#she’s my greatest unrequited love I think

[nastytransmasc]

I’ve been thinking about that quote, “I imagine death so much it feels like a memory” a lot

[ellecdc]

I will bite (lol mating bite)

Remus with a best friend!reader who thinks her feelings for him are unrequited

his alpha presentation clicks in when she first presents as an omega - he immediately realizes they’re mates and is delighted, she doesn’t know he likes her and is freaking out that he’s going to feel trapped

🫣.......... okay twist my arm why don't you ;) jk - this theme/trope has been a bit of a brainworm/hyperfixation for me for a few weeks so thank you for indulging me, and sorry to my readers who this might not be their taste! but I definitely had fun with it so you may have to brace yourselves for more of it from me lol

Remus Lupin x best friend!reader who presents as an omega [3.5k words]

p1 // p2

CW: fem!reader, a/b/o dynamics and omegaverse, very soft a/b/o descriptions, SFW [nothing explicit or sexual in this fic], first a/b/o fic I've written so I'm truly just dipping my toes in lol, feelings of unrequited love [but its actually requited]

Loving Remus came as naturally as breathing to you; every inhale was the sweet smell of chocolate, warm sweaters, and worn books, and every exhale was a quiet whisper of “I love you” that you prayed to every deity he couldn’t hear.

Loving Remus was natural, but it was also harrowing; no one chooses to experience unrequited love, it’s simply one of those things that happens upon you. 

But no matter how painful the fact that your feelings weren’t reciprocated was, the wholehearted comfort that being around Remus brought you was almost worth the heartache. 

There was something in your soul that relaxed the second Remus was near; your entire being unclenched, knowing you were somehow safer, somehow more sound now that he was here.

And you hoped that, if nothing else, you provided the same for him. 

The two of you had been friends for years; becoming fast friends in first year over your shared love of muggle literature and the fact that the two of you were a touch more shy than your respective peers. 

The friendship never dimmed over time - if anything, it only became stronger with every passing year. No matter how mischievous his new friends were or how much trouble he got into with them around, no matter how many school yard crushes left either of you melancholy, no matter how many failed papers or late night study sessions that turned into heated spats because the two of you were far too overtired to handle anything maturely, and no matter how the moons came and went that effectively waxed and waned the Remus you knew in much the same way, the friendship had weathered it all.

It was one of your greatest possessions - this friendship you shared with Remus - and one of your proudest accomplishments.

And you weren’t going to let a silly crush (or, in your case, your gut-wrenching and undying devotion) ruin it. 

Which is how you found yourself walking up the steps to James and Lily’s flat for your surprise party, preparing yourself to be surprised because Sirius insisted they throw you one but Remus knew you hated surprises and had warned you about it prior to your arrival. 

You were admittedly not feeling up to a party - the telltale tickle in your throat warning you of an impending cold - though you were sure you wouldn’t have felt quite up to a party whether you were poorly or not. Parties were never quite your thing; you loved your friends, and you loved spending time with them, but that many of them in one place at one time and all for you felt a little bit like torture. 

But you knocked on the door which was flung open before your hand even made its second knock and there was a sea of people cheering “happy birthday!” but your eyes - of course - found Remus first, and suddenly, you didn’t think this was torture. Suddenly this was heaven. 

“Wha- you guys!” You started, smiling as James gave you a bone crushing hug, eyes never leaving Remus’. 

“Surprise!” Lily giggled as she elbowed James out of the way to give you her own hug. “Were you surprised?”

“What do you mean ‘were you surprised’? I still am!” You agreed quickly, embracing Sirius who was next in line.

“Moony told you, didn’t he?” He murmured quietly into your hair, causing you to snort. 

“Am I that bad an actor?” You asked him quietly, causing him to chuckle as he rubbed his hand up and down your back. 

“No,” He answered quickly, “but he is just that soft on you.” 

You hardly had a moment to consider what Sirius had said when Marlene was yanking you from his grasp to pepper your face in kisses as he shook his head over at his friend and started giving him shit for ruining the surprise. 

After greeting every guest in attendance, you finally made it to Remus who wasted no time in pulling you into his chest.

“Happy birthday, dove.” He murmured into your hair; and you had sort of wished that the only plan you had for the rest of the night was to stay within his warm embrace. 

“Sorry for getting you into trouble with Sirius.” You murmured back into his chest, delighting in the rumble of his laugh you elicited.

“Worth it; couldn’t handle you being miffed with me all night for not warning you.”

You - regretfully - pulled away to shoot him a bemused expression. “I could never spend an entire night miffed with you, Moons.” 

Remus hummed noncommittally as he scanned your face. “Any amount of time would have been too much for me- hey, are you feeling okay?” 

His face took on a concerned form that you found him too pretty to wear, and you suddenly felt bone-deep distress at having caused it.

“Why? I’m fine; do I not look fine?” You asked worriedly, bringing a hand up to your own face which was perhaps warm, but you weren’t feeling clammy. 

The corner of his mouth twitched, though the furrow between his brows was ever present. “You look perfect, as usual, just… are you feeling alright?” 

You let out a sigh, looking anywhere but his piercing gaze. “I think I’ve got a cold coming on, I’ll be alright though.” 

His mouth pinched worriedly as he ducked trying to get you to make eye contact with him. “We don’t have to stay long then, yeah?”

You snorted as you gave him an unimpressed look. “We don’t have to stay long at the party for me that was thrown in part by you?”

“Right.” He agreed readily.

“I’ll be fine, Rem.” You assured him, patting his hand placatingly. “It’s my party, I can sniffle if I want to.”

And though he didn’t seem particularly convinced, he let you go when Sirius and Marlene announced that it was time to dance. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You were taking a breather in the small kitchen of James and Lily’s flat when you started to feel slightly worse.

The tickle in your throat had officially turned into an ache in your chest, and your head was pounding - be that from the music, the dancing, the drinks, or whatever flu you were coming down with, you couldn’t be certain. 

But you found yourself feeling better as you let your head fall back against the cool wall; your hair falling away from your neck and allowing the air circulating the room to hit your overly hot neck and chest.

Maybe you should try to leave early?

“I’ll check.” You heard Remus announce; your face breaking out into a grin on its own accord as he came around the corner.

“Y/N.” He breathed out. “Are you alright?” He asked, standing in front of you with that damned furrow in his brow again.

“I’m alright.” Now, was left unsaid, but something in the tilting of his head alerted you to the fact that he heard it anyway. 

“What’s gotten into you, hm?” He asked slowly; words stilted as his eyes darted across your face, mostly speaking to himself as he searched your form for answers. 

“Did you find her?” James called out, causing Remus’ neck to crane as he peered around the door frame; and that’s when it hit you.

Chocolate, warm sweaters, and worn books.

Remus.

His scent. 

Your head fell forward as you took a deeper breath, and the remnants of whatever cold you were catching dissipated.

And the whole evening clicked into place; the discomfort, his incessant worry and focus on you, you felt better for a moment because he was near - not because you took a moment to breathe, he could tell you were…

Oh god.

“Y/N.” He said again, alerting you to the fact that he was now standing rigidly still and staring at you imploringly. “What-”

“This can’t be happening…” You whispered, eyes glued to the point just under Remus’ jaw that was so disturbingly close yet somehow not nearly close enough. 

“Are- are you…” Remus started, his gaze settling somewhere near your shoulder as he leaned closer to you and took a deep breath through his nose.

As if you scalded him, he went flying backwards from your being - his back making contact with the fridge so violently that it sent magnets flying.

Fuck, fuck! Fuck, he was going to hate you, now, surely? He hated you.

He hated you because he wanted you, but he only wanted you because you were fucking presenting - why? Why now? Why today? Why to him?

He’s never wanted you before; and now he would only want you because he was - what was very clear now - an Alpha and you were, apparently, an Omega.

Fuck.

“Fuck.” You hissed as you pushed the heels of your palms into your eyes until you could see stars.

“Dove-”

“No!” You shouted, pulling your hands away to see him having frozen in reaching out to you, now lifting his hands as if fending off a wild animal.

“Fuck, I need air.” You blurted, and you took off out the front door. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The evening air did little to quell your nerves and nausea over the events of the night. 

To present, tonight out of all nights, in a tiny flat with nowhere to run without causing a scene.

Not to mention the precariousness of your relationship with Remus that you valued over everything was now hanging by a thread. 

“You couldn’t have found us a more comfortable place to sit, gorgeous?” You heard Sirius drawl as he (loudly) took a seat on the curb beside you.

“I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you so, Sirius.” You responded dryly. 

“You ought to be.” He continued. “This is not how I wanted to spend your birthday party.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You scoffed, elbowing him in the side causing him to sway as if you’d put any real force behind it. 

“If you fuck on, you get better results.”

You snorted. “Yeah, and if you fuck around you’ll find out.”

“Mmm, saucy, I like where this is going.”

“Padfoot.” You begged miserably, and he let out a relenting sigh before he pulled you roughly into his side, leaving his arm draped over you as you laid your head on his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting on a curb outside.” You answered, earning you a pinch in the side.

“I can see that; I mean, what are you doing out here by yourself? Why aren’t you inside with your man?”

“Stop it, Sirius.” You spat, hastily sitting up and wiping angrily at your face.

“Merlin, you both really are that thick, aren’t you?” He muttered, searching your face like it would somehow answer his question.

“If you’re out here to make fun of me, you can go back inside. I’m humiliated enough.”

Sirius shook his head sadly. “I don’t understand why the two of you are making this harder than it needs to be; you’re both clearly mad for each other, you’re out here feeling sorry for yourself because you think he doesn’t want you, he’s in there feeling sorry for himself because he doesn’t think you want him.”

“He doesn’t want me, Sirius. We’ve always only been friends.”

“But you want him?” He asked then, causing you to put your head in your hands.

“Sirius, please, don’t-”

“Do you want him?” He asked again, more forceful this time. “Simple question, Y/N, yes or no.”

“Yes!” You let out with a sob. “Yes! I’ve always wanted him! I’ve- fuck, I’ve been mad about him for years and… yes. Yes, I want him.” The end of your sentence trailing off as you picked angrily at your nail beds.

Sirius seemed to steal himself for a moment, nodding his head as he sucked in a breath.

“I started calling him Moony before I ever knew of his lycanthropy.” He admitted then; and though you weren’t looking in his direction, you could feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head. 

Sirius let that sit in the air before he got up and stood in front of you, forcing you to look up at him. 

“I called him that because of the way he was always mooning after you.”

“Then why’d he freak? Why’d he rip away from me like that?” You asked - voice disturbingly small as you looked up at one of your oldest friends.

“Why’d you run?”

You let out a sigh and looked at the streetlights across the street instead of admitting “because I’m a coward”. 

“I can’t lose him, Pads. I-” Stopping as a painful shiver shook your frame - the cold taking over again now that you had some distance from your…

From Remus.

But Sirius didn’t rush you, he just continued standing in front of you as you struggled to find the words. 

“I can’t lose him.” You settled on. 

“Then don’t.” He said, toeing your shoe with his. 

“It’s not that simple.” You argued.

“It can be.” A voice sounded from behind you but a moment before you smelled him. 

And though the rational part of your brain wanted to brace yourself, the rest of your body immediately softened in his presence. 

“Well I’m going to go back in and enjoy the kick ass party I threw, so, if the two of you don’t mind…” Sirius said haughtily, shooting you a wink so that you knew it was all in jest and clapping Remus on the back before disappearing back into the building. 

You listened as Remus lowered himself onto the curb beside you; guilt flooding through you at the way his joints cracked audibly and at the fact that he seemed to be leaving quite a bit of distance between the two of you that he wouldn’t have even just a few hours ago. 

“Are you okay?” He started, and you fought the urge to scoff.

No, you thought petulantly, not only do I feel like shit, I’m also at risk of losing the thing that means the most to me.

