#tag: cursed to wither no longer

[lcgends]

tag drop ( to be filled )

[shintin]

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

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As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

…

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

*

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

*

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

 Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

[lovebugism]

YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, KID | the beginning.

summary: a year after the end of the world, you and steve share one cigarette and two confessions. (6k)

listen to: "as the world falls down" by david bowie

tags: f!reader, roadtrip fic, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, angst & comfort, post st4, selective canon divergence (some things happen, some things don't), reader goes by the nickname "scout" TW panic attacks, conversations about grief, steve harrington smokes but he's still hot, outfit inspo (not indicative of what r's body type/skin color/etc.)

a/n: kinda surreal that i'm posting this because it's something i've been working on/thinking about for Months. i put so much time and effort and tears into this series so pleasepleaseplease enjoy it! as always, let me know what you think! let's watch these two (sort of) friends run away and fall in love with each other, shall we? <3

JOURNALS | MASTERLIST | SPOTIFY

★。＼ ｜ ／。★

The beginning of the rest of your life starts in the murky alleyway outside The Velvet Lounge.

It’s pretty fitting, actually. You feel like you’re close to dying anyway.

The lightning strike of a panic attack comes first as a cold hand around your throat. The clawed talon of a long-gone monster strangles you — sucks all the air out of your lungs and leaves you gasping for a breath you know won’t come. 

A second later and the light-up dance floor beneath your feet begins to sway. You blink, and it becomes the desiccated terrain of the Upside Down — again, and the glowing rainbow tiles return. Eventually, it becomes impossible to discern the real from the imaginary.

You feel a bit like the world’s caving in on itself as you stumble through the bustling crowd. The thumping of the heady bass strums throughout your body as you squeeze between a mob of sweatier ones. The merciless pounding makes you forget that your heart’s no longer beating.

The heavy breeze of a summer night smacks you in the face. There is no fresh air outside the buzzing nightclub, just more emptiness. 

You lean against the brick wall, clutching desperately onto your chest as you stumble from the exit. The world around you starts to spin on its side, going blurry like you’re being pulled underwater.

You’re drowning, but none’s coming to save you.

To everyone else, you’re just a girl that’s had too many. The girl that’s lost too much.

You duck into the dark alley with the intention of withering away there.

A warm hand brings you back to life.

“Shit, Scout,” Steve Harrington curses behind you. “Are you— Are you okay?”

You’ve never heard the nickname leave his mouth so gently. You don’t think he’s ever touched you so softly, either. It’s all so foreignly tender compared to the war raging inside your skull — you think it would’ve made you weep if you were capable of catching your breath.

His presence is only startling in the sense that you hadn’t expected to find him there.

It was pretty much the reason you’d slinked through the dimly lit passageway in the first place — to die completely and utterly alone. The flickering orange lamplight and damp brick made this place more adequate for puking college kids, canoodling couples, and conniving Ted Bundy’s of the world. Not pretty Steve and his pretty clothes and his pretty hair.

You’re more humiliated at having been caught than you are alarmed by it.

You figure you really shouldn’t be. He’s already seen you at your worst. On your deathbed, crying so hard you puke, so far gone from the world that you’re practically a ghost — that kind of worst. 

But for some reason, his wide palm on your shoulder makes you feel fragile. Small. He stands fathoms above you and you’re nothing but an ant under his sneaker — a little delicate thing he could crush completely if he wanted.

Instead, Steve holds you.

His long fingers cradle your trembling shoulder in a steady embrace. A warm reminder that you’re not alone in this gloomy alleyway that still thrums with life. That, in some ways, you’ve never really been alone at all.

“Yeah,” you answer finally, nodding but not looking over at him. You swallow through a tightening throat. “I just… I just need to, uh… to catch my breath.”

Steve eyes you with a gaze swimming with apprehension.

Your shoulder presses into the rough brick while your other hand clings desperately to your chest. Your fingers dig into the soft cotton of your shirt like you’re reaching for your thundering heart. Each of your breaths is ragged, forced, worked for. You grunt your way through every impossible inhale.

Facing away from him under the dim amber streetlight, he can barely make out your profile. He only gets glimpses of your scrunched face and the tear that glimmers gold on your cheek. But with his hand on your arm, he can feel the rapid up-and-down motion of your heavy breaths. Panic sizzles off of you and onto him like static shock.

“Yeah, it was getting kinda crazy in there, huh?” he says within a halfhearted laugh. “I didn’t know people like Duran Duran so much.”

It’s nothing more than a feeble attempt to get you to laugh. 

And it works. Sort of.

You’d lost sight of Steve somewhere around the time “Girls on Film” came on. Nancy’s drunken hand pulled you to the dance floor, and every other tipsy woman followed right behind you. He hadn’t seemed to care much about dancing, though. He just sat in the corner booth with Robin until Vickie came by and stole her away. The last you saw him, he was sitting alone at the bar with a basket of chicken wings before disappearing entirely.

