so I’d never had to see that scared, upset look on your face ever again. So I’d never have to cause you any more pain than I already have. But I’ve come to realize I can’t do that because I love you too much and I- I can’t run away from you or anything. I’m going to try… No, I will make it right."

Your heart sank at his confessions. He loved you — a word he had never explicitly said before. A four-letter word he had never stood there and outwardly said. You let out a light sob and went around the kitchen counter, throwing your arms around his neck. He was shocked at first, maybe even a bit unsure, but you weren’t letting go, he realized, until he held you back.

"I love you, too," you eventually mumbled between the tears. You pulled away slightly, keeping your hands on his arms while his hands rested comfortably at your waist. Just feeling his touch had you melting all over again. "We’re going to be okay, Buck. It’s going to be fine."

He nodded, his eyes searching over your face as the scrape on your cheek was just still barely visible. It was going away fast but he didn’t think he could ever unsee it. "You’re right, doll, we’ll be okay. I’m working on it."

You gave a small smile. "You can’t be perfect, Bucky."

"Maybe not," Bucky shrugged as his hand found its way to your face, caressing your unharmed cheek. "But I at least gotta try to be perfect for you."

You sighed, leaning into the loving touch. Looking in his eyes you could kind of see that it truly was going to be okay. He looked so passionate and dedicated when he stared at you like you were it in the world. The only thing there. It made your soul sing and you hoped he saw it in you, too. "You are, honey. You already are."

[cursed-domain]

Experiments

Mahito x Reader, WC ~3.9k

Mahito’s been testing out his powers for a while now. He wants to do something different with his latest victim. Something a little more... human.

warnings: NSFW and Dark Content - NONCON if that is not your thing do not read any farther. You have been warned. Also fear, tears, kidnapping, possessiveness, oral sex, biting, slapping and uh. Mahito. I think he deserves a warning of his own.

You stayed out just a little too late last night. And you walked home alone. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that was a bad idea, but - the bar was right down the street from your apartment building, and your friends were - well, they were scattered, and they were hard to find, and you were sure that you could walk straight if you only tried. Your heels were only a couple inches high. 

Maybe you’d somehow fallen right down a drain in the sidewalk last night. Maybe it was too dark to notice, and you were more tipsy than you thought. But that theory doesn’t fit with your last memory aboveground. It doesn’t explain the presence you felt behind you, the feeling that something heavy and hateful had manifested right over your shoulder. 

Most importantly, there are no scratches or scrapes anywhere on your body. You can’t have fallen. You were brought here. Hidden away beneath the street into a tunnel you had no idea existed. And your host has been kind enough to keep you in perfect condition. You’re not even dirty from where you’ve clearly been crumpled on the floor - somehow, the stone corridor is perfectly clean.

As you sit up, all these thoughts run through your head in a matter of seconds. Your shell-shocked stream of consciousness doesn’t give way to panic until a hand from behind you lands on your shoulder. Its owner doesn’t even let you scream - he claps his other hand over your mouth before you have the chance to open it, and leans down so that you feel his hot breath in your ear. “Boo.” 

You strain against his hand when you hear his voice. It doesn’t sound - well, you’re not quite sure what you expected a kidnapper to sound like. Maybe a lower voice. Certainly a sinister one. But he just sounds excited and mischievous, like a child who’s gotten away with a prank. So lighthearted in what is, for you, such a dire situation - it sends a shiver up your spine to imagine his grin.

You don’t have to imagine for long. His hand slinks from your shoulder up your neck, taking root in your hair and yanking your head back so you’re forced to look up. It is dim in the tunnel, but you see his face clearly. You register, in a far-off place in your mind, that it is pretty, almost feminine. Your impression is that his face is far too fine compared to the coarseness of his mouth and his hands, even with the strange scars stitching their way across the unnaturally smooth skin.  

“Don’t look so terrified. Or do. I kinda like it.” Your eyes stretch even wider. “Yeah - I really like it, actually. Stay just like that.” When he speaks for longer, you notice the eerie quality of the cavern - the way it causes sounds to echo and reverberate down its walls. Farther down, you hear the drip-drip-drip of dirty water hitting the floor. But here - not even a drop. It’s as if the space has been cleared of its usual filth, just for you. “Okay,” he says, “I actually wanna hear you, too.” He doesn’t wait for a response before taking his hand from your mouth and letting go of your hair. 

Your heels - they must have fallen off. Or he took them off. In any case - you can run. You know it’s pointless as soon as you stand up. You know even the time you take to rise to your feet is enough for him to grab onto you again. But you have to try. So you do. You’re surprised to get any distance at all. You’re shocked to have made it ten paces - twenty - thirty. Even sprinting with the adrenaline-spiked speed of someone who fears for her life, this shouldn’t be possible. But you find yourself starting to hope. You’re fast, and maybe he was caught off guard. Maybe, just maybe, you can make it to the light you see shining at the mouth of the tunnel. It’s not that far away. And once you’re out there, on the street, he won’t be able to do anything. You’ll make it home and forget this ever happened. Even now, you’re wondering if it’s all a dream. If you’re going to wake up once you hit that light - closer now, so close - snug in your bed, wondering how you managed to make it home last night but relieved that you did. Yes. That has to be it. This isn’t real, and you’re going to escape it so, so soon -

A rush of cold air streaks past you, and your captor appears in front of you, grinning as he blocks your path. You try to step to the side, but he’s already there. Back the other way - he beats you again. You feel your will collapse in on itself as he steps forward and snakes his hand around your waist, laughing unabashedly as you struggle. “Not bad,” he says. “Of course, I gave you a pretty big head start. But still. You run pretty fast for someone who could barely walk the night before.”

You’re so close to him that you’re sure he must be able to hear your heart pounding. Despite your best efforts to hold yourself back, you find yourself looking up at his face again. His eyes are pretty, too. But they’re mismatched - one is a light gray and the other is deep blue - and unblinking. Seeing them up close only makes his presence more unnerving. He grins crookedly as you make eye contact with him, staring back without saying a word.

“What - why -” you break eye contact, choosing instead to stare at the ground where his bare feet are nearly on top of yours. “Please. Let me go.”

“Nuh-uh. No way.” He pushes you back at arms length and leans over you, his face coming so close to yours that your eyes unfocus trying to look at him. “Haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Done…”

“Mhm.” He takes your shoulders and turns you around, giving you a light shove to get you moving. You shudder - your dress has an open back, so his hand didn’t just touch your clothes, but your bare skin. And it’s so short, too. He’s probably staring as you walk, tracing your curves with those unnatural eyes. He looked down when he had you pressed up against him. He didn’t even try to hide it. 

“That’s far enough.” You stop, not even daring to turn around. He slithers around you instead, dragging his hand over the back of your dress again as he passes, keeping a hold on you and pulling you close again. “You’re gonna help me out with some things today, alright?”

When you hesitate, his long fingernails tighten against your skin. He’ll draw blood if he presses any harder. “What…what do you want?”

“I’ve been doin’ some experiments down here.” His nails drag down the curve of your back, only stopping at your hips. “Been learning what I’m capable of. I’ll show you the other test subjects if I have to but… I think I’ve already convinced you to cooperate, right?” He tugs on the hem of your dress, sliding his fingertips underneath the edge of the thin fabric. “You don’t seem ready to meet anyone right now, anyways. Not as if they’re really in a state to talk to you.”

You stare blankly, resisting the urge to squirm as his hand trails up the back of your thigh. Not for the first time, you wonder if you’re going to be leaving this place alive.

“Lots of room down here,” he says. “Plenty of dark corners. But I think I’m gonna keep you right here.” 

“Please..” you say.

“Hmm?” He smiles a second later, once he understands. “Please don’t kill you, right? Don’t mutate your pretty body and then throw you somewhere no one will ever find you?” Your mind amends mutate to mutilate. The intellectual victory does nothing to comfort you. “Don’t worry. ‘m not gonna do that. Not yet, anyways.” His nails are scraping very high on your thigh, now, and the other hand is weaving its way through your hair. His fingers seem to bend strangely around you, as if they have no set form at all, as if they’re molding to best fit your body as he claims it piece by piece. “You’re just gonna help me out a little, okay? “You’re gonna help me figure out what else I’m capable of.”

He grips the top of your head and forces it up and down, mimicking a nod, laughing impishly as you glare up at him. “So sweet of you. We’ll take this one step at a time, alright?”

You don’t understand until he leans over you, running a fingertip across your lips to part them slightly before meeting them with his own. You try to recoil, but the hand toying with your dress runs up your back and presses you forward, forcing you deeper into the kiss instead. It’s unexpectedly gentle, at first, but as your body is forced flush against his it becomes more messy, more hungry. He shoves his tongue against yours and grips your hair tight enough for it to hurt, only drawing back for long enough to bite your lip and watch a string of drool drip across the faint indent he’s left behind. You gasp for breath until he swallows up your mouth again, using his tongue to reach every place he can. 

You stay in place even when he relaxes his grip. He only stops to speak once he has, it seems to you, tried every kind of kiss he can think of - fast, slow, shallow, violent, hungry, sloppy. “You’re doing good,” he says, flashing the same smile as before. “Good start. Amazing, really…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, and the softer smile is replaced by a cold grin. “Take your dress off.” 

“Wh -”

“Take it off. Take off whatever you have underneath it, too. I don’t care about seeing it.”

“But -” 

“But - but -” He laughs again, practically giggles as he mocks your faint protests. “You don’t wanna die, either, do you?”

Mute, you shake your head.

“Actually…” He turns you around again, and you think you hear him sigh faintly as his hips snap against yours. “You’re taking too long. I’ll just do it myself.” He gives you no time to react before tugging on the zipper of your short dress, so violently that it hitches on the teeth and nearly breaks off. Only the second time does he do it right, pulling it all the way down in a smooth motion. The dress only covered from your lower back to a few inches down your thighs, anyways, and now even that protection is stripped away. The front of your body is exposed, too, as he tugs the thin garment along with your panties down to the stone ground beneath your feet.

Every muscle in your body tenses as his own bare skin collides with yours, his worn pants pulled down to rest alongside your dress. “Didn’t even wear anything beneath the dress up here,” he mutters. He reaches from behind you, groping your tits with no regard for the way you whine and squirm. “Making it so easy for me, aren’t you?”

“No,” you gasp. “Didn’t wear anything there. I should have -”

He claws his nails over the delicate peaks of your breasts, and you bite hard on your lip to keep from crying out. “Interesting. That’s a sweet spot, huh?” You shiver as he clamps down on you again. “You got any more I should know about?”

“No…” You lie, as if anything you say now will help you. He’s tracing every inch of your skin already, down your stomach and hips and up your thighs, squeezing and pinching when you least expect it, mapping you out like you’re the first person he’s been this close to in his life. 

“You sure?” He taps his fingertips along the creases that connect the tops of your thighs to your body, pressing close against you and breathing hot in your ear. Making sure you hear and feel his excitement. “We’re gonna test that out, too. So spread out your legs. They’re getting in the way.” 