“I’m fine.” You responded shortly, fixated on the skin surrounding your fingernails as you refused to look in his direction. “You alright?”

“No.” Remus answered quickly, and you did look up at that.

He was staring at you imploringly, his brows furrowed both with sympathy and perhaps a little bit of frustration. 

“Why’d you run?” He asked then.

“I-” you started, though you weren’t exactly sure anymore. “You…you seemed so startled, I… I thought you were upset.”

He seemed to pause as he considered your response; this sort of caution not usual for the two of you this far into your friendship. 

“I had just found out that the girl of my dreams was an Omega, and when she was clearly distraught, I was caught leaning in to get a better sniff.” He deadpanned, shaking his head at himself as he looked out across the street. “I startled because I was certain I was going to startle you.”

“I- you’re not? Startled, that is.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he shook his head, turning back to look at you. “Why would I be?”

“But…we’ve never been…more than friends; I didn’t want that to change now, just because you felt it had to.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He responded simply, and for reasons you weren’t willing to think on right now, that sentiment caused something very unpleasant to churn in your gut. 

“Nothing would have to change; you could still be you and I could just be me, and that would be fine. Is that what you want?” 

He held your gaze defiantly as you gaped at him. “I- but,”

“Is that what you want, dove?” He asked again, a slight force in his tone this time as he turned his body towards yours and his eyes flit down to your lips. “Because it is taking everything in my power not to claim you as my own right here, right now. I have wanted this for so long; so I ask you again, is that what you want? For nothing to change?”

“No.” You blurted quickly. 

“No?”

“No.” You whispered, shaking your head as you turned your body to face him too. “No, no. I want you, I need you-”

“Now? You want and need me now, or-”

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you since fourth year, Remus. Since I figured out why I hated Emmeline Vance so much.” You practically sobbed.

“Why?” He asked softly, looking like his lip wanted to tip up into a smile though he was dutiful of your current upset. “Because she fancied me?”

“Because you fancied her.” You corrected miserably. Remus finally brought his hand up to cup your cheek at that, and you hardly had a moment to feel embarrassed at the way you quickly turned your head into his wrist so you could get a better smell of him.

“My poor, sweet girl.” He cooed softly, a sympathetic sound emanating from the back of his throat at the sound that his phrase elicited from you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please.” You whispered, no longer trying to withhold the desperation from your voice as you kept your nose pressed to the inside of his wrist and your eyes screwed shut.

“Okay.” He whispered back, even though he had no idea what you were begging him for - you supposed it didn’t matter; he didn’t seem particularly inclined to deny you anything you wanted right now. 

“Rem-”

“I know.”

“Please.”

“I’m right here, dove.” He whispered, pulling you towards him by your hand as you followed all too willingly. “I’m right here.” He whispered again, nose brushing yours before you closed the distance between the two of you.

The sound of the traffic faded away, as did the tarmac beneath you and the air around you; you seemed to be floating in a vast expanse that contained nothing but you and Remus.

You took a moment to mentally kick yourself as you deepened the kiss - nipping at his lower lip and causing him to smile before granting you access - that you could have been, should have been, doing this for years. 

“Ugh, fuck.” Remus muttered as he broke the kiss and rested his head against yours, seeming truly distraught at having to interrupt.

You didn’t even have a chance to ask what was wrong before you heard cheering from above you.

“Fucking finally!” James shouted as he pulled the tab of a party popper, showering the street below his balcony with multicoloured  confetti. 

“Pay up bitches; I told you this was the year.” Lily continued, holding her hand out expectantly as Marlene begrudgingly placed a few galleons into her friend's hand. 

“Oi!” Remus shouted at the group, a protective arm snaking around your middle as he held you closer to him as if he was worried you’d simply float away, “You better pay Pads his fair share then!”

You snorted and shoved your face into Remus’ neck - hiding your face as a ploy to get closer to him without it being nearly close enough. 

Remus chuckled as your friends filed back into the apartment and the world returned to its normal volume, bringing his free hand up to knead at your scalp in a way that made you want to purr like a sodding cat. 

“Fuck.” He breathed out, looking down at you with an expression nothing short of worship.

“You okay?” You asked then, bringing one hand up to draw a line down the bridge of his nose, simply because you could now.

“I’m perfect, you’re perfect.” Remus pressed, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss before he pressed his nose against the spot on your neck just past your jaw.

You instinctually let your head fall back; his hand tightening in your hair as he let out a sound halfway between a laugh and growl.

“Don’t sodding do that.” He scolded you playfully. 

“What?” You asked - half innocently half abashedly. 

“Submit to me, you minx.” He explained, booping you on the nose for extra effect. “Let me at least take you out on a date, first.”

A date, you echoed in your head; you had spent a lot of time daydreaming as a girl about what your first date with Remus would look like. You’d always imagined spending the day in Hogsmeade buying sweets and gobstones and books and quills before heading back up to the castle.

This was turning out way better already, though.

“So long as I don’t have to share you with James.” You joked, peering over Remus’ shoulder where you could see James peeking through the curtains before a flash of a camera went off.

“Hm…I’m not sure I can promise that for the first date, but definitely for the second.” 

“Deal.” You agreed readily, because really, you’d have Remus just about anyway you could have him. 

And you were simply overjoyed to know that he apparently felt the same.

[s4lv4tions]

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

1.

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands. 

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope. 

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

2.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business! 

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with. 

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone? 

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking. 

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest. 

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying. 

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard. 

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

3.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it. 

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning. 

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.) 

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke. 

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt. 

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

4.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly. 

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

5. 

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off. 

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need? 

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun. 

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

6.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate. 

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead. 

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up. 

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them. 

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

7.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you. 

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick. 

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living. 

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice. 

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

8.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all. 

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later. 

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it. 

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased. 

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness. 

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths? 

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns. 

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

9.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay. 

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will. 

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body. 

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised. 

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him. 

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw. 

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of. 

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish. 

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die. 

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact? 

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves. 

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin. 

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata. 

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight. 

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry. 

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities. 

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless. 

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce. 

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release. 

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes. 

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever. 

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness. 

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more. 

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful. 

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far. 

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again. 

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you. 

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others. 

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips— 

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk. 

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

[clawsmiic]

"If I'm being honest, no I'm not holding up okay."

Repost from other account

1.9k words

CW: Past Stancy mention, current Jancy, past feelings mention, and past/current unrequited love (both)

Prom Night, 1985

Prom night, supposedly one of the greatest nights of teenagers' lives. That's a sentiment Steve definitely wouldn't agree with, hanging out outside his own senior prom. He didn't even know why he bothered coming, knowing full well he'd see them together. Hand in hand, arm in arm, dancing to every cheesy slow song the DJ put on. As much as Steve tried to be supportive or ignore it...

He just wasn't over his ex-girlfriend yet.

But that didn't stop him from trying to be the bigger man in the situation. That's what Steve grew into being, the bigger person. No more being a total asshole for the sake of his own feelings. That's something Junior year Steve would do.

"Well, don't you just look so lively tonight." His trance breaks as he's approached by you, coming from the double doors of the Gym hallway not too far away.

"I'm not in the mood tonight."

Steve sounded both fed up and disgusted with your antics already. Even if this was just the first thing you said anything to him all day.

You lean against the cold brick gym wall. Feeling the rough bumps of the hard surface on your back and through your dress.

"Rough night, champ?" Steve sighs, rubbing his eyes, raw from a few minutes of being emotional.

"You don't know the half of it." Glancing over, he sees you for the first time. Admiring the floor length red dress, you always looked good in red. You looked good in everything, at least in his mind.

"Look at you, all dressed up and presentable for once." You smirk at his joke, making him chuckle and smile.

"I always look presentable thank you prick." Smirking to yourself before looking back at him.

"You look good in a tuxedo... Y'know, for you."

"Thanks for the backhanded compliment. Anything good from you is a rarity." You laugh, making him smile even wider. His eyes shift around the parking lot, watching cars pull in, and other kids come to join the party going on inside.

"What're you even doing out here by yourself? I thought you'd be in there with like 9 different girls trying to dance with you at once." He scoffs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"You know, too many options beating down my door. Couldn't disappoint them all."

"Came stag too, huh?" He just nods in response, not saying anything as you both look up into the inky night sky. The only sound to fill the cold April night air was the crickets chirping and distant chatting of other students.

"Are you holding up okay? I saw them dancing inside and... I know the breakup was hard for you, so I just thought I'd check up on you..."

Steve let out a rough sigh, feeling like a complete idiot pining for his ex-girlfriend still. Being broken up for almost 5 months now. He couldn't let her go in his head, they were each other's first loves. At least she was to him.

All of that came crashing to a halt after everything back in November.

"If I'm being honest, no I'm not holding up okay."

"I know I'm not a therapist or anything..." You shrug, glancing back at him as you nervously chew on your thumbnail.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really. I've been talking to Dustin for months about it and no matter how much I try I can't get past it. Like Nancy's cast some kind of spell to stick with me or something." He sighs, looking at the asphalt as he swallows harshly.

"Now we can hardly make eye contact for more than 3 seconds before she turns away... God, she must hate me."

"Steve, she doesn't hate you. She's probably just feeling awkward about everything and trying to respect her new relationship by not hanging around her ex-boyfriend. They're just trying to find their footing as a couple." You reassure him, leaning over to give him a squeeze on his shoulder. Thinking about what he said, you shake your head, grinning at the thought of Dustin.

"And really Steve? Dustin. He's like 14 and barely knows how to handle having a crush yet. He's never even had a girlfriend yet. I know he's smart for his age, but c'mon."

"I know! He's just a great listener. He knows a lot for his age, it's actually kinda scary." You roll your eyes looking at the ground, starting to laugh to yourself.

"What?" His full attention is on you now, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watches you start to laugh harder.

"Nothing I just..." You cover your mouth, snickering again.

"I just never pictured myself giving you of all people a pep talk... You're you for crying out loud. Steven "The Hair" Harrington." You grin, bumping his arm with your elbow.

"King Steve... You're literally the most popular guy in the entire school, and I'm... Me." He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's the fun thing. We're so different, so we can see our point of view while still seeing each other's... Plus, it's nice not having someone around trying to kiss my ass constantly."

"Yeah, I'll just kick your ass instead." You smirk, pressing off the wall, your heels click as you step in front of him.

"Look, I know it hurts now, but it'll pass eventually... And if I can be honest with you... You could do so much better than Nancy frickin' Wheeler."

Steve could feel his eyebrows shooting up in amusement as you got in front of him. For some odd reason, just standing there in your presence felt somewhat calming suddenly.

"Oh yeah? Who'd you have in mind then?"

"I don't know," you think for a second and shrug, "Farrah Fawcett? I think she'd think you were cute. Celebrity or not?"

"Farrah Fawcett? You think Farrah Fawcett, one of the most famous women alive, would want me?"

"Yeah! You're a hot guy, why wouldn't she?!" It's his turn to laugh now, shaking his head as he bites his lip.

"Where the hell would I even meet her?"

"I don't know! I thought we were talking hypothetically." Steve nodded, his face turning serious again.

"It's just... It's hard looking past Nancy, y'know. She was the first girl I ever loved."

"I'm aware, Steve. It's just not always the best thing to dwell on. I'm talking from experience." You bite the inside of your cheek and sigh. Nervous to be this honest, but if it helps get the point across, then so be it.

"Can I be honest with you about something?"

Steve looks at you, seeing how nervous you look to talk. His lips part slightly as he nods.

"Of course."

"I used to have a massive crush on Jonathan ages ago and when he started showing an interest in Nancy it killed me... But he's my friend, so I encouraged him. It killed me but I got over it."

You turn your head, looking up at the sky again, taking in the shining stars above the two of you. Feeling embarrassed about laying everything out there for someone you've barely gotten to know again.