But he hadn’t disappeared, you figured. He was just here, in this eerily empty alleyway, trying to get away from it all just as much as you were.

Steve sees the corners of your mouth quirk upward in a grimacing sort of smile. A scoff sounds from your throat a moment later. He thinks that might be the sort of laugh you get from a girl who doesn’t have much to find humor in anymore.

Your newfound relief is his own.

“You okay now?” he asks once you’ve caught your breath.

You nod and settle back against the brick. The fabric of your shirt sticks to the prickly clay. “Yeah,” you repeat, more truthfully this time. “Thanks— Thank you.”

You’re forced to mourn the warmth of the broad hand on your shoulder when he pulls away from you. 

He doesn’t stray far, though. He remains at your side with his back to the brick —  his frame much taller than your own, broader too. His woody cologne swirls with the purer scent of a summer night and the distant smell of beer. He holds within him an air that can only be described as all-consuming. He’s exactly the feeling of everything warm despite the several inches that separate you. 

Steve offers you the lit cigarette in his left hand, and for a reason you can’t name, his kindness takes you by surprise. You’ve fought a monster with the guy, but he still feels like a total stranger to you sometimes.

He sees you hesitate and thinks that this might be the first time either of you have been alone together. You don’t have anything in common except for the party. Without one of the members to accompany you, the fact becomes a heavier weight to bear.

It’s sort of like a peace offering — this half-gone cigarette. A ‘hey, I know we aren’t really friends, but maybe we could be.’

You take it. “Thanks…”

Steve watches you puff from the stick. You hold the thing between your thumb and forefinger, pinching it as you bring it up to your mouth. The huff you take isn’t a deep one, probably the fault of your still staggering breaths, but your eyes flutter shut on the exhale like you’re grateful for the nicotine fix.

He realizes then that he’s never looked at you before. Like, really looked.

Like a ghost, you tend to blend easily into the background, floating around in the shadows without ever being seen. You’re only out tonight because Robin and Nancy forced your hand, but in your darkened outfit — cropped tee, plain skirt, worn boots, all varying shades of black — you threaten to blend in with the night. You do it all with the finesse of a girl who’s all but disconnected herself from the world.

You catch him staring when you hand the cigarette back.

You don’t look weirded out by his prying gaze — quite the opposite, really. You cower under the attention, chin tilting toward your chest and a sheepish smile hinting at your lips. Embarrassed without any actual reason to be.

“Wanna tell me the real reason you came out here?” Steve asks you, covering the serious inquiry with a joking lilt.

Your brows furrow as you watch him bring the cigarette to his own mouth. He’s got this look on his face — raised brows, wide eyes, and quirked lips — almost like he’s teasing you.

You breathe out an awkward laugh.

“What do you mean? I just told you.” You try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It looks more like you’re wincing as you shift your weight on your feet. “I just needed to—”

“To catch your breath,” Steve finishes for you, smoke billowing from his pink lips. The grey lingers between you for a moment before disappearing entirely. He nods with a lopsided grin before handing you back the cigarette. “Yeah. I heard you. I just don’t believe you.”

Your eyes go wide. He can’t tell if you’re shocked by his bluntness or if you’re embarrassed at having been caught so quickly. Maybe a healthy mixture of both.

Your throat tightens all over again. You swallow thickly as you turn away from him and it feels like you’re forcing down a too big pill. The back of your eyes burn with unshed tears, so many stinging needles that you force yourself to blink away.

And even though you’re just trying not to cry at the reality of the situation you’ve spent a year hiding from, to Steve it looks like you’re searching for a way out. Your gaze snaps to the opening of the alley where nicely dressed people bustle on the other side, their conversations far away and muffled.

He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable. He just thought you could use a friend, considering you were only just recovering from the windswept panic spell.

“Look. You— You tell me why you’re out here, and I’ll tell you why I am,” he offers, partly to make you feel better.

The other half of it, which he finds it startling to admit, is that he doesn’t want you to leave.

He’d spent fifteen minutes by himself in the dark — half comforted by it, half frightened. Despite his distant unfamiliarity with you, he’s weirdly comforted by your presence. Steve’s seen enough people walk away from him to know he doesn’t want you to join them.

You look at him again, more glassy-eyed than you’d been before. Your sniffle is nearly inaudible. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You know… A you-show-me-yours, I’ll-show-you-mine kinda thing.”

It sounds a lot weirder coming out of his mouth than he expected it to. It makes you laugh, though, so it feels sort of worth it.

“That sounds really pervy,” you tease with a more sincere smile.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just— Maybe just ignore that last part, yeah?” he stammers stiffly, laughing softly at himself shortly after.