You clench your fists tight and do as he says, shifting on either side to allow him easy access to every part of you. Still, you reflexively pull your hips back as his fingers climb their way towards your cunt, cringing when your sudden motions make his cock pulse against your skin. 

“What’re you doing that for?” He cups his hand between your legs, ending your desperate attempts to squirm away. “Not like you’re going anywhere, right?” He pulls his hand back, showing you the wet sheen that’s rubbed off on his fingers. “I don’t think you would even if you could. But if you want, I’ll let you run again. Give you ‘til the count of ten before I start chasing you. Maybe even twenty or thirty. Maybe I’ll let you see the street before I drag you back here.” He lets go of you, grabbing your arms and using them to turn you back the way you ran before. “We’ll do it now, actually. Run! I’ll be not-quite-right-behind you.”

You shake your head. 

“Come onn. It’ll be fun. Or - well, I’ll have fun.” Your feet stay rooted to the ground. He looks genuinely disappointed, for a moment, as if he actually expected you to take him up on his inane offer. “Fine.” He shoves down on your shoulders, and you follow the motion, crumpling down to your knees with no resistance. “You can entertain me this way instead, then.” Now that he’s in front of you again, you look for the first time. You’re equal parts curious and repelled by the stitch-like markings that continue down the rest of his body. If you were thinking clearly, you’d wonder if they were perhaps tattoos, and why anyone would choose to do something like that to themselves. But the crisscrossing lines guide you far too quickly down the length of his frame, forcing your curious eyes down below his hips before you have the sense to close them. 

He tilts his head, sizing up your expression before flicking his eyes down your body and then back up to meet yours. “You’ve definitely done this before. So do it right.” Your eyes are almost as wide as your mouth as he closes the last inches between you and him. “Make it feel how it’s supposed to.” You nod blanlky as you wonder how you’re supposed to fit him all the way in your mouth. Maybe you won’t have to. He’s so obviously inexperienced, so eager… maybe you can end this quickly. 

You drag the tip of your tongue up the underside of his cock, forcing yourself to look up at him as you give the same slow treatment to the sides and the tip before taking the shaft in your hand. He stares back, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth as it works over his cock. He’s breathing harder already, less than halfway into your mouth, almost letting the breaths tip over the edge into moans as your tongue flicks up his length again. It takes a concerted effort not to close your eyes, to not let your resolve crumble. 

It has started to happen already. He was right in his crude assessment of you - you do know what you’re doing - but you’ve never been so terrified with a cock in your mouth, never felt like your life depended on your ability to please the man in front of you. Your strokes become sloppy as you let panic edge into the corners of your vision.

“Fuck,” he groans. Your one free hand clenches into a fist as he grabs you at the nape of your neck and thrusts forward, holding you still as he forces his cock back into your throat. “Fuck.” You feel him writhe in your mouth just as his fingers did in your hair, molding himself to the contours of your throat as he fucks your face over and over, only becoming more frantic as you start to struggle against his hand, more frenzied as you gag and drool around him, until finally - finally - you’re tugged forward one last time, your lips pulled taught as hot liquid spurts down your throat. He keeps you there as you continue struggling for breath, sliding his thumb over your bottom lip and smearing your drool across your face. 

When you’re finally allowed to pull back, you wrap your arms around yourself, shrinking inwards as you whisper, “Please. May I go now?”

“Huh?” He crouches down until his face is level with yours, crossing his arms over his knees as he sinks to the ground. You try to keep your eyes on his face - it’s practically glowing, his eyes wild and bright, their contrasting colors even more apparent. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart. Just taking a little break.” 

You freeze for a second before scrambling backwards. It’s absolutely stupid, but - he said he wanted you to run. So he won’t get mad at you for trying one last time. And maybe it’ll work this time. Maybe you’ll get out. Maybe he was lying and he’s actually ready to see you go. Maybe seeing you run naked and sobbing onto the street will be enough to satisfy him, and he won’t chase you any farther.

He gives you five paces before pouncing, pinning you to the ground with one hand wrapped tight around your throat, turning you over so he can see the fear written on your face. “Guess what?” He whispers it into your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck, nearly hard enough to split your skin open. You feel something hard pressing into your stomach, swelling as you cry out in pain. “Break is over.” He drags his tongue over cheek and traces it down your jaw before kissing you right where the bite mark still glows red on your skin. Using both hands to pin your wrists down at your sides, he drags his way down your body, running his tongue over your breasts, your navel, around the triangle between your thighs. “I usually don’t care much about what’s fair, but - I really think I should return the favor.” His eyes flit down to your legs, squeezed tightly together. “Try to relax. This is supposed to be fun, right?” He works two fingers between thighs and prys them open. 

You hold back a whimper as he dives into the space between, dragging the flat of his tongue voraciously over your hot cunt. He’s sloppy, ignoring the way your eyes are glued to his face as he tests and probes your cunt, teasing the opening and forcing his tongue inside, giving no pause before swallowing the sheen left behind. You have to squeeze your eyes shut. You have to tell yourself not to give in to the heat sweeping through your core, not to accept even a tiny bit of pleasure from the man defiling you, but - it’s so, so difficult. So strange to feel someone so obviously selfish pleasing you, even if it’s by accident, even if it’s just for his own enjoyment - you can’t stop yourself from pushing your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Can’t stop yourself from moaning as his fingers find your clit. 

He pulls away, laughing at the whine that escapes from your mouth. “Tastes better than I thought,” he says. “But you  - you’re reacting just like I thought. It’s like your mind’s melting away.” He pinches your clit between two fingers, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head. “You’re being controlled by this now.”

You just manage to shake your head. “No - no. I’m still - I don’t -”

He pounces on top of you again, thrusting his fingers into your open mouth. “Shhh. You don’t have to talk. That’s not what you’re here for.” He grinds against you, his cock already pushing at the entrance to your cunt as he fucks your mouth with his fingers, nearly making you gag as he pushes relentlessly into your throat. “You’re here to help me out, right? And you’ve been doing so good. So good for me.” You don’t want your stomach to flutter at the praise. Not here, not from him. You try your best to ignore it, tell yourself to close your eyes as he all but fucks your thighs. 

When you try to screw them shut, though, he puts his pinky right on your eyelid and drags up, forcing it to flutter open again. “Ah-ah,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. I wanna see how this makes you feel.” He presses his hips hard against yours, guiding himself nearly all the way inside you in a single motion. “Fuck.” His eyes nearly close as he savors the feeling of you tightening around him, but he keeps them open just wide enough to see your lips open wide, forming an O around the fingers still scraping against your tongue. “I’m keeping you here forever. Understand?” The drool from his fingers smudges across your cheek as he grabs the sides of your face, squeezing as he shoves farther inside you, over and over again, only spurred on by the sloppy noises he hears every time the two of you connect. “Gonna be - gonna be my fucking toy forever. I’ll keep you on a fucking leash if I have to.” 

All you can do is whimper and blink back your tears. He brushes his tongue across your face, licking them away as they overflow. “You look so scared. So mad.” He’s slowing himself down, now. Making it last. “It’s cute. Stay just like that, okay?” He presses on the corners of your mouth, forcing it deeper into a scowl. “So fucking cute.”

Your eyes match the anger he’s forced onto your mouth. Somehow, this moment feels worse than everything that’s come before. He’s playing with your face now. Trying to make it his, just like your body. And something about that - it breaks your daze. And your arms aren’t pinned anymore. There’s nothing you can do to make him stop, but. You feel the overwhelming urge to do something.

You reach up and slap him. Right across his pretty face, turning it sharply aside just as his cock buries itself all the way inside your cunt, reaching farther than you thought anyone ever could. His eyes widen, and his grip on your face tightens to a vise. You think that just once, you’ve managed to shock him.

Your faint sense of victory fades when you feel his cock pulse unmistakably inside you. 

“Oh -” he sighs blissfully as he releases inside you, and you go limp as he collapses into your shoulder. A moment later, he turns his head and whispers in your ear. “Very interesting.” You can practically feel his grin radiating against your neck. “I’m definitely keeping you, now. So many things to try…” You squirm as he shifts on top of you, his face hovering right over your own. “And you’re gonna help me with every single one.”

[lacheri]

Okay so... you might not even take requests but I’ll give this a shot anyway bc I love everything you write. I fucked up at work big time today and I feel tremendously anxious and guilty. Which made me think... Levi scenario with gf reader messing up on the field? I know he’d prob be harsh af at first but maybe... some fluff in the end? ): only if you want ofc.

hi nonnie! sorry for taking a few days to write this! but I hope u like it <3 (sorry to hear about your bad day btw ):)

accidents and apologies

pairing: dom!Levi x sub!fem bodied reader

content: canonverse, impact play, mild choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex/creampie, oral (f receiving), some humiliation/degrading, reader is clumsy and Levi is mean, minors DNI

wc: 3.2k

Fat tears sat in thick clusters on the brim of your lash line, a hiccupping sob racking your body. You were as good as dead, having possibly made the biggest fuck up of your military career thus far. Titans seemed like ants in comparison, the fly that buzzes by your ear that irritates you to no end. Levi’s odm gear sat in pieces on the floor, and somehow this loomed over you like the Colossal titan, maybe even larger.

The polish container sat forgotten on your captain’s desk, the wipe slipping from your trembling hands. Your bottom lip quivered, your lungs filling with air quickly as you slumped to the floor next to the shattered metal. Your off duty position of being Levi’s assistant was practically over, it had barely even begun. You had begged for this job for weeks now, only a few days into being his helping hand, you reflected on how poorly of a job you’d done.

It wasn’t enough you had gotten Levi’s tea wrong this morning, adding sugar to the steaming mug, thinking he’d like a change in taste. He didn’t, immediately spitting the liquid out, cursing you into guilt on the spot. To try to make it up to the ravenette, while he was on his lunch, you sat at his desk and began to organize his paperwork by date of importance. You felt pride as you finished with the three piles of stacks, putting fresh ink in his pot for his quill. However, Levi was horribly furious to see what your regret had manifested into. How were you supposed to know he liked his documents organized by date of assignment, not what was most important?

This was the cherry on top, Levi leaving for dinner, mentioning that his gear did need some polishing. Surely, you wouldn’t fuck this up, he thought as he closed the door to his office behind him. How wrong the man had been though. Within minutes, your fingers became slippery, losing your grip on the cold metal as watched in horror as it clattered to the floor, breaking on impact. It didn’t make much sense, how could it have broken? Wasn’t the gear meant to outlast a titan’s grip? Especially Levi’s trusty gear, you couldn’t fathom how his gear was now laying in pieces on the floor.

You sucked back your sob as you heard the creek of the door, your heart falling straight down to the pit of your stomach. Of course Levi would be back before you recite your apology a thousand times over in your head. You heard the thud of his boots hit the floor as he walked over, seemingly calm.

“Oi, what are you doing on the floor?” he barked out, you could feel his presence looming from behind you.

You turned your head up, his face blurry from the rush of tears in your eyes, “Sir, I am so sorry.”