"Took a while but time heals most wounds. So, just know I'm here for you because I know what it feels like... Kind of."

Steve felt your pain as you talked about how you couldn't be with Jonathan, and how that's basically how he felt about Nancy in all honesty.

Silence fell over the two of you as you both looked out to the sky, admiring the stars again. Steve looks over at you, feeling somewhat peaceful. Yet still wanting to ask so many questions.

"How'd you do it? Stay strong like that. I can barely be in a room with her right now."

"I talked to my family. That helped a lot... But I know you aren't the closest to your parents, so that's why I asked if you wanted to talk about it with me." You smile softly, lips turning up as you half shrugged at his question.

"I know we weren't always on the best of terms, but you're my friend and... I care about you."

"We're friends again?" His eyes seemed to light up almost, just like he was a little kid again. Over the past year he's felt like you two were bonding. But never wanted to ask out of fear.

Tension fills the air between you two. It's been this way since you two started becoming friends again. Going through hell together alongside the couple, Steve was trying to avoid like the plague.

"Well you know, when you nearly die fighting inner dimensional monsters together you tend to start caring about their well-being again... So, in a way, I guess we have to thank them for something at least."

Steve smirks before shaking his head.

"Part of me likes to think we'd be friends again someday."

"Who knows." You add, silence falling between you again. It's not long before Steve shifts, pushing himself off the wall and looking at you.

"So let’s say, hypothetically, that I was stuck at this stupid prom without a date and I had no one else to ask but you...”

"Mmm. Mmhm, hypothetically." You nod along, fighting back the urge to smirk.

"Go on."

Steve looked away for a second, collecting his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, turning back to you.

"And, hypothetically, I might need to spend our senior prom dancing, like my life depends on it, because it's possibly the last fun night before the rest of our lives."

"I'm starting to think you don't know what the word hypothetically means."

"Shush," he cuts you off, making you giggle before he continues, "now, hypothetically, would you be interested in dancing with me?"

You nod, looking like you were really thinking about it. As if you didn't know your answer already.

"Well, hypothetically," you play along, making sure to hold eye contact, "I might be inclined to say yes... If it wasn't a hypothetical, of course."

You rub your hand over your mouth, smirking behind it. He holds eye contact, faking a scoff as he stares.

"You're gonna make me ask?" You nod, tongue going to his cheek as he also nods.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"I wouldn't be saying that to a girl you're about to ask to prom Steve." He chuckles, nodding. You got him there.

His expression shifts to a goofy grin as he sighs with a slight relief.

"You think you can survive the night without making fun of me?" He smirks, holding his hand out for you to grab, you smile back at him taking it gently. Giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"I don't know about the whole night, but I can sure try my best." Rolling his eyes, he pulls you into his side, lacing his arm around your waist.

You look up at him, your gaze meeting again. Taking in his deep brown eyes and soft smile brings... Old feelings from years ago bubble back up.

Your mouth opens to say something, anything at all. But the words won't come out as your heartbeat picks up speed.

That old crush you had on your old friend never really went away over all these years.

Or at least that's what you think at the moment.

[certainlynotasimp]

Hii, i think a good idea for a one shot could be that there's a canon event where the spiderperson!reader have to do the iconic Spiderman kiss in their universe, like Spiderman 3 (toby's one) with Gwen stacy or whoever you want, but they are in a relationship with Miguel LMAOOO btw im sorry if there's something wrong with the grammar, english is not my first language <3

Rewrite the Stars

((Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader))

A/N: A non Sunny x Miggy post? How odd for me lol. I’m so sorry this is super late and to everyone whose requested, I’m working slowly but surely on y’all’s stuff. If you wanna read some stuff in the meantime, here’s the Masterlist and feel free to join my discord.

A/N: I tried doing the you/yours pronoun thing because this isn’t a Sunny fanfic but I really don’t like it lol.

Warnings: Jealous Miguel?, Unrequited/Forbidden? Love, Female Reader/Female Pronouns, Barely use of Y/N, and no Spanish this time ((I’m trying to find a new translator and hopefully an editor))

The universe.

One of life’s greatest mysteries. A mass of stars and galaxies that housed so many lives within its many pockets. The lives of so many people whose lives were already written within its cloudy arms and their ends cemented in its pools of nothingness.

A beautiful cycle of cruelty and destiny.

A cycle that was the reason for your utter misery as you sat at a bar listening to your dimension’s Ben Riley blabber on about some football game you cared nothing about.

His oblivious brown eyes sparkled at the fascination with the game as his dimpled smile accentuates his sharp jawline. The warm lights from above caused a healthy glow to bounce off of his shaggy blonde hair, almost making him look like an angel. You can see why Spiderverse assigned him as your love interest.

In your earth’s canon, you were a typical woman who had gotten bit by a radioactive spider during a high school field trip and you spent your entire high school experience thrashing goons instead of chasing boys. Even helped take down some aliens with the Fantastic Four and the Avengers at times before college finals. Spiderwoman was New York’s beloved hero and the cockiness of being its one and only SpiderWoman quickly got into her head.

That was until six months ago.

Six months ago, you were fighting the Vulture over the Empire State Building when another, more mutated version of the same villain appeared. They both decided in your state of delirium over the doubles that you would be a good plaything.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, I didn’t ask for a combo with my chicken!” A feminine spider’s voice screeches as she avoids the hooked talons of the erratic variant.

The two villains took turns flying menacingly around the scope of buildings to throw the hero off of their location while the other swooped in and tries to rip her throat out.

As she attempts to escape the feathered monster, its companion would come and slice away the web of salvation, continuing the vicious cycle.

Blood blinded her vision as the loud ringing at the base of her skull grew louder. The causes of that annoying alarm grasp their razor claws into her shoulders before sweeping her exhausted body into the air with a victorious snarl.

‘I guess this is the end…’

As the heavens draw closer to her doom, her life hanging up by the slicing of her muscles and bones, a glimmer of fate happens. The warmth of a flash barely registers as the first ache disappears with a startled squeak and a burly force. The sudden change in feeling takes her breath away as she suddenly begins to plummet below.

Her eyes quickly adjusting to the suffocating drop, she can see that one of the Vultures was now fighting an even more prominent blue figure, his howls of pain and unintelligible cursing heard from the stumbling brawl.

As the flash from her familiar foe reaches around the building, she shoots her web at him and used him as a glider.

“Time to ground you, birdie!” She yells as she throws the villain through a window. Catching her grip on the building, she looks at her new foe in the sky and the wind is knocked out of her from the sight.

The man who saved her was in a futuristic spider suit with his mask now off. His dark hair flutters in the wind as the setting sun makes his tanned skin glow. His red eyes glare at the wiggling mutant as his full lips pull back into a snarl. His jaws open revealing a set of large fans before he plunged them into the mutant.

Who the hell is that?

~~~~~~~~~

“(Y/N)?…” Ben frowns as he realizes his date was lost in her thoughts.

You snapped out of your head and fake an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was remembering something….”

That wasn’t a complete lie. You remembered the day you met Miguel O’Hara. The Spiderman of the year 2099 and the leader of the inter-dimensional Spider Society. The anomaly that had come into your world had brought the two together and you were recruited due to your stubbornness, much to Miguel’s annoyance.

~~~~~~~~~

“No.” His annoyance dripped from these words as he glares down at you. You were caught in wonder at the idea of there being other Spidermen and that they worked together to stop the collapse of the entire universe. The thought seemed too good to be true that you just had to ask if you could join until those red eyes shot your dream through the heart.

“What do you mean ‘No’?” You ask in disbelief. Your own eyes glared deep into his soul as your hands balled into fists. “I’m a Spiderman just like you! How could you-!”

“You are not like me.” He coldly snaps at you, your ranting briefly interrupted as the man towers over you. His clawed hand grasps your face as his glare sets a spark of fury down in your chest.

“You will never be like me and you will never-!” “Is that our new recruit?” A smooth British accent appears behind Miguel as a spiked-headed Spiderman peeks around his bulking figure.

“No, she’s-” The tall punk pulls you away from Miguel with a mischievous laugh as he introduces himself. “Ello, love, my name is Hobie. Hobie Brown.” He leans down with a sly smirk as his mischievous attitude infests your being like a plague. “Just play along, mate. Let’s riffle this wanker’s undies.” He whispers as you giggle.

“Nice to meet you, Hobie.” I allow a sly smirk to slide onto my face as I look back at the now very annoyed Miguel. “My name is (Y/N) and I’m happy to join.”

~~~~~~~~

The distant sound of screams filters through the bar as the distinct sound of a car being tossed into another building.

Looking at my gizmo disguised as a watch, you realized that the canon event was starting.

~~~~~~~~

“You did well today,” Miguel admits under his breath. Looking at him in shock, you realize that he wasn’t scowling like he normally was. He had a softer expression, his eyes shining with approval as his lips quirked into a mimic of a smile.

The mission had almost gone rouge with the escape of a prowler and him hiding low in a crowded dimension. Despite the obvious danger, Miguel opted to go alone like usual, but his lack of spider sense caused him to get caught up in a trap. Talons and Fangs don’t really help if you can’t exactly move around to use them, so he ended up taking serious blows.

Luckily, you managed to get there and tumble with the villain long enough for the others to rescue Miguel, and the team managed to recapture the prowler. Of course all of them looked pretty bad injuries wise, but the look Miguel had as you sat there bandaging up his wounds made it worth it for some odd reason.

“Thanks Boss.”

~~~~~~~~

June 27th : SpiderWoman of Earth 648 will rescue love interest, Ben Riley, from an attack against The Rhino….

The roaring of the mechanical beast fills the panicked screams of the patrons as the sinking feeling falls in your chest. Ben is quick to play the hero like any guy would as he grabs your arm and drags you out towards the emergency exit. Just like the timeline said it would.

You use the chaos to your advantage as you pretend to trip and get lost in the crowd of people struggling to escape from the emergency exit.

~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean by that?!” I snapped at an irritated Miguel.

Lyla was surprisingly quiet as she watched the duo argue. Miguel whips around at you as his ruby eyes scorched into yours. His talons point at you accusingly as he reiterates your next canon event.

“On June 27th, you are going to be out on a date with Ben Riley. The Rhino is gonna attack that street and you’re gonna save everyone, and afterwards you’re gonna have to kiss him.” His frustration evident as his permanent frown creases.

You stare into his eyes in defiance as you coldly utter, “No. I’m not gonna kiss Ben Riley.”

“And why not? He’s your love interest!” Miguel exclaims, obviously more furious than before. “You’re the Peter to his MJ. You gotta kiss him because you’re destined to be.”

“I don’t love him! I don’t even like his whiny ass!” You snap as you felt your frustrated tears roll down your face.

It’s true. Before you joined this team, you would have been thrilled that you were destined to be with Campus Hunk Ben Riley. He was everything you could ever want from a guy. He was good looking, sensitive, athletic, and social able. The all around good guy you would be proud to bring home to your folks.

But…

Sharp grasp on your shoulder alerts your attention back to Miguel as he slams you back against the desk. His eyes burning embers as he glares down at you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Changing into your spidersuit, you began to fight The Rhino with a distracted daze in your movements.

The memory from a week prior burning in your mind as you sloppily avoided cars and harsh blows. After a few well timed flips and back kicks, the brute decides to throw a large street cleaning truck towards the alleyway. Just like Lyla predicted when she handed you the file.

The Rhino is gonna throw a street cleaner towards the alleyway where Ben is. SpiderWoman will stop the truck before impact and sling it back towards The Rhino ending the fight.

~~~~~~~

“And why is it that you are being so difficult?!” He snaps as his fangs glimmer from his scowl. A cute trait you used to love about him until it was pointed at you. “You are no better than a spoiled child with how you are acting so you better have a good fucking reason!”