You finally take a hit from the cig between your fingers. Your gaze falls to your boots.

They were a gift from someone you knew a long time ago — someone you don’t know anymore because they’re gone.

It was a well-loved anniversary present you’ve worn every day since you got them. They’re a bit tattered now, obviously worn on the platformed bottoms. You don’t know how many times you’ve glued the soles back together now — or how many times you’ve tried to wash away the faded bloodstain by the laces that refuses to come out.

It’s as stuck there as the memories in your head are.

And even though you’ve never talked about it out loud, you think you could write a million words about how looking at the stain makes you feel — about all the thoughts that swirl within you at the sight of it and why you can’t throw them out despite it all. You’d write about the boy who bought them for you, whose name it’s still so hard to say — the boy who you loved who was gone.

It was just easier to shove it all down.

You kept your grief horribly discreet, like a poorly stitched-together wound.

If you couldn’t even burden yourself with it, why should you expect anyone else to?

But here Steve goes, offering to let that raging wound breathe. 

Something about the ultimatum makes it more comforting. It’s a lot easier to tell a kept secret when you know another hidden confession is coming right after it. You don’t know if you’ll ever get this chance again — to shield your grief with someone else’s. 

“Okay,” you answer suddenly before exhaling the gray from your lungs. You outstretch your hand to give him the cigarette back. You try to smile. “You first, though.”

Steve puffs from the stick before he answers you. For a moment, it’s nothing but muffled conversations and a stifled bass that rattles the brick. The quiet is noticeably less suffocating than all the quiets you’ve known before — less lonely now that you’ve got someone to share them with.

“I hate parties,” he summarizes with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need a little more than that,” you joke.

He flicks the end of the cigarette to dispel the ash. Grey specks fall to the damp concrete. When he hands it off to you again, your fingers brush his own. Your skin is much cooler than the humid summer air surrounding you.

“I mean, I used to like parties. I think,” Steve explains, still rather vague, gesturing with wild hands like you’re used to. “Really, I just liked to drink, you know? ‘Cause everyone liked me when I was drunk. I was the popular guy — Mr. Funny, Mr. Cool. But, uh… I guess somewhere down the line, I forgot how to have fun like that.”

“Forgot how to have fun?” you repeat with a sad sort of laugh. Your brows scrunch and your swim with sympathy. The streetlamp casts sharp shadows on his chiseled features, but he still looks at you so soft — eyes sweet with the tenderness he holds there and smiling just the same.

It’s hard to believe that the King of Hawkins High could’ve ever felt anything other than total elation when he had a whole ocean outside his front door on Fairview Lane.

“I think they have a name for that these days, Harrington.”

He laughs and turns to press his shoulder into the brick. He’s facing you now, and it feels much more like he’s looming over you. 

You remain against the wall, still a bit overwhelmed by the presence of a boy who never would’ve looked your way a year or more ago. It takes everything in you not to duck away from him completely.

“Well, I was only having fun because I was drunk, right?” he elaborates, brown eyes a golden amber beneath the flickering light. They twinkle looking down at you.

“Sure…” you shrug to humor him.

“And, like, I can deal with the hangovers and everything no problem, you know, but the… The waking up the next morning. The remembering, I guess. Remembering everything I was trying to forget when I was drinking. That’s… That’s the worst part.”

You don’t realize how intently you’re looking at him at first. Every quirk of his rosy mouth, every twitch of his bushy brow, every glint of his chocolate eyes as he divulges a deeply held secret doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Behind all the pretty hair and expensive clothes is a boy much sadder than you could’ve imagined. 

Something bigger had done a number on him. Something more than the end of the world.

His upturned gaze returns to you and you realize you haven’t blinked once.

You do a rather shit job of pretending you weren’t just staring. You haphazardly turn away again, handing him the cigarette despite not having put your mouth to it.

“Yeah, I— I get what you mean…”

Your words seem to surprise him. His brows pinch like he was more prepared to be made fun of than empathized. He takes the cig from you with an absentminded hand. It goes quickly forgotten.

“You do?”

“Well, not so much with drinking, but… It happens to me in the morning sometimes,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance, and trying not to seem like it’s a phenomenon you’ve experienced every day for a year and a half. “It’s, like, that split second of bliss right before the grief comes back, right?”

Steve blinks owlishly. Then nods.

“That half a moment where nothing bad’s ever happened to you, and it’s just the sun shining on you before the… the bad shit comes back again. Like it never even left.”

And Steve, who’s never met another person who could so easily understand him and that otherwise indescribable feeling so perfectly, is stunned into silence.

Maybe it’s his fault for keeping it all to himself, like a love letter he can’t bring himself to unfold. It’s entirely likely that he could find a million people in the world who’ve felt all the same feelings he’s garnered over the past couple of years. It still wouldn’t hold the same weight as being understood now — being understood by someone who’s been through the end of the world with him.