His grey eyes flickered in front of you, finally taking notice of his broken gear. His lips twitched in a deep frown as he sucked in air through his nostrils harshly.

“Get up, cadet,” Levi spoked venomously, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

You hurried to your feet clumsily, trying your hardest to quell your cries from your throat. You faced him, head downturned, attempting to steady your racing heart rate and the tremors in your bones. Whatever control you thought you had slipped from your grasp the second your captain’s lips parted.

“Never in my life have I met someone as insolent as you,” the harshness of his words kept your eyes on his boots, fresh teardrops rolling down your cheeks. Levi was not going to speak to the crown of your head though, and his hand gripped your chin to force your eyes up, looking directly into his own. “You’re going to look at me while I talk to you, understood?”

You nodded, but this was not what Levi was searching for, “Your words, cadet.”

“Yes, sir,” it came out of your mouth as a squeak.

“You want to explain to me why my odm gear is broken?”

“It slipped,” you hiccupped, violently shaking under his fierce glare. “I couldn’t catch it in time. Captain, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he bemused darkly in disbelief. “This is the third time today you’ve fucked something up, and you’re just sorry?”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you were on the verge of hyperventilating as you stuttered your words out.

“Well, now you owe me new gear, and you’re going to personally pay for the expense,” Levi’s hand left your face as he backed away from you, sitting down at his desk.

You looked on in confusion, “Sir, I don’t have any money?”

“Then I guess you’re fired,” Levi tilted his head back as if bored now with the conversation. “You’re relieved of your military duties as well. We can’t afford to have someone as brainless as you in the Scouts.”

“Captain, please,” you raised your voice, arms wrapping around yourself to contain your shaking.

Levi’s eyes darkened, leaning forward to press his elbows on his desk as he leaned his head onto his intertwined fists, “Leave my office, now.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had no home to return to, having left it behind long before you joined the Training Corps. This was your life, your purpose, your friends were here. You finally felt like you had a place in the world here in the Scouts.

“I’ll do whatever I have to!” you begged, not moving a muscle. “Whatever I can do to stay!”

“Are you deaf or just an idiot?” Levi pushed onto his feet, striding over to stand right in your face as he spat. “Leave my fucking office, that’s an order!”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you felt so fucking pathetic but couldn’t stop yourself from one last attempt, “Please, sir. Don’t kick me out, please let me make it up somehow.”

Your brain took a moment to catch up with what had just happened as you were suddenly staring down at the wooden notches of Levi’s desk. He had grabbed your wrists in a fierce swiftness, pushing you face down, his hands now positioned against your spine to keep you in place. His right hand reached around to fumble with your belt, and your heart began to race for other reasons.

“Captain?” you stuttered, feeling him begin to pull off the belts stationed on your thighs.

“You think you can just beg me in that voice, looking like that, and expect me not to lose control?” his voice was thick with anger, but instead of fear, it tickled bouts of arousal in your lower stomach. “Answer me.”

“No?” it came out as a question, you pushed your thighs together as you felt a pulse run through your core as his fingers tickled the exposed skin of your lower stomach. “Sir, I’m confused, what’re doing?”

“Like you have no idea what you do to me,” Levi chuckled without humor. “You begged me to be my assistant even though you knew you weren’t going to be a good one. You think I wouldn’t notice, your little crush on me?”

It was true, so entirely true. Levi had been the object of your affection for such a long time now, taking every opportunity to get as close to the man as possible. If you were being honest with yourself, this fantasy of being bent over his desk was a constant distraction in your mind. He was right, you were shit at cleaning, you were probably the most clumsy person you knew, you really had no qualifications to be Levi’s aide, yet you still asked for the position.

“Then why’d you hire me, Captain?” the bratty words left your lips as it dawned on you, Levi had found you appealing regardless of your lack of qualities.

With a quick motion, your pants and panties were bunched around your knees, Levi’s palm meeting the now exposed skin of your cheek in a caress, “The same reason you’re fucking soaked right now, cadet.”

You stayed in position as Levi brought his other hand to your opposite ass cheek, fingers kneading the fat as he spread you open to his hungry view. He was right, you were dripping. His pointer finger ran down the seam of your ass, laying a soft touch to your hole, watching it flutter in excitement. He couldn’t hold back the smirk on his face, removing his touch entirely.

You whined, pushing your bottom closer to Levi’s hands, desperate for his touch. Your hips were slammed against the edge of his desk, his fingers digging firmly into the back of your thighs, pushing your legs back together. You felt a jarring sting on your backside, yelping in response as you could make out the distinct imprint of each of his fingers.

“You want to show me you’re really sorry?” Levi’s voice was low and raspy as he soothed his palm over the reddened mark he had made. “Tell me after every slap.”

You were able to brace yourself this time as you felt the strike of his hand once more on your opposite cheek, unable to contain your moans at the contact. You squirmed as you felt removal of Levi’s touch leave you, only to bite down on your tongue harshly as he swatted the back of your thighs much harder than he had on your ass.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he spoke ruthlessly as another slap hit your thighs.

“I’m sorry!” you cried, gasping for air from the impact.

“Again,” his hand smacked the fat of your ass again, his other hand smoothing over the harsh red blotches against your thighs in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“‘M sorry!” you were whining, knuckles white from gripping the opposite edge of the desk as you arched your ass up into his hold. Part of you was genuinely shocked over how much you were enjoying this, thoroughly aroused mentally and physically.

Levi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front him. The handprints scattered across your lower half had his cock springing to life, hard and painfully erect. His hands traveled down to your pussy lips, using his thumbs to spread you open. Your hole was drooling, Levi let out a deep groan at the sight. He couldn’t stop himself, he had to have a taste.

You let out a sputtered moan as you felt the tip of your captain’s tongue lick a stripe from your hole to your clit. You pushed your hips further into his touch, thankful he resisted in shoving you back into the edge of the desk this time. His fingers held you open and apart, his taste buds rolling circles into your clit before returning back to your flitting opening, shoving his tongue in your walls. You could feel it fold in half, almost in a cupping motion as he bobbed his head, lapping as much as he could.

“Oh my God,” you whined, thrusting a hand behind you to grasp at his hair. His palms circled to the fronts of your thighs, digging his fingers into the fat as he pulled you somehow closer as he buried his face further into your dripping heat.

You were seeing stars, in between the mix of the pain and pleasure, your brain was completely empty. Levi’s right hand left your left thigh for a moment, coming back with a softer slap, inching his fingers to your center. His pointer finger swirled your clit relentlessly, and your breathing hitched as you were brought to even higher heights than before. His thumb joined not long after, pinching and pulling at your bud as you yelped.

You could feel the beginnings of your impending orgasm as Levi twisted and lapped your walls. The burning churn in your lower stomach became almost unbearable as Levi’s fingers worked faster at your bundle of nerves, full of purpose and intentions. Levi could feel the sudden change, your pussy clenching tighter and tight around his wet muscle. Your arousal was thicker, almost muskier as he inhaled through his nose, and Levi could swear he could drink from your core as if you were the finest of wines.

At the first blinding rush of pleasure, your body preparing itself for the intense promise of release, the ravenette removed all touch. You were gasping for air, your entire body’s nerves tingling uncomfortably. You were aching, desperate for anything.

“Look at you,” the return of Levi’s palm slapping your ass was welcomed with a smile on your face, thankful for any form of touch. “Falling apart that easy?”

You mumbled out a 'sorry', remembering his earlier warning. Apparently this was the word Levi was searching for, spinning you around and attaching his grip to your hips, slamming your sore ass on his desk, shoving his paperwork to the floor. Your eyes widened dramatically, seeing Levi’s cock fully exposed out of the zipper of his trousers. He was thick, his tip red and angry as he moved his fist over his length, a quiet groan leaving his parted lips as he relieved some of his own pent up arousal.

“Open,” he demanded, removing his hand from his dick, extending his palm to your pouty lips. You complied, letting your mouth loll open as Levi’s fingers pressed against your tongue, rolling them around to coat his digits.

He pulled them out with a pop from your lips, returning his now dripping hand to his erection, covering the entire member in your saliva. He gripped the backs of your knees after he deemed himself properly lubed up, dragging you right to edge as he positioned himself.

His grey eyes flickered up, fiery and full of lust, his voice hoarse, “You ready?”

“Yes,” you mewled, your fingers wrapping around the edge of the wood to steady yourself.

Without a moment of hesitation, Levi held your legs up as he slid his fat tip along the slick of your folds. It was so wet, so sloppy, you couldn’t contain the whimper leaving your lips as he pressed into your sopping hole. You could’ve sworn you felt your soul attempt to leave your body as he slid in, resting his tip right against your sweet spot once he was fully sheathed, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the mind blowing pleasure. He hadn’t completed a full thrust before you were begging for more.

“Please, please, more,” you managed out in between gasps, Levi rolling his hips backwards.

“You want more?” he chided, ramming himself so hard, the two of you bounced from the impact. You nodded, unable to voice a single word, drool threatening to escape your lips. His fist left the comfort of your bent knees, coming up to squish your cheeks together, a dribble of spit glistening against your pout, “You’ll answer me when I ask you a question, brat.”

“Yes! More!” you strangled out, muffled from his grip on your face. He let go, placing a very soft pat to your cheekbone, almost as a reward.

“Atta’ girl,” Levi’s gaze turned dark as his eyes traveled from your eyes to the column of your neck. How pretty would you look with his fist wrapped around your throat?

The thought was threateningly persuasive as Levi found himself doing just that, squeezing the sides of your neck as he began to piston his cock between your folds. The sounds of slapping skin and your pussy squelching had you panting loudly, Levi’s fingers pressing harder into the sides of your throat. It felt so good, good wasn’t even the word to describe it. In fact, there weren’t any words in your brain at all, too consumed by the visuals of the ravenette plowing hard into you.

His hand left your throat upon seeing your eyes begin to flutter, his concern for your ability to breathe over taking his lust. Instead, he circled both his arms under your back, bringing you up into a folder position against his chest. He placed open mouth kisses along the curve of your shoulder, licking and sucking at any skin he could reach. Your ankles hooked around his waist, and you couldn’t hold yourself back from slipping a hand to your aching clit.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded into Levi’s neck as your middle finger rubbed hard at your clit, your thick slick coating the pad. You got curious, letting your hand trail further down, exploring the motion of his cock pummeling into you.

“Put your hands on my back, and maybe I will,” he growled out, displeased that he wasn’t the one bringing you total and complete pleasure.

You followed his orders with speed, his head navigated out of the crook of your neck, capturing your lips with a hasty passion. He tasted sweetly sour, the lingerings of your essence resting in the crevices of his lips, but still, you couldn’t get enough of his kiss. When his hand finally left the middle of your spine, and began to travel down to your center, you could feel the bubbles of climax igniting back in your stomach.

“Levi,” you moaned into his mouth as his fingers moved at lightning speed against your nerves, timed nearly perfectly with the pattern of his thunderous thrusts. The desk was squeaking loudly against the floor as he continued to pound into animalistically, moving it slightly with every move.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna’ cum,” you swallowed his words as he somehow sped up his movements, driving you straight to your climax.