You growl back at him with a tear rolling down your enraged face.

He had no right to argue with you about your life, not when he’s the one making it difficult.

~~~~~~~

Shooting a web out towards the buildings, you catapulted yourself into the air and landed in front of the truck. Quickly reusing the web with some enforcements, the truck was bounced back to the The Rhino. The enormous foe gets trampled by the machinery as the crowd cheers for SpiderWoman’s dreaded victory.

“Way to go SpiderWoman!!” A familiar voice joins the crowd as I see Ben on the ground, obviously he either tripped or fell back to avoid the truck. You offer a hand towards him as you thank him softly.

“Thank you.” I faked the smile in my voice as the crowd disappears, leaving the two of you in the alley way.

~~~~~

Finally snapping at him, you yell out in fury,

“BECAUSE HE’S NOT YOU!”

With a frustrated slap to Miguel’s face, you run past him and escaped back to your dimension, heartbroken over how the events to come and what just happened that despite everything you couldn’t change fate.

No matter how many times you fell asleep during long nights talking on his observation deck. No matter how many playful sparring matches turn into flirty comments. Not even the little gestures of bringing the grumpy spider his coffee and him bringing you some sweets during meetings could change that the star already written your path.

You fell in love with a man who isn’t meant to be yours.

~~~~~

It’s been a week since that fight and you still haven’t seen or heard from him. It hurt to know that your confession was brushed aside while you had to continue the continuity. You half at least expected him to be here to make sure you at least followed through with the canon event.

“Would you like a swing home?” I offer just like I’m supposed to. The moment that was meant to be a nervous beginning to a love story felt like the beginning of heartache as I watched a blush form on his face.

“Sure,” he answered before a flash of realization that his date was suddenly not with him. Another trait you wouldn’t have noticed if you were as in love with him as you were suppose to be.

“Hey my date isn’t here…I think she got hurt or lost during the panic.” His concern caused a pang of guilt to stab her in the chest.

Recovering quickly, you shoot out some webbing and playfully hang upside down infront of him. “Well I guess that swinging date will have to be postponed.”

“Wait it was gonna be a-!”

Quickly, you pulled down the mask enough to deliver a quick peck to his rambling mouth. You force out a giggle as he stood looking at you flabbergasted.

“See ya, Riley.” You swing off as the man bumbled to even ask how you knew his name.

Lyla just said it was a kiss, not a what kind of kiss.

With a heavy heart, you swing back home as you tried to remember that this was all for the sake of the canon. That Miguel didn’t care for you the way you did for him. You tried your hardest to tell your aching heart that those past few months were you just making too much out of nothing.

You mournfully entered your apartment through the bathroom window you normally kept unlocked . You stripped away the skin tight fabric before wrapping yourself in the familiar comfort of your robe as you exited the room into a dim lit living room.

You heart stick in your chest as you see Miguel standing there in your living room in his bright blue spider suit and a beautiful spring lily in his hand.

“Miguel? What are you doing here?��” You ask as yoy warily approach him, scared he’s gonna do something to you.

He shakes his head, refusing to answer as he hands you the flower. It’s soft white petals shining in the pale moonlight as you smile fondly at it. They were your favorite flower. Something you told Miguel a million times before.

Before you could thank him for the kind gesture, a soft thump above you alrets you to look up. A spindle of glowing webbing cascaded down the ceiling with the large spiderman now suspended upside down from it. His free hand caresses the side of your face as his eyes stared softly into yours.

“I can’t change the canon, mi amor…” he whispers sadly before mischief lights up his molten gaze. “But we certainly can try to rewrite the stars for us.”

An excited nod from you causes his chest to rumble as he pulls you into a slow passionate kiss.

You were glad this is a canon event for spider men despite it not going as planned.

[dianapocalypse]

“Strange that there’s no hurtful need

Used to be my only sign

On my mind would make me bleed

Why is it that I’m feeling fine?”

I must confess I have begun rotating Rin around in my mind like a rotisserie chicken

i just think she should be allowed to feed the winged lion her crush

part 1??? of my “dungeon lord rin” au??? I wanna do more with it bc it’s FUN

(lyrics are from Vienna Teng’s Unwritten Letter #1, aka the greatest unrequited love jam of all time)

pose from @adorkastock !

[toorumlk]

what are your other fav ships from harry potter aside from romione! love love your art so much!

thank you friend!!!! ehehe i have a few ships i enjoy but let it known that im a full fledged canon enjoyer and some of these ships can be deemed “”problematic”” but please know i have the wherewithal to understand when its fiction and i just love a good story

- grindledore (!!!!!! huge old man yaoi enjoyer but also, the greatest wizard of his era had a torrid love affair when they were 17-18 with his generation’s most notorious dark wizard? they were next door neighbours but still sent letters to each other at night bc they couldn’t stop talking?? this horrible dark wizard is the great dumbledore’s one true love and his achilles heel and the reason for all his grief and suffering? SIGN ME TF UP)

- tedromeda (i find them so heartbreaking, the sunny muggleborn hufflepuff boy who stole the heart of the slytherin girl who comes from the most infamous blood supremacist family, i looovee andromeda she’s one of the few slytherins who deserves rights in my book)

- snily (i like them mostly platonically but i don’t mind them romantically either)

- tomarrymort *starts breakdancing*

i actually enjoy a lot of the snape ships bc i really like snapes character so, snupin (like what do you MEAN snape was making monthly wolfsbane potion for lupin in poa), snack, and… snarry (DONT WHACK ME there’s something i find titillating about a 30 year old harry with a 51 year old sev)

- LINNY

- i love ronarry but mostly as a tortured bi harry who has an unrequited crush on his clueless best friend

- wolfstar but only the middle-aged, life has beat them up, gary oldman/david thewlis version of them (i actually don’t find the fanon young version of them all that interesting…)

- jily (but within reason…. i think james potter is a dickhead and i don’t like him very much)

- oh!!! this is the one marauders ship i like i think the kids call it quillkiller which is bellatrix and rita skeeter ohhh hell yeah that sounds so good

- i also fw bellamort a little bit but only in an abstract messed-up concept way

that’s all i can think of, i know that some of these are unpopular and my reasonings behind a lot of them certainly are in the fandom but I’m speaking my truth.. romione still on top forever though

[anki-of-beleriand]

Under the storm

Summary: You wish hating Wanda for what she made you feel was far easier, perhaps next time you would be finally ready to end her. Or she would be ready to put you out of your misery.

Warnings: Angst, drama, unrequited love, so much drama and angst. misunderstandings, suicidal thoughts.

Pairings: Jedi!Wanda x Sith!Reader

Author's Note: I just watched Ahsoka and I thought it was fantastic but it made me think of this. Hope you guys like it, rmemeber English is not my mother tongue so I apologise for any grammar, spelling and funny mistake.

Thunder fell upon the earth, striking the land with purplish light while igniting the sky above your head. Your lips quirked upwards, your hand grasping the hilt of your lightsaber tightly just as the dark hood of your robe covered your face.

The gusty wind pushed at the slopes of your clothing, and the only sound was that of howling weather that had left you and her alone in the shipyard. You tilted your head, the Force allowing you to sense her fear and hesitation.

Another lightning breaking up the darkness surrounding you, the cold water of rain making your clothing heavier and difficult to handle. Not that you two were moving at all, both of you had been standing like this ever since the rain started falling. Bickering back and forth was easier than actually standing against one another, knowing that this battle would end in one way.

Wanda slid her right foot, her stance changing ever so slightly while her left hand went upwards with her own weapon held in a tight grip. Her green eyes found yours, and your heart almost skipped a beat at the sight you had always loved. She was still your greatest regret, the one person you went down a path many thought was full of darkness.

The way of the Sith was not as simple as that.

You had learnt that the hard way.

Wanda opened her mouth, but as soon as she did, she clamped her lips close shaking her head. Regret. And you clenched your jaw because the sight of such an emotion, of her stepping back made your heart hurt; she was never brave enough to finally take a leap of fate and go with you.

But as soon as the world changed, she found someone to do the very same thing you hoped for.

It wasn’t about the relationship; it was about you.

You were in love with her, but she wasn’t in love with you.

You snarled looking away before striking forward, the red saber clashing against her blue one. Sparks flew around mixing up with the drops of water falling on you, the hood finally falling to your back, and your eyes just as angry as they had been on your last meeting.

You pushed forward, and Wanda stepped back, her hand trembling but holding the hilt firmly. She couldn’t hide her sadness, and this only made you angrier, sweeping around kicking her on her stomach while striking her with the saber once more.

Sparks filled the stormy night, the humming of the swords breaking into the thunder while your eyes locked of those of Wanda trying to understand when your love for her turned into such a hatred.

“Y/N…” She mouthed, and you could almost hear her voice calling out to you just moments before you turned your back to her and run towards the man you ended up calling Master.

The crimson red of your sword igniting your face, your lips showing off a mocking smirk while your hand stretched to Force push the woman in front of you. You had always been great with your fighting style, much better than Wanda but there was no mistaken the young woman had practiced as well. There is another clash of weapons, and just as you trusted your hand forward, Wanda did the same and the Force used by the both of you created a space between you.

You took a deep breath trying to calm down your beating heart, the rumbling of the storm deafening the sounds around you. Wanda softened her features, her hand lowering the saber while her eyes tried to reach out yours. You could feel her presence around you, her willingness to just stop this madness and talk to you. You closed up the link she was trying to open, shaking your head knowing you were out here buying time for your master to get the map.

“Y/N…”

You could hear her voice in your mind, and in a desperate attempted to shut her up you launched another attack never noticing the blast of a gun until it hits your shoulder.

You screamed in pain, your right feet stumbling and almost making you fall. Your left hand stretching around grabbing the lightsaber before blocking the blasting of the invisible gun, Wanda screaming out for the person to stop shooting losing her sight on you while trying to stop the whole madness.

You saw the opening, and without thinking too much went at it again.

The slash itself didn’t hurt you at first, you stood there with your eyes wide open and the world stopping around you.

The only thing you were aware of was your hard breathing, and the sudden lack of light from your right eye. Then, the piercing pain on your face and shoulder, and finally the scream leaving your mouth as you fell to the ground.

Wanda was looking at you wide eyes, her lightsaber still humming furiously pointed directly at you.

“Wanda! Kill her!”

She could hear the voice of Vision inside the com, the urgency in his voice but Wanda was not able to move at all. You put your hand on your now bleeding face, your good eyes glaring at her with anger and disbelief.

“Not today, Princess.” You gritted your teeth, standing weakly before Wanda.

Your free hand clenching in thin air, suing the Force as your ally to tighten Wanda’s throat and pulled her to you. The other woman was breathing as hard as you were, and you let her see the nasty wound on your face, the blood and the lost eye. Your lips broke into a nasty smile.

“Enjoy your fuck toy while you can, Jedi.” You snarled and Wanda saw the tears you had been hiding, she saw the pain and the betrayal and the brokenhearted pain of unrequited love.

And Wanda wished she was not so weak, she wished she could tell you that she loved you. That she was pretty much in love with you, but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t let her beliefs aside to go with you when the whole universe depended on the few standing Jedi to help it out. To once more, became the Galaxy a place of peace and justice.

You tightened your hold on her, your body ready to give in. Your wounds hurting all over, the blood pouring out from your shoulder and eyes, you could sense your Master coming forward as much as you could sense the other Rebels coming for Wanda.

“We…we will see each other once more.” You whispered, putting Wanda’s head down and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Next time, your better pierce my heart or else, I will destroy everything you hold dear, Wanda. I will make you feel the pain I went through the day you broke my heart.”