You couldn’t even warn him, you barely had time to realize you were cumming yourself. It almost hurt how tightly you had clenched his cock as the pleasure nearly blinded you, unable to hold back swears and moans. Levi kissed you harder, and upon feeling your contractions swallowing him whole, your plush walls pulling his tip right up against your cervix, his hips staggered and his knees buckled.

Levi’s brain went blank as his orgasm was ripped from him, “Fuck, fuck!”

Levi should’ve felt embarrassed at the noises that left his mouth, whimpers and soft moans exiting his throat as he came hard. It was almost too much, the feeling of your wet heat wrapping around his most intimate part, the closeness of your bodies, although still fairly clothed, had his heart hammering in his ears.

When you came down from your highs, all you could was stare at each other in astonishment, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. He rested his sweaty forehead against yours, fluttering his eyelashes shut as he kissed you gently. You let out a sleepy giggle, your body entirely spent. His hand finally left the sensitive skin of your clit, wrapping your fingers around the back of your head as his kiss deepened.

When he finally slid his softened length out of the depths of your pussy, you were hissing at the fluttering of soreness intruding your pelvis. Levi shot you an apologetic look, kissing your forehead.

“Does this mean I can still be your assistant?” you mumbled, a small smile on your face as Levi reached down to pull his pants up.

His head tilted back as an uncharacteristic laugh bubbled out, flashing you a mischievous smile, “Get yourself cleaned up, and meet me back in my office. I still don’t believe you’re actually sorry.”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[sixeyesgojo]

I’ll Be Your Enemy

Summary: Gojo Satoru is willing to do anything for you. As long as it helps you heal from what haunted your night.

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Word count: 2,019

Content warning: implied but unspecified mental illness, mentions of self-harm (scratching), mentions of character death

A/N: Kind of stumbled upon this masterpiece of a song and I thought it would be ideal for some Gojo HURT. This entire thing takes place after the Cursed Womb Arc, so to say: after Yuji dies.

Song: Be Your Enemy by Taemin ft. Wendy

PREQUEL HERE: Pictures of You

Quickly, quickly. The key was inserted into the keyhole and turned. The door lock clicked faintly, signaling that the door has been unlocked. Satoru made sure to open and close the door softly as he entered the familiar apartment. Putting the spare key into his pocket, he slid out of his shoes. Usually he would have made some big noise to ‘announce his arrival’ but not this time. He left his shoes neatly at the genkan of the residence and slipped into the white slippers that always stood by the wooden door, an extra pair just for him.

23 minutes ago. “Hello?” Satoru had picked up the phone. “Gojo-san! Finally the call went through. I’m glad I am able to reach you now,” the voice on the other end said. “Yo, Ijichi, what’s up?” Satoru greeted. He had been sent to a pretty rural area of Japan to get rid of some pesky curses and the cell phone reception was poor in that place, so it wasn’t surprising that calls didn’t go through at times. In addition to that, some curses that manifested had an electrical ability, which impaired the cell towers at place even more. Almost as if planned. “Gojo-san, I think you need to come back as fast as you can,” the man with glasses on the other end of the line stated calmly. “Why?” was the only thing the white-haired sorcerer said in response. Somehow, he had a strange feeling in his gut. The tone in Ijichi’s voice didn’t do anything to calm this odd feeling either.

“It’s L/N-san. Something horrible happened and I don’t think she is taking it well. I did my best to calm her but I’m at wits’ end too…” Ichiji explained vaguely. Satoru was experiencing a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - his stomach churned, it felt like his guts were wrenching inside him - at the mention of your name. “Ijichi,” he said in a relatively calm voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t betraying him by showing what he truly felt in that moment. Satoru’s feet were set in rapid motion. “Stay calm. I need you to explain to me what exactly happened.”

Gojo Satoru might be many things. A tease, a teacher (supposedly), a cruel man, a strong sorcerer, a crazy coach, a walking menace to some, protective, an inspiration to a handful, a venti-sized manchild, idiotic, a sweets maniac, a lifelong student to Yaga, playful, a pillar of the Jujutsu world… but most importantly, he was a caring person. This goes without saying for his students and especially his loved ones. What Ijichi just said on the phone had left his heart stinging in his chest. He was in the kitchen, leaving the bag he brought with him on the table.

“Alright. I will tell you what happened, Gojo-san.” “I am listening.” “I am not sure if you are aware that this happened,” the suit-clad man began, “but one of the missions that was originally assigned to you - a case of utmost priority of a cursed womb - was suddenly taken off of your pile and reassigned…” Satoru’s eyes narrowed underneath the black fabric. The beginning already left a bad taste in his mouth; missions assigned to him were usually first grade or even special grade and he knew all too well that there were nowhere enough first grade, let alone special grade, sorcerers around. So who had it been assigned to? “...to your three first-year students,” Ijichi finished with a sigh. The sickening hotness of rage filled Satoru’s whole body. Already having realized the scenario that must have taken place, he still asked for confirmation, “What grade?” “...Special grade. One casualty.” The picture that you had taken of him, his first years and yourself (so carefully hung up on your wall at home) flashed in front of his inner eye. He clenched his teeth so hard as he wordlessly hung up; it hurt. It hurt so badly.

Such an atrocious inhumane act coated in malice. He was going to kill these dirty-playing bastards. However, that would have to wait until later. Much later. Satoru couldn’t leave you to your own devices, not in this state. The scenario he concluded for himself earlier replayed in his mind several times as he made his way through your completely dark apartment. His heart stung with each beat. It was almost as if someone drove a blade through his chest repeatedly.

When he stood in front of the closed door of your bedroom, he heard soft sobs coming from inside. Should he knock to let you know someone came? He wasn’t sure what to do. He gave the door two soft knocks and entered the room. It was your hunched form on the bed, no doubt. Satoru could not see your face with the way your back was facing him. Slowly he made his way to your bed and crouched down to face you. Your face was swollen and tear-stained, a sight he didn’t see often. His large hand rested on your shoulder and gently rubbed it, a silent question hung in the air.

Finally, you looked at him with your swollen eyes. Almost instantly, your sobs got louder and you reached out for the tall sorcerer. “S-Satoru…” you hiccuped in-between sobs. “Yeah. I’m here, I’m here,” he reassured you and stroked the wet hair out of your puffy face as you threw yourself around him, relentlessly crying into his broad shoulders. The white-haired man enclosed his arms around you but it wasn’t to hug you for comfort.

He scooped your delicate frame up and wrapped a warm blanket around you before leaning your body against the headboard of the bed. He sat next to you on the bed and guided your head onto his shoulders. Your violent sobbing stopped but tears were still flowing freely. 

If there was someone who understood the agony, bitterness and distress someone in this line of work had to face, it was Gojo Satoru. The path of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was painted black and red by trials and tribulations. This was why Satoru was so hell-bent on resetting the world he called his obligation. “If you feel exhausted, just lean on me for a second,” his calm voice sounded through the room. There was no answer from you. Even if there was silence, your feelings reached his heart and he spoke again. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently. Let it go with me. It’ll be easier to shake this burden off and share it, he thought. Of course, he would never dare force you. You nuzzled into his shoulder, as if to get even closer physically.

Ultimately, the woman sucked in a breath and with a shaky voice and recounted everything in her point of view. “I-I.. was on a mission when I… got a call from Ijichi. ‘Something wasn’t right’, he said and… t-told me about the cursed womb. As soon as I heard… that they sent y-your students there, I rushed to the location but…”, you hiccuped, “...I was too late… Y-Yuji, he-” You sobbed hysterically into his shoulder. Satoru turned to you to wipe away the tears and snot with a tissue. “Shhh, I’m here, I’m here”, he reassured once again, “I’ll fix it somehow.” It was just as he thought: those damned higher ups.

“H-How? This is not… something… you can f-fix, Satoru… not even you,” you continued bawling into his shoulders. I’ll kill all the higher ups, he thought to himself. “I don’t know but I’ll be damned if I can’t do something to change this detestable, loathsome and bloody world we live in,” his voice seethed with anger but it quickly died down as he re-focused on the main topic at hand, “there has to be something I can do, I’ll even drag out Sukuna myself if I have to.” “Please, Satoru…” Your whisper was faint and weak, “I… saw Yuji’s corpse... on the ground... I just want to see him one last time…”

Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer undoubtedly put a heavy strain on your mental wellbeing; nobody was spared from it, not even the great Gojo Satoru. Unfortunately, you were one of the people who were much more affected by incidents like these. He realized how badly it hurt your heart, he knew how much all the students meant to you and he knew just how much more fragile you were than you let on in front of other people. Where there is light, there must be shadow. It wasn’t like he was left unscathed by it either but right now, his utmost priority was you.

“Right,” the male sorcerer murmured more to himself. He still had to check something. “I want you to show me your arms, please.” If this had been a command, it had to be the gentlest one you had ever heard. Maybe it was the fact that there was a hint of pain infused in the way he spoke to you just now that made you show your arms so willingly, or maybe it was the fact that he always sounded so earnest when he took care of you like this. He genuinely cared; it was something you shouldn’t be surprised about, considering how long the two of you have known and cared for each other, but it never ceased to leave you in awe. You held out your arms for him to see.

As carefully as possible, the man examined your arms, his touch ghosting over your skin. It was a good thing he came prepared. The angry red lines, dry blood and broken skin on both of your forearms seemed to scream at him: you hurt yourself again. Without a doubt, he felt guilty. “I’ll be right back,” he announced as he slipped away from the bed after fixing your position and stroking your hair tenderly. A few moments later, your tall friend was back with a few medical supplies. Sitting back on the bed, he started to clean and treat your injuries. Besides a few hiccups and whimpers from your side, silence befell the room.

“Don’t you want to curse and insult me?” His eyes were still fixed on bandaging your arms. “No,” was all you said in response, fearing that your voice would give in. “You should though. After all, it was technically my fault...” Even though you were hurting, you knew Satoru was hurting all the same deep down in his heart, seeing that his precious students were the victims in this case. Satoru really treasured disciples. You took a few deep breaths before you replied, “Please don’t ever blame yourself for this… I know you wouldn’t have… let this shit happen. I know how much you adore them.”

“If it makes you feel better... if it can help you heal, I’ll take it. Any words are fine. I can deal with all the painful words…” Strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you to his chest. It was rare but his voice… unmistakably cracked for a second. A shaky chuckle left your lungs, “Please Satoru,” you wrapped your arms around him as well and nuzzled into his shirt again, “I could never treat you like that. You are everything to me but an enemy. Have always been.”

“I’ll be anything you need. I’ll even be your enemy if you ask me to… so please tell me, so that it doesn’t hurt you anymore…” he said shakily. The blindfolded man had masked his pain up until now, for your sake. It was your time to comfort him. Giving him shelter, like he had done for you. He had already experienced far too much hurt.

“Satoru, all I’ll ever need you to be in my life… is the important and comforting presence you have always been. Don’t change. If things are too much, too overwhelming and you become tired, you can lean on me too. I will never leave you.”

There was nothing left to say, no need. It was enough for both of you to be in each other’s comforting presence.

Taglist: @gojos-mochi​ @megumifushi @bleueluna

[verus-veritas]

Legacy

Revenge, Technology, Mind Transference, with a dash of unrequited love. What’s not to love? /Verus

"Dude! P-please! I'm sorry! Whatever you think I've done, it must all be a mistake!" Andew yelled, thrashing against his confinements and eyeing the only point of exit in the room. His firm muscles were wet and taut against his clothes, and his handsome face flush red with terror and worry.

"Are you really sorry though? It didn't seem like it from the way you acted during Gavin's funeral. The sneers and laughter you made as his parents said their final words to him..." I said, hiding in the shadows. Only my feet and the contours of my body was visible for him to see.

"N-no offense. I just found it funny when the parents said they wish he'd atleast gotten a girlfriend before he passed away-" The same devious sneer returned on his perfectly handsome face, as he most likely remembered the scene in his head.

"Of course you found it funny. Because you knew he was completely gay. Gay, and had a massive crush on you for ages. He literally worshipped the ground you walked on, and spent most of his waking hours wishing he could be with you." I explained, slowly walking around him as I pulled out a flimsy latex cap with electronical nodes attached to it.

"And I let him. I did no wrong." Andrew talked back. His eyes following my figure until I stood directly behind him.

"No! You lead him on, made him believe you were actually interested in him. And then you destroyed him. You are the reason he ran out of the house crying, and you are the reason he didn't see the truck speeding towards him!" My voice was shaking as I quickly slapped the cap onto his head, accidentally pulling out a few strands of his hair.

"Ouuch! Get this thing off me!" He shook his head and began thrashing about again.

"You know. He really loved you... He said he was going to make you the happiest man on earth. Showering you with gifts and undying love, and be by your side forever and ever. That's why he trusted you so wholeheartedly and let you do whatever you wanted."

"Naive..." He quietly muttered under his breath.

"He was even fine with you staring and drooling over other girls. As long as he could stay by your side."

"What a fag..." I could hear him gritting his teeth.

"But that evening when you invited him over, only to have him find you in the bedroom hooking up with a random girl... that completely ruined him. You shattered his dream, his self-confidence, and his sensitive soul! He didn't know what to do and where to go, which is why he ran straight out into the traffic..." My voice was uncontrollably going up and down now, as I was unable to hide my emotions.

"Dude only had himself to blame. He should've known I only had him around for the free stuff he bought for me." Andrew snickered, as he looked down at the expensive shorts Gavin had bought for him a few weeks prior.

"How dare you!" I tried to punch his shoulder, but knew I was too weak to do any real damage against his hard muscles.

"Y'know... it almost sounds like you had feelings for him- Wait a minute! You're that pastry white kid that always walked around with him aren't you?! Hah! 'Ghost boy' we called you!" The tone in his voice shifted - with more confidence and arrogance. Back to the way he normally talked - a manipulative bastard at heart. "I see. So you best friend Gavin never had feelings for you, and now that he's gone you blame yourself for not having stopped him."

"......" I clenched my hands till my knuckles turned white.

"Hah! Maybe you really were a horrible friend. Have you thought about that you might be the reason he's dead?" He laughed, obviously enjoying the way he was toying with my feelings.

"...you have no idea..." I mumbled, as tears began to flow down my cheeks.

"Maybe you should be the one sitting in this chair - tied up and wearing this stupid cap on your head. Hehe."

I took a deep breath and calmed myself, before walking around him once again and turning so he could see me. See the real me... one last time. "I will. Soon."

"W-what do you mean with that? And why are you also wearing that ridiculous cap?" He asked. His tone in voice once again becoming panicked and anxious.

"You see. The reason why I'm so pale is because I spend so much time at home playing with my inventions and devices. Coding is one of my favorite things to do. And for the last few months I've relentlessly been working on creating this device we're both wearing right now. It was originally only meant to be used on you, recoding the patterns in your brain into loving Gavin as much as he loved you. While also erasing all of your bad traits and turning you into his ideal boyfriend... but there's no reason for that anymore, is there? So, I upgraded it into 2.0, which can now be used with two people."

"P-pff... yeah right... and what does this new version do then?"

"It can transfer the consciousness between two human brains. Even recoding the brain into believing the new consciousness have always been in control of its own body. All the memories, habits, and even muscle memory will be easily accessible to the new permanent owner." I explained, as I began fiddling with a machine by our side. The nodes on our caps lit up.

"Permanent?! Wait a minute. Let's say all of this freaky sci-fi stuff is actually real, what's going to happen to my consciousness?" Andrew asked, as he began to get more anxious by the beeping sound of the nodes on his head.

"All gone. Overwritten by mine. Erased out of existence with no way of restoring it." I answered nonchalantly. Flicking the last switched around, the device was now ready to be activated.

"What the fuck! Then you're basically killing me?! Get me out of here, you sick freak!" He began violently thrashing against the back of the chair, and flung his head around to get the latex cap off... but to no avail.

"Am I really though? Your memories, your body, and your relationships will all still be here, under my complete control. I'm just... discarding a small part of you that's no longer necessary."

"No...no... Help! HELP! SOMEONE!! THIS CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER IS GOING TO KILL ME!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, but the soundproofed walls would do him no good.

I flicked the final switch and walked over to him as the machine began buzzing. Standing in front of him, I suddenly sat down on his lap and grabbed hold of his face. I stared into his fearful yet piercing blue eyes and slid my hands across the cheeks and contours of his face.

"This beautiful face of yours that Gavin loved, I promise I'll take good care of it and cherish it until the day I die. It's the least I can do to honor my friend Gavin." I leaned forward and gently laid a kiss on his sweaty forehead, while holding him in place as he screamed for all he was worth.

"No! Noo! NOoO-Uoogguuughhhh" His scream turned into a gurgle as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. At the same time, my eyes went white and hazy as my pastry body slumped over and fell on the cement floor. Most likely cracked open its head or something from the sound of it.

"NgOOuoouughhgguuuhh!!!" Andrew's head flung back and forth as if to fight whatever was invading his head, but it barely took a minute before the thrashing suddenly stopped and his head slumped down.

His eyes were closed, his face flushed red from exertion, and the sweat and drool pooled down onto his expensive shorts. A further five minutes of stillness and blinking nodes passed before any activity was seen.

---

*Gasp*

I awoke to the cap on my head giving me a quick electric shock. In front of me laid my old withered body, lifeless and without a doubt stone dead. My throat felt dry and tired, and the ties on my arms hurt like hell. In fact, everything felt, looked, and smelt different. The smell oozing from my sweaty clothes that once smelt great now stunk in my nose. I could recall from Andrew's memories that he showered atleast twice a day. I showered atleast twice a day.

After some fiddling with the special knots in my back, I easily slipped the rope off. Massaging the sore parts on my wrist, I soon relished in how big and strong my new hands looked now. Hands who should've been holding Gavin's...

I explored further up till I reached my new bulging biceps. Squeezing them I felt how firm and taut they were. I never in a million years would have managed to get myself this big, but here I was, standing in the body of a perfect specimen. The body of the man who my friend loved, but who didn't truly love him back. If only I could've done this before Gavin died... Would he have loved me instead, or would he have hated me for what I had done? Well, atleast he would've been alive.

My focus went to my Andrew face, as I caressed the blemish-free skin and the small stubble forming on it. The face of the man I had hated for a while, the face of the man whose identity I would have to take over, and the face I would see in the mirror for as long as I breathed. It was one of the most handsome faces I've ever laid my eyes on no doubt, so I'm perfectly fine with that decision.

My hands continued to explore what was now mine; running fingers through my lush but wet hair, following the outline of my cobblestone abs, and shaking my strong and muscular legs awake from sitting too long.

Not long after I finally slipped the drool and sweat-soaked shorts off myself and watched as the tool between my legs arose to its new owner. It might not have been as long as my former one, but the very girth of it made up for it. As I enveloped it between my palms, I realized that no one had ever been as intimate with Andrew's tool as I was now, and no one would ever be. Not even Gavin would if he was somehow resurrected. Only I, Andrew would ever know how this throbbing member would feel in my own hands, the endorphins and pleasure its touch would send throughout my amazing body, and the ultimate earth-shattering orgasms I would experience as I edge myself to climax every day from now on.

The very thought of it immediately brought me to the brink of orgasm, so I quickly spread my legs apart and thrust the member fully through my grasp. It was all that was needed as I suddenly began shaking with pleasure and exploded shot after shot of Andrew seed all over the floor, myself and my former lifeless body."Ugh! Uuuugh! UUUuOOGggHH!!"

“.... Holy shit.....” I moaned, slightly shocked by the unfamiliarity of the new voice coming from my throat.

Reeling from my first ever orgasm in my new body and life, I sat back down on the chair and took a breather. I was sweaty, my crotch sticky, and my armpits stunk. Yet, I know I still looked glorious. How couldn't I? After all, I am Andrew. The man who Gavin loved, and who loved him back just as much, if not even more...

I will dedicate this new life of mine to worship and care for this body just as much as Gavin would have. His legacy, Andrew's body and life, and my consciousness have finally become one... and I promise I will carry them with pride and confidence to the grave... even if it is the only thing I will accomplish in this short insignificant life of mine.

[noctumbra]

❝accidental❞

summary ─ “there’s something…” he whispered, his eyes were still on the screen. fingers moving slowly, trying to feel what was exactly there, you felt your clit throb. oh no, you thought, no, please no.

pairing ─ doctor/gynecologist!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, fingering, fluff, flirting, light dirty talk, sexual tension, hand jobs, oral sex (m receiving)

a/n ─ i told you guys that i will write what’s left from the prompts, and i’m keeping my promise! hope you like it! if you do, please leave a comment! thank you <333

KINKTOBER DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: doctor!bucky + accidental orgasm + medical kink

You fixed your skirt for the hundredth time as you waited for your gynecologist to come back from where he had been called from. You were lucky to have such a good gynecologist; he was focused on his work, paid attention to whatever you said and was always kind and respectful towards you.

He also looked damn good in his baby blue scrubs, but you weren’t going to tell him that, of course.

“I’m so sorry for the wait,” he apologized as he walked inside and closed the door behind him. “I needed to check up on a patient who got c-section couple days ago.” He smiled at you and sat down on his comfy looking chair.

“It’s alright. I know I’m not your only patient,” you dismissed his apology softly, smiling right back at him.

Dr. James Barnes. Your Handsome as Fuck and Gentle as Hell gynecologist.

It’d be a right guess to say that you were crushing on the guy a little, but he was your doctor. You couldn’t afford to find another doctor as good as him, so you always surpassed that side of yourself.

“Hope you’ve been alright,” he started, making a small talk as he opened your file. “Your cycle must have ended two weeks ago, am I right?” You nodded. “That’s good. Do you have any complaints?”