You put your saber right through her side, making sure you didn’t touch any vital organs before stepping aside on wobbly legs. Your body ready to give up until you saw the ship flying towards you, your smirked watching everyone coming forward. Natasha running as fast as she could her eyes on you, her mouth forming your name with her lips.

You scoffed turning around, wincing as you approached the sentinel class craft, the escorting TIE firing to the enemy giving you enough time to go inside your escape route.

You left your former life behind, falling to your knees, you allowed the droids to drag you to the medical bay while your Master ranted about the mission and how foolish you had been for falling into such a childish game.

You didn’t listen, your mind still on the fight. On Wanda.

“Detka…”

Her voice reaching out to you, you closed your eyes.

“I will make you regret the pain you caused me, Wanda…”

“Detka, please…come back…”

“Next time, Wanda, kill me. Please just kill me, or I will end him and everyone else around you…”

And with those last words, you closed the link, the world around you going dark as you finally lose consciousness.

[cherubiyeon]

she had the world | ive jang wonyoung x female reader

amidst the bustling cityscape of seoul, y/n, an inquisitive traveller from jeju, stumbles upon an art gallery.

✩ warnings. angst, mentions of affairs, strangers to friends with benefits, painter! wonyoung au, unrequited feelings, angst with unhappy ending

✩ word count. ~3k words

✩ playing﹒ she had the world [panic! at the disco]

their first encounter was serendipitous, as if the universe itself conspired to bring them together. y/n stood before wonyoung's painting, her eyes locked onto the colors that seemed to whisper untold secrets.

with a nervous yet determined heart, wonyoung approached, her voice barely above a whisper as she introduced herself as the artist. "hey, um— i'm wonyoung—the artist behind this painting. is there anything you'd... like to ask about this painting? or some feedback would be nice!"

y/n's smile was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, illuminating her face with a warmth that sent shivers down wonyoung's spine. "wonyoung, what a beautiful name," y/n replied, her voice soft and melodic. "your art speaks to me on a level i can't quite explain. it's as if each brushstroke holds a piece of your soul."

wonyoung blushed, feeling a mixture of bashfulness and exhilaration. "thank you," she stammered. "your words mean so much to me! i-i put a lot of emotion into my art, and to know that it resonates with someone else... is the greatest compliment."

y/n extended her hand, a gesture of friendship that felt like an invitation into her world. "i'm y/n. i'm new to this city from jeju and i came to this gallery looking for something that could speak to my soul. i think i found it in your art."

as they shook hands, an electrifying connection surged through wonyoung's fingertips, leaving her breathless with anticipation. she couldn't shake the feeling that their meeting was no mere coincidence, but a tapestry woven by the hands of fate itself. the bustling gallery around them faded into a mere blur as they delved into a passionate discussion about art, life, and the inexplicable forces that intertwined their paths.

y/n's eyes, like pools of liquid amber, held wonyoung captive, drawing her deeper into their depths. each word that flowed from y/n's lips was a symphony, each laugh a melody that resonated within wonyoung's soul. she hung onto every syllable, cherishing the way y/n's voice danced in the air, a sweet serenade that intoxicated her senses.

days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as their friendship blossomed amidst the city's backdrop. wonyoung found herself yearning for the stolen moments, the stolen glances that held a world of unspoken longing. she reveled in the small gestures—a brush of their hands as they walked side by side, a lingering touch that sent shivers down her spine.

but as the days stretched into a delicate tapestry of shared experiences, wonyoung couldn't help but feel the weight of unrequited love settle upon her shoulders. the tenderness in y/n's gaze, the warmth in her smile—it was a language that wonyoung longed to decipher, a love that she yearned to be reciprocated.

in the quiet corners of her heart, wonyoung weaved dreams of what could be. she imagined stolen kisses beneath the moonlit sky, whispered promises in the hushed sanctuary of their shared secrets. she envisioned a future where their worlds would collide, their lives intertwined like brushstrokes on a canvas.

the seasons danced on, their footsteps echoing in tandem with the rhythm of wonyoung's heart. spring blossomed, painting the city with hues of pastel dreams, while autumn whispered secrets of change in the crisp air. through it all, wonyoung remained by y/n's side, a silent witness to the ebbs and flows of their intertwined lives.

'twas a cool autumn evening, as the leaves rustled underfoot, y/n and wonyoung found themselves strolling along the riverbank. the water shimmered like liquid silver under the moon's tender gaze, mirroring the shimmer of unspoken emotions that swirled between them.

y/n leaned against the railing, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "isn't it beautiful, wonyoung?" she spoke, her voice carrying a hint of wonder. wonyoung continued in staring at the oblivious woman. "it is," wonyoung replied softly, her heart fluttering like a thousand butterflies in her chest.

as they strolled along the cobblestone path, wonyoung's heart beat a frenzied rhythm, her every word and touch infused with unspoken longing. "y/n... there's something i've been wanting to tell you," wonyoung ventured, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

y/n turned toward her, eyes brimming with curiosity. "what is it, wonyoung-ie?" she asked, her tone a gentle caress against wonyoung's fragile heart.

summoning her courage, wonyoung whispered, "these stolen moments we share... they mean more to me than i can express. you've become the compass that guides my every step, the light that illuminates the darkest corners of my soul."

a gentle breeze carried her words, intermingling with the symphony of rustling leaves. y/n's smile remained soft, the flicker of recognition barely registering in her eyes. "wonyoung, you're such an incredible friend. i treasure our bond more than you know," y/n replied, her words painting a painful melody that echoed within wonyoung's chest.

yet hope, a cruel mistress, refused to relinquish its grip on wonyoung's heart. she convinced herself that y/n's response held a glimmer of reciprocation, a silent invitation into the depths of an affair woven with stolen glances and moments of intimacy.

their encounters became clandestine meetings, hidden from prying eyes, their shared secrets whispered in the sanctity of moonlit gardens. wonyoung, her heart awash with both joy and torment, surrendered herself to the rapture of their stolen kisses, cherishing each stolen touch as if it were the last drop of an elixir she craved.

but in the shadows of their affair, y/n remained oblivious to the depth of wonyoung's love. her affectionate gestures, once interpreted as signs of reciprocation, became tainted with the innocence of friendship, blurring the boundaries between what was real and what wonyoung desperately wished to be.

wonyoung sat in her studio, surrounded by the remnants of her artistic endeavors. the room was filled with the scent of paint and the soft strains of music that mingled with her thoughts. she brushed a streak of vibrant red onto the canvas, her movements betraying the turmoil within her.

yunjin, her wise and caring friend, entered the room, her presence offering a fleeting solace. she glanced at wonyoung's creation, a mix of vibrant colors and raw emotion.

she raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "hey there, picasso. pouring your heart out on the canvas again?"

Wonyoung offered a half-smile, appreciating Yunjin's attempt at making the atmosphere more lighter. "more like trying to make sense of the chaos inside," she replied, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

yunjin settled down on a nearby stool, her eyes filled with concern. "you've been a little distant lately. is everything okay?" wonyoung took a deep breath, but remained silent. "... it's about that y/n girl again, huh?"

Wonyoung took a deep breath, hesitating before she spoke her truth. "It's Y/N. I can't stop thinking about her, Yunjin. Every time she smiles at me or brushes against my hand, it's like fireworks exploding in my heart. I want to tell her how I feel, but I'm scared of what might happen."

yunjin leaned forward, her expression serious yet understanding. "look, wonyoung-ah, i get that love can be a rollercoaster of emotions. but before you go pouring your heart out, consider if you're ready for the consequences. what if things change between you two?"

wonyoung sighed, her gaze fixed on her trembling hands. "i know it's a risk, but i can't keep this bottled up any longer. it's eating me alive."

yunjin reached out, placing a reassuring hand on wonyoung's shoulder. "i'm not saying you shouldn't go for it, but just be prepared for any outcome. and remember, your friendship is precious. you don't want to lose that."

wonyoung nodded, appreciating yunjin's straightforward advice. "you're right. i just wish i could know what she feels without putting our friendship on the line."

yunjin reached out, placing a reassuring hand on wonyoung's shoulder. "i'm not saying you shouldn't go for it, but just be prepared for any outcome. and remember, your friendship is precious. you don't want to lose that."

wonyoung nodded, appreciating yunjin's straightforward advice. "you're right. i just wish i could know what she feels without putting our friendship on the line."

wonyoung nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken desires. she watched as yunjin left the studio, leaving her alone with her thoughts. the silence enveloped her, and she found herself drawn to the canvas that stood before her—a painting of y/n.

the colors on the canvas danced with an ethereal grace, capturing the essence of y/n's spirit. wonyoung had poured her heart into every stroke, every brush of paint. in the painting, y/n's eyes were pools of stardust, a captivating glimpse into the universe she hid within. her lips curved into a soft smile that held a thousand untold stories. wonyoung had painstakingly spun the stars on her fingernails, each one a testament to the boundless dreams she saw in y/n's eyes. yet, despite the beauty she had immortalized on the canvas, it couldn't bring her the happiness she yearned for.

days turned into weeks, and wonyoung found herself lost in the depths of her emotions, yearning for a love that existed only in the fragments of her dreams. every stolen glance, every brush of their hands became a lifeline, fueling the fire that consumed her heart. but y/n remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within wonyoung's soul, her gestures of friendship shrouded in innocence.

one evening, as the sun painted the sky in hues of fiery orange, wonyoung's phone buzzed, interrupting the solitude of her studio. a message from y/n flickered on the screen, inviting her to meet at their favorite cafe. hope surged within wonyoung's chest, intermingled with an undercurrent of nervous anticipation. little did she know that fate had prepared a cruel twist in the tale.

arriving at the cafe, the air crackled with a mixture of warmth and tension. wonyoung's heart pounded against her ribcage, its erratic rhythm echoing the storm raging within her. she spotted y/n, a vision of serenity amidst the bustling crowd, her smile a flicker of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

"hey," y/n greeted softly, her eyes holding a myriad of emotions as they met wonyoung's gaze.

wonyoung returned the greeting, her voice trembling slightly. "hey. what did you want to talk about?"

y/n's gaze flickered, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "i've been doing a lot of thinking, wonyoung. and i think it's time we stop... this."

wonyoung's breath caught in her throat, her world spiraling into chaos. she fought to steady herself, clinging to the last vestiges of hope. "stop what?"

y/n's eyes filled with regret, the weight of her words pressing heavily upon them. "our affair. i care about you deeply, but i can't ignore the fact that there's someone else in my life now."

time seemed to stand still as wonyoung's heart shattered into a million fractured pieces. the colors of the cafe faded, leaving behind a monochrome reality. she forced a smile, her voice strained as she tried to mask the devastation that threatened to consume her.

"someone else?" wonyoung repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to acknowledge the truth.

y/n nodded, her gaze shifting to the floor. "his name is yunhan. we've been spending time together, and i think it's time to give our relationship a chance."

wonyoung's eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. she clenched her fists, the pain radiating through her like a searing flame. it felt as if the world had conspired against her, weaving a tapestry of longing and heartbreak.

"i'm sorry," y/n murmured, her hand reaching out hesitantly, only to be met with wonyoung's withdrawal. "i never meant to hurt you."

wonyoung forced a smile, her voice tinged with a mixture of acceptance and resignation. "it's not your fault, y/n. we... can't force ourselves to love or not love someone.."

as the café's ambiance whispered tales of love and loss, wonyoung felt a silent plea escape her lips, carried away by the currents of time. she knew she had to release the hold on her unrequited love, to let it drift away like a leaf on the wind. it was a bittersweet acceptance, for in surrendering her heart, she set herself free from the chains of longing, even as the ache lingered deep within her soul.

the days that followed y/n's revelation were etched with a sorrow that clung to wonyoung's every breath. the weight of her unrequited love bore down upon her like an invisible burden, suffocating the vibrant hues of her existence. the unfinished painting of y/n, a testament to the fractured fragments of their temporary affair, seemed to mock her from its perch upon the easel.

one evening, in the depths of her despair, wonyoung stood before the painting, her hands trembling with a mixture of anguish and rage. the colors that once whispered secrets of love now appeared to taunt her, their vibrant dance a cruel reminder of the shattered dreams that lay in ruins. she contemplated tearing the canvas apart, obliterating the memories that held her captive. yet, in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it. the painting held too much sentimental value, encapsulating a chapter of her life she couldn't entirely let go of.

with a sigh that echoed with resignation, wonyoung picked up her brush and faced the canvas. as her strokes danced across the surface, she poured her heartache into every brushstroke, the raw emotion bleeding onto the space. it was an act of defiance, a silent rebellion against the pain that threatened to consume her. she channeled her sorrow into art, using the colors as a language to express what words couldn't convey.

her fingers traced the contours of y/n's face, a mixture of sadness and longing clouding her eyes. "why couldn't you see how much i loved you?" she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken words and shattered dreams.

years passed, and wonyoung's perseverance bore fruit. the painting, born from the depths of her despair, gained recognition in the art world. its haunting beauty touched the souls of those who beheld it, a silent testament to the pain and longing embedded within its layers. wonyoung's name became synonymous with a tragic love story, her art an expression of the human experience.

one fateful day, amidst the hallowed halls of a museum, wonyoung found herself drawn to an ethereal presence. her gaze fell upon a child, their innocent eyes fixed upon the painting that had become her legacy. the child's fascination mirrored her own, a reflection of the profound connection art had the power to forge.

wonyoung's heart skipped a beat as her eyes fell upon the child. in that fleeting moment, she saw the ghost of y/n in the innocent gaze of the young girl. a bittersweet smile adorned wonyoung's lips as she nodded in understanding.

lost in a moment of bittersweet contemplation, wonyoung's reverie was interrupted by the child's mother, her voice tinged with worry. "haerin, where are you?" she called out, searching the vast space.

startled, wonyoung turned to face the source of the voice, and in that instant, time seemed to stand still. standing before her was y/n, a ghost from the past, now adorned with the grace of motherhood. their eyes locked, the unspoken words of their shared history hanging heavy in the air.

"mommy! mommy! look! this painting looks like you!" little haerin pointed at wonyoung's painting as y/n carried the small girl.

in that poignant reunion, the weight of their unfulfilled love reverberated through the silence. wonyoung's heart trembled, torn between the joy of seeing y/n once more and the painful reminder of what they could never have.

y/n approached, her voice tender and filled with regret. "wonyoung, it's been so long," she murmured, her eyes brimming with emotions left unsaid.

wonyoung's voice quivered, her heartache blending with a fragile glimmer of hope. "yes, it has. i never thought i'd see you again."

y/n's gaze shifted to the painting, her expression a wistful mix of nostalgia and sorrow. "your art has touched so many lives, wonyoung. it's a testament to the beauty that exists within your soul."

wonyoung's heart tightened at y/n's words, her voice heavy with unspoken pain. "do you know, y/n? this painting... it's you."

y/n's eyes widened, disbelief and longing flickering within them. "me? but... how?"

wonyoung's voice quivered, laden with the weight of unrequited love. "every stroke, every color... they are fragments of memories, of the love that bloomed within my heart. you were my muse, my inspiration. and yet, you never knew."

tears welled in y/n's eyes as she reached out to touch the canvas, as if trying to grasp the intangible emotions that permeated the artwork. "i never realized... i never knew."

wonyoung's heart shattered into a thousand pieces, her voice filled with aching vulnerability. "i wanted to tell you, to show you how much you meant to me. but fear held me back, and our paths diverged. now, all i have left are these brushstrokes, a portrait of a love that was never spoken."

y/n's voice quivered with a mixture of sadness and resignation. "wonyoung, i wish things could have been different. but life has its own way of guiding us. i've found happiness in a different path, one that doesn't intertwine with yours."

wonyoung's tears mingled with the colors of her masterpiece as she whispered, "i'm glad... i'm glad you've found happiness, even if it's not with me."

the weight of their unspoken emotions hung heavily in the air, the gallery a silent witness to the tragedy of their unfulfilled love. time seemed to stand still as they stood there, caught between the echoes of what could have been and the reality of their separate lives.

with a trembling breath, wonyoung turned away, her heart splintered but resolute. the pain of letting go mingled with the knowledge that their paths were meant to diverge, like two shooting stars blazing across the night sky before fading into obscurity.

[buckyssoldat]

Echoes of love (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: After a few months of living with Peggy, Steve couldn’t help but feel unhappy. Turns out, Peggy was not the one he truly loved after all.

Word count: 475

Requested: Yes

Warnings: unrequited love (kinda), heartbreak, sadness

A/N: I know I said “Greatest love” was going to be the last part but someone requested it, so I had to oblige hehe. So, here it goes. Also, please check my series, ‘Forsaken – The Fallen Soldier’. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

When the opportunity arose to return to the 1940s and reunite with the love of his life Peggy Carter, Steve didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even think about this ex-girlfriend. Peggy was the kind of love he believed only happened once in a lifetime, so it was a no-brainer. The quiet streets, the dance halls, and Peggy’s warm smile were a refuge from all the battles that seemed to have defined him before.

Months passed and living with Peggy seemed like a dream. She was happier than ever, to have her Steve back, something she never thought was even possible. But for Steve, things were different. Of course, for the first couple of months, everything was like a dream, but things started to shift. Something was missing – she was missing, his ex-girlfriend. Peggy knew him like the back of her hand, so she sensed something was off with him.

“Darling, is everything okay?” Peggy inquired, her voice a gentle comfort in the air.

Steve, fighting with his emotions, could only manage a faint smile. He couldn’t shake the thought of the one who had slipped through the cracks of time.

After almost a year of living with Peggy, Steve finally made a choice. The idea of going back to her became too hard to resist. He said goodbye to his past love, who was very understanding of his feelings and went to the year 2024.

The modern world looked almost the same as when he left. Steve was determined to rewrite the love story that was lost in the pages of history. He finally found her again, but the reunion was not as he had hoped.

The restaurant he found her was near her place. She hadn’t changed, not even a little bit. Even her laugh was still the same. For a few seconds, he couldn’t help but smile to himself – he missed that infectious laugh, the kind that could uplift everything and everyone. However, his smile soon turned into a frown – she was sitting in front of a man, tightly holding his hand. From the shadows, he watched as a spectator to a life that had moved forward without him. A life that could also be his.

“Logan, I love you so much…” he heard her say to the unknown man. The weight of those words, who were once meant for him, now belonged to another. He was witnessing a love story that was no longer his. The woman he loved had found comfort in the arms of someone else.

Steve decided it was best to not bother her and potentially ruin her new life without him. He walked away, carrying the heavy weight of his decisions on his shoulders. The hero who had once stood frozen in history now faced the challenge of disappearing into a world that had gone wrong beyond his control.

masterlist

[hibiscusfairys]

image !!

⭐️ draco malfoy ; unrequited love, part 4 (hufflepuff fem reader)

♪ twilight : bôa

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5

♡ warnings: angst

tagged: @miawastakens @watercolorskyy @pinkynecktie

☆

It was 9pm, on a windy autumn night.

The Yule Ball was close to ending, as many attendees one by one poured out of the ballroom for the night.

You were extremely overwhelmed, the clunking of your shoes sounded louder as you paced across the stone floor of the darkened corridors. Your face was wetter than the dampened leaves outside, and the echoes of laughter from happy couples reverberated in the distance, displeasing your ears, filling you with more unbearable jealousy.

“Wait..”

A breathy voice was heard from behind you. You slipped your heels around to notice the blonde boy stood in front of you, recovering from what looked like a desperate run.

With his hands on his knees, he spoke while taking breaths. “Why do you keep….” He trailed off, regaining his composure as he re-adjusted his tie. “Why do you keep confusing me?”

Your eyes widened, looking at him with confusion. “I could ask the same to you.” You said, your tone quivering between bewilderment and bitterness.

He stepped towards you, looking down at your hardened expression. “You should stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You sure are!” He spat, his face growing with more anger. “You’ve put this spell on me that I can’t shake off. I wanted to enjoy my night without you ruining it.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t put some weird charm on you, Malfoy! Even I’m confused as to what’s wrong with you!”

“Now you listen to me…” He said, sighing deeply, his voice wavering with anger. “Don’t come near me. Or I won’t be able to resist myself from feeling more for you. You know we can’t work. We are too different.”

“What about Astoria? Have you even considered her?” You asked, your eyes pricked up with tears. “You’re just gonna leave her in the dust like you did with me?”

“Nevermind her. I’m thinking about what to do with you. I’m still going to pursue Greengrass, if it takes my mind off of you for each passing second I think.”

“So…” You swallowed, nervous. “You still feel the same way… about her.”

“… Yes.” He replied. “But… I can’t seem to rid you from the picture. You’re always there. And it’s beginning to bother me. I can’t go to sleep without thinking about you. You frustrate me, yes, but you also pull me in, you reel me in like a fish on a hook. I’m trying my hardest to avoid you, you know… but I can’t. I can’t help but run back to you. Why?” He paused to sigh. “I don’t know the exact time when I had first felt like this. I don’t know if I had buried them so deep that when you had brought it up.. they had uncovered.. or if I’ve just been provoked suddenly by what you’ve told me. But I don’t want you near me.”

“Draco…” You whispered, looking at hin sympathetically, unsure of how to work around this. You didn’t want Astoria being hurt either.

“I’ll talk to her.” He stepped closer towards you. “But I’ll get to the bottom of this. And I’ll know if you’ve done something.. like slip an amortentia in my drink.”

“You know I would never do that!” You yelled. “I’m not… looking to ruin you.”

“It doesn’t matter if you have or not… you already are.”

He hastily walked away from you, once again, leaving you stood alone in the corridor, waiting for an answer that will never reveal. Was this a love confession, or was it a friendship he intended to destroy? You couldn’t tell, the endless possibilities whirled around in your head as you shuffled sadly back to your dorm room.

You missed it, what you had.

Admittedly, he wasn’t the greatest friend. But if you didn’t decide to love him, or maybe just didn’t tell him you loved him, you both wouldn’t be coiled in such a distressing situation. And the fact that Astoria doesn’t know, made the snakes in your stomach worse. She didn’t deserve this, you knew that. So maybe it was time to let go.

It will take a lot of pain for you to finally accept it. And despite him confessing that he felt a connection, you knew where his heart had to belong. It wasn’t anything the boy could change himself. He didn’t want to face any consequences from his family, nor did you want to put yourself at risk.

Letting it go would be a huge relief in itself, anyway.

☆

part 5 is in the works!!

[andofone]

SNS fic rec

I have found lots of SNS fics that I think deserve even more love and recognition, so buckle in and here we go!

-PS, if you don’t want your fic on this list, I will take it off.

---

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou an idiot? by Skyheaven

Naruto thought he could impress his crush by landing the role of Romeo in their school play. With Sakura playing Juliet, it would be the perfect way to get close to her. So how is it that he ended up being forced to play the modern version titled Romeo and Julian with his arch rival Sasuke instead?

(It’s a full, flushed out fic. It was a joy to read through)

-

(This is part two - a POV change to see what Sasuke is thinking, I strongly recommend reading after the first.)

And Julian is the moon by Skyheaven.

Ever wonder what Sasuke went through when he got stuck playing the romantic lead together with Naruto in their school play about Romeo and Julian? Here's the answer.

A pov change of the fic 'Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou an idiot?'

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The Frog Dealer by lilypheria