You felt your face heat up a bit. “I have these cramps? They’re like period cramps, but hurt more somehow,” you explained and placed your hands on your lower abdomen. Dr Barnes nodded, his eyebrows were pinched together in concentration. “I started having them after my period ended. Is this normal?”

Dr Barnes hummed. He scribbled down something to his notebook and checked something on his computer. “Would you mind if I check?” He asked, “I would like see if anything is wrong in there before I say something.” You frowned a little, but nodded.

“Sure,” you agreed. Dr Barnes smiled at you widely, his whole face suddenly lightened up. He pushed his chair back and pulled open the small closet by his desk.

“Purple or sea green?” He looked at you calculatingly. You tried not to grin.

“I’m a purple girl myself,” you murmured. Dr Barnes grinned and winked.

“Okay, then, there you go,” he extended you the purple hospital gown. “Please change it there,” he pointed the small area that was made private with a portable privacy screen. “What we’re about to do is invasive so, please make sure that you’re fitting for that.” He smiled again, but this time it was assuring.

“Alright,” you nodded. Moving behind the screen, you pulled it close and quickly shed your clothes and your underwear. Thank fuck I had my waxing done three days ago, you thought as you put your panties in your bag. You sat on the chair, placing your feet and taking the proper position, you wiggled. “I’m ready,” you called out softly.

You were nervous. It wasn’t the first time he was going to see your pussy; he had seen it multiple times before. It didn’t change the fact that you always got nervous, though. Probably because of the position, you thought yourself and hummed quietly.

Dr Barnes cleared his throat gently before you saw him move behind the screen, and he was right in front of you a second later. “Okay,” he murmured, voice soft. “Let’s see.” He put on his white gloves, grabbed the ultrasound wound and placed a condom on it. It was basic things, things that he always did whenever you came for your check-ups, but the concentration on his face, the gloves and the scrub…

Shit, you cursed silently to yourself. Am I getting wet? Great.

“Take a deep breath, please,” he instructed. “This might feel a little cold.” You nodded. Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling. You felt the slick tip of wand touching the lips of your pussy, and then you felt it slide inside. You shuddered. It was an involuntary movement, but you knew that it was also because of your doctor. “Okay…” he whispered. His steel blue eyes were on the ultrasound screen, trying to see if there was something wrong.

The wand grazed something, and you jolted on your seat, moaning accidentally.

“Did that hurt?” Dr Barnes asked immediately.

“A little,” you answered him, nodding your head slowly. Whatever that thing just touched, it sent a very strong tingling feeling right to your toes, but you weren’t going to say that to him of course. He didn’t say anything but continued to move the wand inside you gently.

It grazed over that place again, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning loudly this time. It didn’t hurt so much but something was sensitive there.

“Would you mind if I use my fingers? Something is there, but I can’t see it clearly from here,” he pointed the screen. “Maybe I can understand what it is if I touch it.” You nodded.  He pulled the wand out. “Alright, tell me if I so something wrong, though.” You nodded again and wished this conversation was happening under different circumstances.

You felt his fingers at your entrance. Two of them slid inside of you easily; his long fingers were able to reach that place without having a trouble. You jerked and moaned unintentionally again. Dr Barnes hummed thoughtfully and grazed over that thing again. Just flinching slightly this time, you moaned. You really wanted to keep this professional, but whatever he was doing there was making you feel good somehow.

“There’s something…” he whispered, his eyes were still on the screen. Fingers moving slowly, trying to feel what was exactly there, you felt your clit throb. Oh no, you thought, No, please no.

Under a minute, he was pumping his fingers in and out of you for real. It wasn’t fast or so slow, but it was a pace or some sorts and you’ve been wet ever since you saw him putting the gloves on. Your clit throbbed violently, your toes were curling and your nipples were aching just a little.

You knew you were about to fucking come.

“Hmm,” Dr Barnes hummed again. When you looked at him, you saw his eyes fixed on you, not the screen. They were dark, his pupils were dilated. He knew that you were right there, could feel you tightening around his fingers, and it made your face burn madly. “Whatever this is, it’s quiet something, isn’t it.”

His fingers curled inside of you, and that was it.

Your toes curled, clit throbbed and thigh muscles tightened: You came right on his fingers. A shocked gasp escaped from you and you choked on your moan. For a second, you thought you might have been imagining all of this, but you were aware of that you weren’t dreaming anything: Dr Barnes’ fingers increased their pace, his thumb found a seat on your clit and he continued to graze over that spot.

“Need to feel one more time,” he murmured. “I’m almost sure.”

Oh no.

Before you could come down from your current orgasm, Dr Barnes’ fingers were carrying you to another one. You moaned; it was impossible to stop them now. Your hands tightened on your sides and you somehow managed to widen the stance of your legs. His dark eyes were focused on you so intently, you shivered under their gaze.

“Hmm,” he hummed, standing up from his seat. He was standing between your legs now. Looking big and straining the scrubs, his lab coat, your doctor looked so yummy. His fingers were still in you, pumping and curling and you were there. If he just…

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly as you climaxed, thighs shaking. You heard him cooing at you softly. He withdrew his fingers, snapping the gloves off, he leaned over the chair and tucked your hair. In front of his scrubs were touching your bare pussy. You shivered.

“Honey,” he whispered. You shivered again at his voice tone. “Deep breaths, that’s right.” You panted a couple more minutes, but he was right beside you. He stroked your cheeks, played with your hair softly and cooed at you. You hummed. “That was something, huh,” he joked silently. You chuckled, but your face didn’t stop increasing the heat on your face. You sneaked your hand in front his scrubs, hearing him taking a sharp breath.

“Deep breaths, Doc,” you whispered. “There’s something that I need to feel, your scrubs don’t let me see it properly.” Bucky chuckled which turned into a moan, groaning deep in his chest as you wrapped your hand around him. He was rock hard. You knew right away that it wasn’t going to take too long for him to come in your hand.

Bucky groaned when you tightened your hand. His hips were thrusting into your fist with small movements; you doubted that he was aware of doing it.

“Do you think I need a better look?” You asked him. Bucky let out a confused sound and watched you get off the chair, dropping on your knees.

“Oh shit,” he breathed. His chest heaved and he fisted his hair. You smirked at him and lowered your head towards his cock. Closing your mouth around his tip, you sucked gently. Your hand was covering the rest, jacking him, while you continued to suck, suck and suck. You could feel his balls tightening whenever you grazed them. Bucky was a moaning mess above you. He was trying to stay silent, but it was hard. Oh boy, you thought. I know the feeling.

You ran your tongue on the tip, twirling it, and continued to suck. Hollowing your tongue, you tightened your hand around him and heard him grunting like he was punched.  

“I─ Oh, oh, shit,” he whispered harshly and his cock twitched in your hand and mouth twice, and then he came. His leg and balls jerked, cock twitched even more and his come hit the back of your throat. You hummed as you sucked him dry. Bucky pushed you off with a gentle touch on your shoulder. You pulled off, rising on your legs.

“That was a payback for the second one,” you said, grabbing the tissue and wiping your mouth. Bucky looked at you like he was already in love with you.

Hell, maybe he was. He’s been crushing on you for years now.

“Can I get back on you for those sounds then?” He asked, raising a brow at you questioningly. Your eyes narrowed.

“Depends on what you gonna do,” you answered. Bucky smiled, face softening immediately, he stepped closer to you.

“I’m gonna take you out on a date if you’d let me,” he murmured. You smiled at him back widely.

“Doc,” you mocked. “This might be best idea you ever had after that ‘let’s change your birth control pills to IUD since you’re memory is shit’ thing.” Bucky chuckled, going a little red on the face. You played with his fingers soothingly. “Yeah,” you said. “I would let you to take me out on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was radiant.

“Great!” He beamed. “I’ll, uh, I’ll call you. I, um, have your number, y’know, you gave it to me for emergencies?” You nodded. “Okay, I’ll call you. Or text you.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “I should go, now, though.” Bucky nodded, murmuring a soft ‘yeah’. You quietly changed into your clothes as he returned to his desk, scribbling notes on a paper. When you emerged, you frowned. “Was there really something?”

Bucky looked up with a frown on his face. “Huh? What?” Then a spark went off in his eyes and he blushed rapidly. “Um, no.”

You narrowed your eyes again. “Doc…”

“Stop,” he whined. You smiled and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll get back at you on that later,” you said, winking at him cheekily. He murmured something unintelligently, nodding you off.

You saw yourself out of his room, a spring on your steps because you had a date with the most handsome gynecologist you’ve ever seen.

He was also the sweetest one, too. 

[redrobin-detective]

because I could not stop for death

because I could not stop for death / he kindly stopped for me / the carriage held but just ourselves / and immortality ~ Emily Dickinson

Danny Fenton was dying, properly this time.

Somehow, in the back of his head and in his worst nightmares, he knew it would end this way: bleeding on the floor of his parents’ lab where it had all began. He was so hot he felt like his skin was on fire, blood and ectoplasm were dripping all over him and his lungs and heart were working overtime to try in vain to keep him alive a moment longer. He’d imagined at the time that there would be more screaming but death, in the end, was turning out to be a quiet little affair. A lonely table set for one.

“Danny, Danny come on, you-you gotta slow down your breathing, just relax, for me, please,” Sam moaned, more than making up for his lack of noise. She was shaking and touching him all over, his chest, his face, his hair. Normally she jumped right into action but she had to know, deep down, that there was nothing she could do. All that was left was to watch her panic and cry, it wasn’t his favorite image. 

“Vlad!” He heard Tucker scream cry into the phone, “please it’s Tucker, Danny’s dying I think. The Fentons had some new invention, something about his core, please we don’t know what to do!” 

Ugh Vlad, he was probably going to be so happy Danny was on his way out. He wasn’t looking much forward to his last images being his archenemy gloating. Tucker hung up and reached down to grasp Danny’s hand so hard it hurt. “Don’t worry dude, Vlad’s coming. He knows so much about you half ghosts that you’ll be fixed up on no time.” Right, Danny was already dead. If calling Vlad, feeling like he did something, helped Tucker move on then he’d deal with it.

Danny tilted his head to the side where Sam’s fingernails were carding through his hair. It was getting harder to see with the blood pouring out of his eyes but he looked at her, and tried to memorize her face. He’d never been able to tell her how much he loved her, that any day spent with her was a blessing. Tucker too, his best bro and a part of his soul. His best friends in the whole wide world, through thick and thin. God, he was going to miss them.

“Glurk,” he said, trying to convey those feeling but the fluids in his mouth and airway made it impossible. “Blerh.”

“Shh shh shh,” Sam soothed, “it’s okay, don’t try to talk.”

“Daniel!” He heard Vlad’s voice shriek as he materialized in front of the portal. Sam and Tucker were violently pushed out the way. Danny wanted to be angry at his loved ones being taken away in his final moments but anger was for the living, he barely had the energy to breathe. This death was too long and too short all at once. He made eye contact with Vlad who all at once lost the frantic edge to his tone and and instead knelt on the floor. “Oh my dear boy. What did they do to you?”