Naruto’s trusty frog wallet breaks down after years of faithful service, and someone delivers a new one to his office. Naruto is elated, not caring if it’s proper for the Seventh Hokage of Konoha to wander around with a wallet like that. But then he starts to get even more deliveries to his office—frog-shaped keychains, fridge magnets, everything you can think of.

Naruto has no clue who has found out about his affection towards frogs. But the gift giver is closer than he thinks…

(It’s a adorable one-shot. What else could you possibly want.)

---

Unrequited: sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't by KizuKatana

Naruto hates to hurt people's feelings. So when Hinata puts him on the spot about dating her, he doesn't want to come straight out and tell her he doesn't like her that way. Instead, he comes up with a poorly thought out idea to tell her he is dating someone already. All he needs to do to convince her is to show her a photo of the guy. He just needs to get a picture of someone so ridiculously hot she will know it's hopeless. He actually has someone in mind, a guy he'd had a one-sided thing for from his gym. Although, the guy is sort of an ass and probably wouldn't agree to posing for a picture. Naruto decides to ask him anyway. What's he got to lose?

(Another wonderful, simple one-shot. Easy and very nice to digest.)

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In Good Company by weialala

This will sound a little ridiculous, no matter how Sasuke phrases it. I see dead people is embarrassingly tacky, and I'm half-spirit seems like something Sakura might say when she's stoned sky high. So he settles for a shrug.

(This is a gem of a fic. Highly recommend.)

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Iced coffee with extra base by Dotec_1

Working in a cafe certainly isn’t the worst thing, that is if you find a certain raven a few tables down.

(Not too long, just 25,000 words and a good plot.)

---

Fire & Wind by Cyllia

Wind and fire: it's the most powerful combination of elements there was. So when Sasuke, the most talented fire elementalist in his year, pairs with Naruto, who has the greatest air element seen in centuries, they should've been the most formidable team in history. Yet they can't seem to win one match.

(OH MY GOD, okay, this has got to be one of my favorites on this list. And these are all some of my favorite.)

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all i want to do, just like this by lunoiere (aeon_uriel)

"Good morning," he whispered, content, and peaceful. 

Naruto's nose twitched, still asleep. His lips were pursed to form a pout that somehow looked even more childish in this state. 

Sasuke's smile got wider and wider and something in his chest bloomed and exploded.

 Unbidden, a thought passed by: he loved that man so much it was unreal. 

Sasuke gets another reminder that waking up with arms around his waist and the smell of sunshine filling his lungs means opening his eyes to yet another good dream.(Because Naruto is there and he’s never leaving.)

---

 I hope this gives you some good reads!

And if you want more, check out another SNS rec I created here

[m3r1m4r5u333]

"Look, you hid in a place you knew, where you could feel safe... I understand the motivation."

Buddie fans... Sometimes I just feel tired to navigate this fandom, okay. Feels like it's always;

"Gay Eddie, gay Eddie, gay Eddie.... Oh no! They're now writing him like he really loved Shannon, I don't like this because then he's straight and buddie cannot happen!!"

Yeah umm... And why would Eddie's love for Shannon be any kind of threat to buddie?

Haven't we already worked on this equation before, guys...?

Ahem.

✨Bisexuality does exist!✨

There is no reason why Eddie can't have loved, can't still love them both:

Shannon and Buck.

Sure, might sound odd with how rocky the marriage was but let's remember that we never got to see the beginning of Eddie's and Shannon's romance, the magical era before their naïve, immature highschool sweetheart romance was hit on the head with adulthood problems.

Really, Shannon isn't a threat to buddie. Buck obviously loved Abby, too, and eventually moved on.

The thing is, it was maybe just a bit easier for Buck, to move on, since what Abby didn't do was know Buck for like half his life, have a child with him, suddenly abandon Buck and his child for umm years, then return and beg for forgiveness, then once she was forgiven... reject Buck's proposal and ask for a divorce, and then promptly die in front of Buck. As a nice juicy cherry on top of this already very well baked "bye bye mental health"-cake.

All of this might, you know, kinda traumatise someone and make the grieving process extra hard, and make regaining trust in people and love kinda tricky, and overall, make moving on a fairly slow, complicated uphill battle.

Doesn't mean it's impossible!

And yes I know, obviously Eddie romanticizes Shannon. That's what people who are grieving tend to do!

That doesn't mean he never loved her. Flaws and conflicts can co-exist with love, you know. I mean, I don't know about you guys but everyone I've ever loved has been flawed, and all of my deepest human relationships have sailed through some rocky terrain.

The love has been the most persistent passenger on all of those rides. I think some rocks I've sailed through with people have even made our love deeper. Because sometimes conflicts make the relationships more intense, make you get to know the other person a bit better, conflicts can pull you closer to each other. So yes, even if you happen to get close because you just really need to yell at their face... Well, what you're feeling in that moment is hardly indifference, is it.

And also, with the way Eddie has also been throwing heart-eyes at Buck, for years...? Before Shannon returned and asked for forgiveness, even.

Clinging to this concept of a magical romance with Shannon might just be Eddie's safe place to hide, his avoidance tactic, the way he hides most of his (seemingly) unrequited feelings for Buck from himself, and others.

Maybe Eddie thinks he cannot really love Buck that much... if Shannon is the greatest love of his life. To Eddie it might feel like it's just not safe to love Buck because loving Buck would likely just lead to more pain.

So that may be one reason why Eddie has been clinging to this idea of a perfect, magical romance with Shannon, one reason why we're hearing all this

"Shannon, oh Shannon, you are the love of my life, the only person I've ever loved."

Maybe it's because to Eddie, that must be true. It's how he protects himself from pain.

And it's also how he cherishes the memory of her. Because confronting her humanity, the reality of how troubled their relationship was... might mean letting go of her, and moving on from her, and that's hard because Eddie loved her, and he doesn't really want to confront the truth.

And the truth is that the fairytale is over, that she was in fact very much a human, just a person, just another mortal like the rest of us... Flawed.

And that means that she wasn't untouchable, that death really took her and she's truly gone.

[jasmine-tea-latte]

JTL's long but not as long as it could've been review of Netflix's ATLA

So.

I’ve finished watching the Netflix adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender and I have a lot of thoughts. Because despite some of the more questionable changes, I overall enjoyed this as an adaptation.

I wish I could say that I was surprised by the criticisms I'm seen so far, but unfortunately, I’m not. As much as I adore the OG series for being one of the greatest animated shows (or television shows, period), it’s been placed on a pedestal over the years and any adaptation of it will always be held to an impossibly high standard. And for better or for worse, a lot of fans have their nostalgia glasses on when it comes to the show, so any deviation from the source material is going to receive some form of backlash. I say this as someone who clearly still loves the show 19 years later, otherwise I wouldn't be here writing about it, ya know?

Anyways, if I had to give it a grade compared to the OG series, I’d give it a B- or a C+. If I’m grading it as its own thing, I’d bump that up to a B+ or A-. There are some elements (pun not intended) that definitely should have been kept in, and some changes that I thought were done well.

TL;DR – I had fun watching it even during the parts that made me cry, and the parts that made me say “… well that was a decision.” I’d love to see the last two books be adapted as well, if for no other reason than to meet Toph Mothereffing Bei Fong and see all of Team Avatar together.

(Also because I’d LOVE to see The Ember Island Players, especially if they managed to work in a few fun cameos. Can't you picture Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson as Play!Toph and thee Dante Basco as Play!Zuko, hamming it up for all it’s worth? Shut up and take my money!)

(And of course, the Last Agni Kai for obvious reasons)

So I’d recommend at least checking it out if you’re interested. I’d also like to recommend that if you do, watch it from a pragmatic standpoint that it’s a condensed adaptation, not a shot-for-shot remake.

Some things that I liked, and some that I didn’t are below the cut:  

(SPOILERS, obvs)

Aang – I really liked this version of him, and though his actor’s still young, I thought he embodied the upbeat, playful side well. I also liked that they removed his one-sided crush on Katara, and – don’t shoot me for this – if they went with Kat@ang later based on how they did their characters in this first season, I wouldn’t be entirely opposed if it’s built on actual friendship and not an unrequited crush. (Still Team Zutara for life, but I don’t think that I’d *hate* it if the show went in this direction.)

Katara – I thought her actress did great when it came to portraying the nurturing, sensitive side. What I didn’t like was them removing nearly all of her feminine rage. Let her be angry! Let her lose her temper and be hot-headed! This post sums it up nicely. That being said, I do think she did well enough with the direction she was given. Here’s hoping we’ll see our girl eff some stuff up if we get Seasons 2 and 3.

Sokka – Fantastic and sarcastic. I really liked his actor’s interpretation of him, and it definitely felt more in line with the character we all fell in love with during the OG show.

Zuko – out of the main cast, I think his performance was the best. He had to step into a major role, taking over from a beloved performance that is still hailed as one of the greatest redemption arcs in modern media with a lot of expectations riding on his shoulders, and I think that his actor knocked it out of the park. It’s different from Dante Basco’s interpretation, obviously. But as I watched each episode, I kept thinking, “there’s our grumpy fire boy.” The scene where he’s throwing the temper tantrum over losing his journal, while Iroh’s standing back and watching? I thought to myself, “this boy is the worst, he’s perfect.” Plus the flashbacks to his life before scarring were done well, and even though I knew what was coming re: the Agni Kai against his father and subsequent banishment, I still got emotional.

Also, regarding the Agni Kai – on one hand, I feel like his absolute refusal to fight back was such an integral part of that scene and understanding who he is as a character. That being said, I didn’t *hate* that in this version he was pushed into defending himself, albeit by holding back. That one shot where he hesitates to attack Ozai, only for his father to use that same move against him moments later… oof.

My ONLY complaint with this version of Zuko is that he didn't say "honor" once.

Other thoughts I had:

🟣 I really liked that we got to see more of the Air Nomads and life at the Southern Air Temple prior to Sozin’s attack. I also liked the explanation the show gave of having all the Air Nomads gathered together for a festival celebrating the comet, which makes more sense if they’re all (allegedly) under one roof.

Additionally, witnessing the genocide itself… I was crying. Especially during the final showdown between Gyatso and Sozin, and the realization that we were witnessing Roku’s (former) best friend slaughter one of his other closest friends.

But why wouldn't they send the children out on the flying bison to escape instead of having them all cornered?!

🟣 I really enjoyed getting to see interactions between Ozai and Iroh, which was one of the biggest missed opportunities in the OG show.

🟣 MY GIRL JUNE. That is all.

The part where she flirts with Iroh was also a nice flip on what happened in the OG show, with his covert pervert crush and all. Plus Zuko’s face when she calls his “dad” cute? Peak Zuzu. Also, poor Iroh hahaha.

🟣 Suki! I really liked the Kyoshi Island episode, plus her awkward flirting with Sokka by kicking his ass.

🟣 I really wish the whole subplot of Kya’s necklace hadn’t been cut, tbh. The flashbacks involving her were good, and as devastating as it was actually seeing her death, it does hammer home the point what a horrifying experience that was (side-eyeing you, everyone making the jokes about Katara always bringing up her dead mother.)

🟣 THE SCARF SCENE. Nice try, Netflix, but I know better than to get my hopes up again from 5 seconds of slow-mo. Did I still screech when it happened, though? Ofc I did!

🟣 The twist with the 41st Division was bittersweet and I may have (okay, definitely) cried.

🟣 Combining Jet’s subplots with the Mechanist’s and putting them in Omashu wasn’t too bad. I do wish the message of “not everyone in the FN is evil” from Jet’s episode had made it into this version, tbh.

🟣 Overall, I liked Jet + the Freedom Fighters. Also, props to his actor for capturing the pretty boy / f*ckboi attitude well.

🟣 Loved Chong and the hippies, of course (SECRET, SECRET, SECRET TUNNEL, YEAH!) and I don’t mind that they were included this early.

🟣 I loved the change to the Cave of Two Lovers and having Oma and Shu be lesbians.

🟣 I feel like if the show’s renewed for a second season and we come back to Omashu, there’s a chance they could revisit the COTL with Katara and Aang this time around.

🟣 The random lady smacking Zuzu with a broom – “how dare you hit that child?!” – was hilarious, and Dallas Liu’s facial expressions of “wtf” and “fml” were a thing of beauty (starts at 1:40 in the video below)