“What is going on?” Sam demanded, shoving her way back in. Danny was glad, he could see again like this. “Why aren’t you doing something!”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Vlad said in a flat, monotone, he picked up one of Danny’s hands and patted it gently. “His core is dying, it’s like a ghost’s heart. It contains their very essence, it is from which everything they are comes from. If Jack and Maddie somehow disrupted it then there’s nothing anyone can do to save him.”

“But he’s human too,” Tucker defended, grabbing Danny’s other hand. His human warm skin burned but the contact felt so good, he twitched his fingers closer to his friend’s. “He-he doesn’t need a core, he’s already got a heart. So, so he doesn’t have powers, we can do normal again.”

“You-” Vlad hissed before taking a calming breath. “The accident that made Daniel like this irreparably altered him. His core was as much a part of keeping him alive as his other organs, without it, his body is shutting down.” Vlad turned down to look Danny in the eye and saw true, genuine grief in those hateful red eyes. 

“I cannot imagine the agony you are going through, I’m so sorry. I’d say it will be over soon but,” a hitch that sounded almost like a sob if it was coming from anyone other than Vlad. “But you’ve hovered on the edge of death for years, son, and you’ve always been such a fighter. You have minutes at most but those minutes are an eternity when you’re suffering.”

Sam and Tucker’s sobbing blended together in the background, Vlad was saying something with a miserable, stunned expression. The swirling of the portal in the background seemed louder than anything, louder than his heart beat pounding and pounding as it ran it’s last race. 

“Daniel, Danny,” he focused his eyes back on Vlad who had a stubborn, unhappy set to his brow. “Do you want me to make the pain stop? An ectoblast to your chest will end your life instantly.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Sam shrieked, coming back into view and looking like she was trying to fight Vlad off. “You do anything to him and I’ll kill you!” Tucker just sat and stared at him, like he too was trying memorize Danny’s face.

“It’s a mercy, Samantha or do you want his last moments on earth to be drowning on the blood in his lungs.”

“Sam, he has a point. I don’t- I don’t think we can fix this.”

“No! No we always fix things, I’ll do it myself if I have to!”

Danny’s vision was starting to go, more black than anything else. He closed his eyes and readied himself for the inevitable. 

“Time Out,” Danny opened his eyes and found he was no longer in pain. He was standing up and apart from where he’d previously been lying. Sam had her hands in Vlad’s face and the older hybrid was snarling something at her. Tucker was midmotion trying to stand up, presumably to get Sam but the three of them were frozen in the moment. Danny turned and found Clockwork floating, looking very out of place in his parents lab. “Good evening, Danny.”

“You that short on cash that you work part time as a grim reaper?” Danny quipped out of habit. He looked down at his body and grimaced a bit, that wasn’t a pretty sight. No doubt traumatizing for Tucker and Sam. God how were they going to explain this to his parents? “Gonna ferry me across the River Styx? I don’t have two pennies but I think I have a bloodied $10 on me.”

“You’re core is dying and you have 17 seconds left in this world before all your organs give out and finish the process you began when you turned on your parent’s ghost portal,” Clockwork explained as he changed into child form. 

“O-okay,” Danny said shakily, trying to be brave even when he was so, so scared. He was going out whether he wanted it or not but he refused to leave crying. “Nice of you to come say goodbye then but, uh but unless you have something to say then you should let me go back. No one knows better than me that you can’t outrun death. Thanks but I’m uh I’m ready.”

Clockwork stared at him for a bit, not sure how long, time was weird like this but he changed forms a few times. “You’re quite the remarkable young man, Danny Fenton.”

“Uh thanks,” Danny added, once more looking at his body which had, according to Clockwork, a 17 second expiration date. “What’s going to happen? Am I going to become a ghost? Does heaven or hell exist for someone like me?”

“I don’t get to decide what happens, I merely see options,” Clockwork stated easily, taking his time. “If you die naturally you’ll become ghost, a mere shadow of who you are now and one who would fade fairly quickly. You don’t have strong enough anger or regrets to tie you in the real world for long.” Not great but okay he supposed, hell for his friends and family though. “You could let Plasmius deliver his mercy kill, destroying what’s left of your ghost core and ensuring you do not come back.” Better, probably won’t help the Fruitloop’s instability but he can’t save everyone.

“That one comes with it’s own caveat but I’ll get to that in a moment,” Clockwork explained. “There is a third option where you get up off the floor and walk away.” Danny blinked then looked back at his body which certainly wasn’t walking anywhere but into a plush casket. Clockwork opened his hands and the Ghost King’s Crown materialized in his hands. “If you accept your claim to the King’s Cown, it will revitalize your core and your life would be saved.”

Danny blinked.

“By sealing Pariah Dark, you won by proxy and established a legitimate claim to the throne. The Zone has been without a king for millennia, most have forgotten the old rules. Those who remembered were not too keen on a half-ghost child assuming leadership and kept you in the dark. If Plasmius ends your life then your claim transfers over to him, which he is aware of. It had been his plan all along to trick you into defeating Pariah so he could steal the Crown from you at a later date, a much easier opponent.”

Danny’s mind was overloaded with information, he didn’t know what to focus on first. He stared at his 17 seconds from death face and tried to process it all. Crown? Claim? Vlad?

“Of course,” Clockwork tutted, “he didn’t plan on your dying and in such a gruesome fashion. If he kills you and takes your claim, he would spend his remaining years ruling the Ghost Zone in a just, controlled fashion for your memory. He destroys all the stable portals and keeps the ghost and human worlds separate.” Clockwork became and old man and titled his head, “it’s not a bad timeline, all things considered.”

“And if I take it?” Danny asked quietly.

“You’re compassionate, brave and motivated, you have all the makings of a revolutionary king,” Clockwork smiled. “The Zone would experience and unprecedented era of peace, there would be positive interactions between human and ghosts for the first time since life and death split into two. Your name would spoken with reverence for the rest of time.”

“But I don’t want to be king,” Danny frowned.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Clockwork stated. “Which is why I am giving you the choice. If you pass peacefully there will be no one to claim the Crown and life will continue on, ghost attacks and all. If Plasmius kills you, he becomes an effective but unmemorable king. If you take the Crown, you can get the chance to tell Sam and Tucker how much you love them.”

Danny rubbed at his face, he didn’t want to die but he’d be sealing away his entire future with a move like this. He didn’t even know if the Crown would let him go with death, maybe he’d die and be stuck as the Ghost King until his core finally gave out lord in who knows how long. Eternity was an awful long time to carry such a responsibility. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, too afraid of the answer.

“Is there ever a timeline I became an astronaut?” He asked instead. Clockwork hummed, seemingly unsurprised by Danny’s non-sequitur. 

“Yes, in one of the few universes where you never walked into the portal. You never go into space what with human politics putting a halt on the programs but you work for NASA. You leave Amity Park at 17 and don’t come back save for your parents’ dual funeral.” He paused and Danny felt read down to his very bones, “from the moment you became half ghost you were always heading for this moment. The circumstances varied but it always came down to you and the Crown. Time is straining to continue, to see how this drama plays out. Will you accept it and all the joy and grief that comes with it?”

Danny looked over at Vlad, still mid-sneer but there was a scared desperation in his face. He and Vlad sniped at each other all the time but Danny didn’t really hate him and he didn’t think Vlad did either. Leaving him alone, plus making him be king was a heavy burden to put on his enemy. 

Sam and Tuck probably wouldn’t recover from this, he’d put them through so much already but he just knew that they’d never be the same. Could he do that to them? Take the easy way out and leave them to suffer? Mom and Dad didn’t deserve to come home to a dead son, the truth would come out and they’d never forgive themselves. Jazz certainly wouldn’t, she was 2 states over at University but he could already hear her angry, grief-stricken screams. 

Death, death was quiet. It was quiet and merciful and sad, but it was also easy. And Danny Fenton had never once taken the easy route. He reached out and took and the crown before shakily placing it on his head. He gasped, throwing his head back as his core swelled, taking up residence once more right next to his heart. Clockwork smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary. 

“The Crown of Fire, pardon me the Crown changes with each core, the Crown of Ice is now yours as is the Zone. Your reign begins now but so too does the rest of your life. People are waiting for you. Time in.” Danny slammed back into awareness on the floor of his parents’ lab, the floor he’d almost died on twice. 

He sat up as cold radiated off his body, causing frost to crawl down his arms and along the floor. Sam, Tucker and Vlad, who’d been frozen up until now, jumped back to life. There was a new, familiar weight on his head that he didn’t dare acknowledge. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and said a silent goodbye to a quiet, normal life. It wouldn’t be all bad, he could be happy like this but the Crown still felt like a iron manacle around his neck. But he got used to the ghost powers, he could get used to this too. Maybe one day he won’t look at the stars and say ‘what if?’

“Danny!” Sam shouted, throwing herself into his arms soon followed by Tucker. Their warm weight, their relieved sobs, their shaky breaths in his air, now this was something worth living for. He squeezed them tightly.

“But how dude, you were at death’s door!” Tucker asked, still not letting go.

“You accepted the Crown,” Vlad said evenly, “I wasn’t aware you even knew about your claim. Who told you?”

“You don’t know everything, Vlad,” Danny sighed, sitting himself upright. Ugh his shirt was covered in blood and ectoplasm. He needed to trash these clothes before his parents freaked. And find a way to hide the floating ice crown on his head. 

“Even an old man can be surprised every now and again,” Vlad said wearily. He stood up to his full height before startling Danny by dipping down to one knee. “Then allow me to be the first to welcome my new king and wish him well.”

“I thought you wanted this,” Danny questioned.

“I do, I did,” Vlad said, unusually off balance. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure how to feel about it but, right now, I’m just immeasurably happy you’re alive, little badger. Now I best be off, enjoy your kingdom, my liege, I’ll be sure to come bother you some time soon.” Vlad disappeared in a swirl of pink leaving just him, Sam and Tucker still clinging to him.

Danny may have a kingdom, a job he didn’t want and his whole life decided in a spur of the moment choice, but he also had something very important. He squeezed his friends tightly.

“I love you guys, thank you for being my friends even though I have the worst ideas for activities. Dying? On a Sunday night? How lame is that?” Sam laughed, a bit hysterical but it was real and it made Danny feel weightless. 

“Don’t do that again, buddy,” Tucker breathed into his shoulder. “So you gonna explain what just happened and why you’re apparently the Ghost King or something?”

“Yeah, yeah I will but let’s get changed first. Mom and Dad will be home soon and I think I’m going to need to have a conversation with them about my new job.” 

[3desiderium3]

For your love

chapter six - Spring day

[ series masterlist ]

previous chapter | next chapter

pairings : reader x damiano david

story summary : damiano and reader are in very loving relationship that sometimes almost too quickly becomes too toxic for anyone likings

chapter warning (s) : this is sad af i made myself sad once again , some strong language and violent behavior , mentions of alcoholism , suicide and depression

They say healing takes time .

For Y/N time felt cruel . It was cold and slow .

It felt like winter . Y/N hated winter . That cold cruel and monstrous time of the year always left deep cuts on her brain and her soul . Every year for her was separated in 2 parts .

One was surviving the winter and having to deal mentally with all the problems and abnormally painful experiences . Constantly drowning .

The other part was trying to swim out of that freezing lake of trauma before she suffocated .

She hated the winter cause that was the time Damiano and her met .

She was never going to erase that day from her head and she was never going to forget each individual pain she felt in that period .

The pain he caused .

She always felt so melancholic and dizzy in that time of the year . Lost . Alone . Fragile .

One and half month has passed since she left Damiano and that month felt exactly like winter.

' I miss you

Saying this only makes me miss all you more

Even though I'm looking at your photo

Time's so cruel , I hate us

It's all winter here , Even in August '

She didn't hear a word from him . From almost no one actually . She disconnected from the real world fully . Only keeping the contact with Thomas , her parents and Vic of course .

Ethan had a hard time figuring out on his own what was happening . But he remained silent .

He didn't wanted to pick up the bleeding wound .

Y/N spent that month in her room . Crying . Trying not to focus on the sharp pains in her chest each night as she would listen over and over again Damiano's voice messages and Måneskins songs . She restored all the deleted pictures . She stopped eating and drinking water . She was just smoking in her bed and sleeping next to an overfill ashtray . Her hair always greasy and tied up . Her eyelashes always soaked up in tears . She avoided human touch the best she could .

Thomas was trying so hard to get her out of that depressive state along with Victoria .

They failed each time . And every other .

So they stopped forcing what the couldn't get .

Måneskin wasn't having rehearsals yet . Well I mean they did sometimes . But without Damiano .. Not because they weren't in touch but because every time they schedule one he cancels it .

He never showed actually up . Always having some lame excuses behind him .

Y/N was constantly playing their shared memories in her head like a dusty retro movie .

It was all she was thinking about . Nothing else . Everything was black and non existing beside him .

Just him .

How is he ? Did he ate today ? Is he sleeping well ? Is he having fun without her ? Is he with someone else ?

She often found herself lost in thoughts filled with suspicion , such as was he ever cheating on her etc etc .

The more time she spent with Victoria the more she became obsessed with an idea that Damiano and her used to have thing .

Some of Damiano's stuff appearing in her apartment such as jewelry and clothes .

An idea of going through Victoria's messages with him was also on her mind all day .

Y/N was always one click away from sending him that ' Hey I miss you , how you've been ? ' message . But always deleting it and putting her phone away .

When she was not thinking of him she was dreaming him . She was dreaming of his apologizes . All the things she wanted him to say to her he only spoke in a dream .

' I miss you

How long do I have to wait

How many nights do I have to pass

To see you ? '

Every day passed so slow because every day was the same .

She would woke up , trying to memorize and analyze all the dreams she had about Damiano , cry because she misses him and his sweet praises , maybe eat something , go back to bed and cry , smoke and drink , vomit if she feels like it , shake from all that stress until her stomach aches , cry and sleep for the rest of the day and at the end she goes back to sleep while thinking of him and later on dreaming of him .

Very often she questioned if this was the best option . Was it a good thing that she just went ? Was it a good thing that she broke up ? Maybe she should've given him second chance .. Maybe she should've at least tell him she planned on leaving , or leave a not whatever .

But he gave up so easily ..

He gave up ...

He never bothered finding her or searching for her ..

' I try to exhale you

Like white smoke

I say that I'll erase you

But I can't let you go yet . '

Y/N felt confused and like her tongue was cut off . She craved for some answers and explanations feeling like she was left unfinished with her words .

Would her even consider responding to her call ?

It was easy for her to explain how she felt but it was hard to understand .

She felt like she had her lungs overfilled with air , like someone kept pouring hot gelatin water on her head , like her bones where heavy , she was exhausted , paranoid , lonely , scared ...

But healing takes time ..

Already two full months passed . Y/N felt like the winter inside of her slowly started to turn into spring .

She gathered some hope for her , she felt like she was able to bloom and breath again .

The final day came . The day she left the house . Well the day she left her room . She washed her hair , she dressed nicely and cleaned up her disgusting room .

Victoria was proud . She almost shaded tears of joy . Her friend started the healing process and she was there by her side .

Y/N went in town to buy some simple groceries .

The day was hot and sunny , people had smiles on their faces . She hasn't landed a thought on Damiano for the past 2 or more days .

She was almost done with shopping when she entered one larger store to buy one single thing she couldn't find anywhere .

And oh boy ... She had what to see ...

She saw him . For the first time she saw him . How didn't she manage to spot his car outside ? Why today ? ?

She felt overwhelmed . Lump in her throat as her clothes became tight on her . She tried pretending she didn't saw him .

But she did . And she memorized every detail from his head to toe .

He looked flawless . No sight of fatigue on his face , no sight of suffer or regret . No nothing . He looked fine . Like he hadn't spent a night without sleep or day without shower . He looked fresh , rested and glamorous .

It awoke rage in Y/N . She was so sure he was feeling at least a bit of the pain she felt . But she saw that he was wrong .

That one fucking ingredient she needed was in a row in front of him , there was no way that he didn't saw her ..

She kept walking , gaze straight ahead pretending she didn't spotted him . But with the edge of her eye she saw him looking at her and making his direction towards her .

Y/N panicked . She practically ran towards the cashier and out of the store felling like all the air she felt overfilling her lungs disappeared .

" Do you need a drive ? " That voice . That velvety sweet voice sent chills to her spine , she was mad . So god damn mad that he was fine doing just fine . Who knows ? Maybe he even moved one with someone else by his side .

' Is it you who changed?

Or is it me?

I hate even this moment that is passing by

I guess we are changed

Just like everyone you know '

" I gotta go to another store it is really close . " Y/N tried lying . " Oh no problem I can drop you off . " He sounded so normal and casual .

Like they where fucking acquaintances not ex lovers .

At this point she didn't felt like resisting . So she just simply went in his car praying that there indeed was some store near .

" How've you've been Y/N ? " " Good. " There was a certain moment of silence . " And you ? " "Just the casual you know . I went to see Ethan this morning and I stopped by to buy bear there is a game tonight . "

" It's here . Thanks for the drop out . "

Y/N said and almost ran out of the car slamming it hardly behind her.

She entered that store and pretended to search for something until she saw him leaving behind the block .

She sighed , tears running gently down her cheeks . She felt so ashamed and so betrayed . How dumb was she actually ? Thinking that he cared for her . ' If he wanted to call he would do it . If he wanted to see how I was he would do it . '

Somehow she dragged herself back to Victoria's . She didn't shared a word with her as she was making her way back to her bed .

Back to that cold room . The room that smelled like winter .

* meanwhile damiano's p.o.v *

Damiano was not doing well . He was sleeping in his stuff that still barely had any of Y/N's fragrance left . In 2 months since their break up nothing good happened to him . He moved back in in his and Y/N's house . Keeping it clean and in peace . He pretended as if they never broke up . He started talking to himself pretending like Y/N was listening . He had no one to yell at .

He slept on her side of the bed , ate on the same spot at the table she used to sit . Read her books on her chair in living room . Sleep in her t-shirts , walk around the house in socks and her hoodies . He cried every damn night . It was eating him alive .

How he let her slip through his fingers . How he made her run away .

When he wasn't sad he was mad . He was cursing her he was yelling and shouting in an empty room . Because he was simply broken and sad . Disappointed and unsatisfied . Mad at himself .

At first he was so determined to find her . There was not a person he asked where she lived , with who she was staying , did she changed her number . He searched for her everywhere . The other band members didn't wanted to tell him however . They knew but they pretended like they had no idea even if they where in touch with her every day . He was slowly losing hope for her .

Even in those toughest moments he tried not to come out as too soft or caring . He never dared to let anyone know how he truly felt . He always pretended like he was doing okay and like he was fine like he didn't care . He put extra effort in his personal looks so it appeared like he was glowing .

But it was eating him out alive every night .

Where is she , how is she , is she alive , is someone taking care of her and her needs ?

' Yeah, I hate you

You left me

But I never stopped thinking about you

Not even a day

Honestly, I miss you

But now I’ll erase you

Because it hurts less than to blame you '

He prayed he could just see her one more time .

And his prayers have been granted . He saw her . He finally did .

She seemed tinier than he remembered , dark circles under her eyes and her posture bended . He offered to give her ride just so he could see where she lives . He wanted to know if she was safe .

After she rejected him coldly he turned around the corner and waited in his car until she was back in his sight walking towards the very familiar path .

He was trying his best to remember how he knew this path .

And once he saw her entering Victoria's house he bit his tongue . He was gripping the wheel with such force his knuckles went white .

' So she was the one hiding you from me . '

Then it clicked inside of his brain .

Thomas knew , Victoria knew and Ethan knew .

They all knew where she was . And no one wanted to help him reach her . They made a fool our of him that day , letting him go in their house while knowing she wouldn't be there .. They made a fool out of him every day when they told him that they had no clue where she was .

He sat there and smoked at least 3 cigarettes before driving off to Thomas's place .

He was going to make a scene .

Måneskin gathered at Thomas's house for the game night .

Damiano silently went in . Prepared for the cold war . Three of them sat on a couch in living room across the huge TV , laughing . " Ay man did you bought the bear ? " Thomas asked still smiling .

Damiano huffed . He was so annoyed , he walked closer to Thomas almost towering him .

" I will fucking kill you . " Those words where followed by Damiano slapping his friend and Victoria letting out loud scream . Ethan gasped and tried separating them .

These two where on the floor wrestling with each others hands around their necks .

" Daminao stop what is wrong with you for fucks sake ! " Victoria yelled . Once they separated , she was rubbing Thomas's back , the golden boy was all red in his face and his eyes teary .

" YOU FUCKING KNEW ! ! ! ALL OF YOU FUCKING KNEW ! " The other members watched their friend in shock as he was exploding from rage . This type of behavior he didn't surfaced in months .

" ALL OF YOU ! FUCKING KNEW ! WHERE SHE WAS , HOW SHE'S BEEN AND YOU HELPED HER GET AWAY FROM ME ! ! ! "

Not only Damiano was shouting but he was also crying .

He was crying and sobbing with his lips visibly shaking , his hands in his hair . This was the first time he cried in front of them in 2 months .

" I WAS THE WORST ! I STILL AM ! SHE DESERVED BETTER ! BUT NONE OF YOU WANTED TO TELL ME IF SHE IS EVEN ALIVE ! "

" Dami - " " SHUT UP ! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW THIS IS ! "

He was breathing very hard now . Not only his lips but his whole body was shaking now . " I need her .. I need Y/N ... I will rather die than not be in her arms again .. I - I want her back .. "

The only sound in the room was the background TV sound . Thomas , Victoria and Ethan watching Damiano cry in front of them and scream his pain out . They felt guilty .

" I need to call her .. "

A/N i used BTS song spring day in few references . Hope you like it and leave a heart on if you do <33

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