🟣 CABBAGE MAN! I just love that they got the original voice actor, hamming it up and screaming at the sky.

🟣 I LOVED the Blue Spirit episode, and all of the flashbacks, plus the voiceover about masks and seeing past!Zuko contrasted to present!Zuko, as presented in this gifset? RIP my heart.

🟣 The flashback to Lu Ten’s funeral and showing Zuko being the only person to join his uncle, sharing a sweet memory of his cousin while Leaves from the Vine plays? Beautiful. Ditto to the flashbacks of Iroh standing up for his nephew prior to the Agni Kai and the scenes of them getting ready to set sail to search for the Avatar. “I don’t need a babysitter.” “How about a friend?” how about excuse you I did not ask for these emotions how dare you.

🟣 I actually liked the inclusion of Ozai and Azula + Mai and Ty Lee. I also loved the opening of Ep. 3, showing how she was able to infiltrate the team of rebels. RIP to Kevin Tran (in advanced placement), though.

🟣 I loved that Katara rallied the women waterbenders and they were able to help during the Siege of the North. I also liked her reaction when she's talking with Yugoda in the healing huts and realizes why she's been sent there. It gave us a glimpse of the fiestier / headstrong Katara we all know and love, and if the show gets renewed I hope we'll get to see more.

🟣 I really enjoyed them giving Aang and Zuko a few minutes to talk / form a connection after he was unmasked as the Blue Spirit. That was nicely done.

and finally...

Nothing else to add, just chef's kiss.

(gif source)

Anyways! I might make a more extensive list of my personal pros and cons, but for now, I’d still recommend giving it a shot.

[mossyivy]

Hatred | '24 Alphabet Challenge

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: Prom night is supposed to be the greatest night of your teenage life... Right?

Words: 1.9k

Content Warning: Stancy mention, Jancy mention, past feelings mention, childhood friends, and unrequited love (Steve)

Prom night, supposedly one of the greatest nights of teenagers' lives. That's a sentiment Steve definitely wouldn't agree with, hanging out outside his own senior prom. He didn't even know why he bothered coming, knowing full well he'd see them together. Hand in hand, arm in arm, dancing to every cheesy slow song the DJ put on. As much as Steve tried to be supportive or ignore it...

He just wasn't over his ex-girlfriend yet.

But that didn't stop him from trying to be the bigger man in the situation. That's what Steve grew into being, the bigger person. No more being a total asshole for the sake of his own feelings. That's something Junior year Steve would do.

"Well, don't you just look so lively tonight." His trance breaks as he's approached by you, coming from the double doors of the Gym hallway not too far away.

"I'm not in the mood tonight."

Steve sounded both fed up and disgusted with your antics already. Even if this was just the first thing you said anything to him all day.

You lean against the cold brick gym wall. Feeling the rough bumps of the hard surface on your back and through your dress.

"Rough night, champ?" Steve sighs, rubbing his eyes, raw from a few minutes of being emotional.

"You don't know the half of it." Glancing over, he sees you for the first time. Admiring the floor length red dress, you always looked good in red. You looked good in everything, at least in his mind.

"Look at you, all dressed up and presentable for once." You smirk at his joke, making him chuckle and smile.

"I always look presentable thank you prick." Smirking to yourself before looking back at him.

"You look good in a tuxedo... Y'know, for you."

"Thanks for the backhanded compliment. Anything good from you is a rarity." You laugh, making him smile even wider. His eyes shift around the parking lot, watching cars pull in, and other kids come to join the party going on inside.

"What're you even doing out here by yourself? I thought you'd be in there with like 9 different girls trying to dance with you at once." He scoffs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"You know, too many options beating down my door. Couldn't disappoint them all."

"Came stag too, huh?" He just nods in response, not saying anything as you both look up into the inky night sky. The only sound to fill the cold April night air was the crickets chirping and distant chatting of other students.

"Are you holding up okay? I saw them dancing inside and... I know the breakup was hard for you, so I just thought I'd check up on you..."

Steve let out a rough sigh, feeling like a complete idiot pining for his ex-girlfriend still. Being broken up for almost 5 months now. He couldn't let her go in his head, they were each other's first loves. At least she was to him.

All of that came crashing to a halt after everything back in November.

"If I'm being honest, no I'm not holding up okay."

"I know I'm not a therapist or anything..." You shrug, glancing back at him as you nervously chew on your thumbnail.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really. I've been talking to Dustin for months about it and no matter how much I try I can't get past it. Like Nancy's cast some kind of spell to stick with me or something." He sighs, looking at the asphalt as he swallows harshly.

"Now we can hardly make eye contact for more than 3 seconds before she turns away... God, she must hate me."

"Steve, she doesn't hate you. She's probably just feeling awkward about everything and trying to respect her new relationship by not hanging around her ex-boyfriend. They're just trying to find their footing as a couple." You reassure him, leaning over to give him a squeeze on his shoulder. Thinking about what he said, you shake your head, grinning at the thought of Dustin.

"And really Steve? Dustin. He's like 14 and barely knows how to handle having a crush yet. He's never even had a girlfriend yet. I know he's smart for his age, but c'mon."

"I know! He's just a great listener. He knows a lot for his age, it's actually kinda scary." You roll your eyes looking at the ground, starting to laugh to yourself.

"What?" His full attention is on you now, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watches you start to laugh harder.

"Nothing I just..." You cover your mouth, snickering again.

"I just never pictured myself giving you of all people a pep talk... You're you for crying out loud. Steven "The Hair" Harrington." You grin, bumping his arm with your elbow.

"King Steve... You're literally the most popular guy in the entire school, and I'm... Me." He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's the fun thing. We're so different, so we can see our point of view while still seeing each other's... Plus, it's nice not having someone around trying to kiss my ass constantly."

"Yeah, I'll just kick your ass instead." You smirk, pressing off the wall, your heels click as you step in front of him.

"Look, I know it hurts now, but it'll pass eventually... And if I can be honest with you... You could do so much better than Nancy frickin' Wheeler."

Steve could feel his eyebrows shooting up in amusement as you got in front of him. For some odd reason, just standing there in your presence felt somewhat calming suddenly.

"Oh yeah? Who'd you have in mind then?"

"I don't know," you think for a second and shrug, "Farrah Fawcett? I think she'd think you were cute. Celebrity or not?"

"Farrah Fawcett? You think Farrah Fawcett, one of the most famous women alive, would want me?"

"Yeah! You're a hot guy, why wouldn't she?!" It's his turn to laugh now, shaking his head as he bites his lip.

"Where the hell would I even meet her?"

"I don't know! I thought we were talking hypothetically." Steve nodded, his face turning serious again.

"It's just... It's hard looking past Nancy, y'know. She was the first girl I ever loved."

"I'm aware, Steve. It's just not always the best thing to dwell on. I'm talking from experience." You bite the inside of your cheek and sigh. Nervous to be this honest, but if it helps get the point across, then so be it.

"Can I be honest with you about something?"

Steve looks at you, seeing how nervous you look to talk. His lips part slightly as he nods.

"Of course."

"I used to have a massive crush on Jonathan ages ago and when he started showing an interest in Nancy it killed me... But he's my friend, so I encouraged him. It killed me but I got over it."

You turn your head, looking up at the sky again, taking in the shining stars above the two of you. Feeling embarrassed about laying everything out there for someone you've barely gotten to know again.

"Took a while but time heals most wounds. So, just know I'm here for you because I know what it feels like... Kind of."

Steve felt your pain as you talked about how you couldn't be with Jonathan, and how that's basically how he felt about Nancy in all honesty.

Silence fell over the two of you as you both looked out to the sky, admiring the stars again. Steve looks over at you, feeling somewhat peaceful. Yet still wanting to ask so many questions.

"How'd you do it? Stay strong like that. I can barely be in a room with her right now."

"I talked to my family. That helped a lot... But I know you aren't the closest to your parents, so that's why I asked if you wanted to talk about it with me." You smile softly, lips turning up as you half shrugged at his question.

"I know we weren't always on the best of terms, but you're my friend and... I care about you."

"We're friends again?" His eyes seemed to light up almost, just like he was a little kid again. Over the past year he's felt like you two were bonding. But never wanted to ask out of fear.

Tension fills the air between you two. It's been this way since you two started becoming friends again. Going through hell together alongside the couple, Steve was trying to avoid like the plague.

"Well you know, when you nearly die fighting inner dimensional monsters together you tend to start caring about their well-being again... So, in a way, I guess we have to thank them for something at least."

Steve smirks before shaking his head.

"Part of me likes to think we'd be friends again someday."

"Who knows." You add, silence falling between you again. It's not long before Steve shifts, pushing himself off the wall and looking at you.

"So let’s say, hypothetically, that I was stuck at this stupid prom without a date and I had no one else to ask but you...”

"Mmm. Mmhm, hypothetically." You nod along, fighting back the urge to smirk.

"Go on."

Steve looked away for a second, collecting his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, turning back to you.

"And, hypothetically, I might need to spend our senior prom dancing, like my life depends on it, because it's possibly the last fun night before the rest of our lives."

"I'm starting to think you don't know what the word hypothetically means."

"Shush," he cuts you off, making you giggle before he continues, "now, hypothetically, would you be interested in dancing with me?"

You nod, looking like you were really thinking about it. As if you didn't know your answer already.

"Well, hypothetically," you play along, making sure to hold eye contact, "I might be inclined to say yes... If it wasn't a hypothetical, of course."

You rub your hand over your mouth, smirking behind it. He holds eye contact, faking a scoff as he stares.

"You're gonna make me ask?" You nod, tongue going to his cheek as he also nods.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"I wouldn't be saying that to a girl you're about to ask to prom Steve." He chuckles, nodding. You got him there.

His expression shifts to a goofy grin as he sighs with a slight relief.

"You think you can survive the night without making fun of me?" He smirks, holding his hand out for you to grab, you smile back at him taking it gently. Giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"I don't know about the whole night, but I can sure try my best." Rolling his eyes, he pulls you into his side, lacing his arm around your waist.

You look up at him, your gaze meeting again. Taking in his deep brown eyes and soft smile brings... Old feelings from years ago bubble back up.

Your mouth opens to say something, anything at all. But the words won't come out as your heartbeat picks up speed.

That old crush you had on your old friend never really went away over all these years.

Or at least that's what you think at the moment.

[cilil]

Something neat about... Indis

This may ruffle some feathers since some people apparently see Indis as this conniving, evil stepmom scheming in the background from the beginning, but I gather the exact opposite from the text.

I actually think Indis handles herself as well as she could have, dealing with her (at the time) unrequited feelings without hostility or bitterness. As I stated in another recent post, sometimes things aren't ideal or going perfectly and loving a person who is already with someone else is yet another example of that. It takes a lot of inner strength and balance to handle oneself in non-destructive ways in emotional situations like these.

To me, Indis is a woman who possesses a lot of maturity, patience and grace and you can see these very traits coming through in the greatest and most renowned of her descendants.

I also love that she's a runner and singer and like to think she's an athlete. You go queen!

Indis deserves happiness and prosperity and I hope she's dating Míriel now.

 ˚ ੈ✧̣̇·˖ 　˚ .　　　✶ ˚　　✦　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  ˚　

Thank you to @oakenting for suggesting Indis!

~

“Something Neat About” (SNA) is a mini series on my blog where I say something I like/find cool/interesting/neat about various Tolkien (right now mostly Silmarillion) characters. 

Please feel free to add your own thoughts/ideas/headcanons about the character in the comments/tags, link fanworks you or others made, show pictures of your pet you named after them, whatever you want to share; my only request is to keep it positive.

More of SNA for your perusal here. You’re also welcome to message me/send asks about characters you’d like to hear about :)