Being understood without all the empty words.

“Yeah,” he nods finally, clearing his throat. His cheeks glow red when he realizes he’d forgotten to speak because he was too busy looking at you. “Yeah, exactly— Shit!”

The sides of his fingers sting with a sharp ache. The cig in his hand drops to the ground, half the size of his pinky. There isn’t much left of it now, and that’s why it burns him so. It hits the concrete, more ash than stick. The skin of Steve’s finger blackens as it blazes.

“Oh— Are you okay?” you grimace.

Steve snuffs out the burning cigarette with the toe of his sneaker.

“Yeah, I— I just wasn’t paying attention,” he dismisses with the shake of his head, more so at himself than anything else. It’s the first time he’s had an actual conversation with you, and he’s already embarrassed himself twice. He’ll count himself lucky if you care enough to talk to him again.

“Your go, Scout,” he offers suddenly in a measly attempt to get the attention off of him and his blunder. He wipes the ash from his pointer and middle finger on his jeans. “See if you can out-miserable me.”

You roll your eyes at him, still smiling. “What is this? The trauma olympics?”

“C’mon. I’m kidding,” he assures with a lilt. He reaches out to nudge your arm with his knuckles and, like before, his touch is almost too soft for you to feel it. The act of platonic intimacy takes you momentarily by surprise.

His smile is crooked. His eyes glimmer with honey. “I was kidding,” he repeats.

“It was just that, um— that song,” you answer. It comes out more choked than you expected it to. “They started playing that song.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What song?” he asks. Not pressing. Only curious.

“That one that… that Eddie played when I…”

“Oh.”

“I used to love that stupid song— I mean, obviously. It sorta saved me from what should’ve been an unavoidable death, so…” You manage to laugh at yourself as you ramble.

Steve can’t find it in himself to do the same.

He’d been terrified when it happened to Max — when the kid he was involuntarily babysitting started to float in midair, nearly succumbing to the curse of a monster that should’ve been make-believe. He was relieved when she fell back down again, but you? He was certain you were a goner. 

You were too high up and Eddie’s guitar was too far away. The beginning notes of I Was Made For Lovin’ You were too grim and Vecna’s claws were in too deep. You were too distant, too banished.

For several agonizing seconds, you were destined to remain a stranger to him.

But here you are now, sharing cigarettes and secrets.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you shake your head at yourself. “But, um, anyway. Yeah. It’s just… Sometimes things will happen, you know? Like I’ll— I’ll hear a song or… I’ll see something that reminds me of him— of Eddie. And it’s just like…”

“…Like you’re in the Upside Down again?” Steve finishes gently for you when he sees that you can’t.

You nod, wordlessly for a moment, until the words catch up with you.

“Like nightmares, but when I’m awake,” you force through a closing throat. “And they’re so real. Like… I can— I can hear him. I can hear him talking to me, and I’m— I’m holding him, and I can feel him breathing, you know? He’s still breathing, but—”

You take a staggering breath in. For a moment, Steve’s scared you’re tumbling headfirst into another panic attack.

His attentive eyes flit between your scrunched up face and the trembling hands you hold out in front of you. You’re cradling something that isn’t there anymore. You look down at your palms with a horror that tells him you understand that, too — that the person you used to hold isn’t able to be held anymore.

“I can feel the… the blood. And it’s just… It’s all over me. And I’m losing him. I’m losing him all over again—”

You hiccup a measly sob when your lungs force you to take a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It puts an end to your rambling. You’re grateful enough for it. You’d already said more than you were planning to — more than you thought you’d say in a lifetime. 

You think you must sound deranged, talking about a corpse like it’s still a warm body you hold every night.

In some ways, it is.

You sniffle and blink back burning tears. Your smile edges on sincerity. “So, what do you think, Harrington? Did I out-miserable you?”

Steve scoffs in the place of a real laugh. “I didn’t have a dog in that fight, did I? What you went through… I mean, I shouldn’t even be complaining.”

“Hey, c’mon,” you scold gently. “We both went through shit. It was all bad, no matter how you look at it. Just because we didn’t go through the same stuff doesn’t mean what happened to you is any less important.”

You just barely catch his cinnamon eyes going glassy before he turns away from you entirely. His stubbled cheeks blotch with varying shades of pink, glowing with an emotion he can’t keep hidden. He looks down at his dirty sneakers because he can’t bare to look at you now.

Understanding, that’s what this is. Understanding without all the empty words.

It’s still hard for him to believe them, though.

In the grand scheme of things, what happened to him wasn’t so terrible. 

He wasn’t under any sort of curse. No one he cared about was irrevocably hurt, either. And he didn’t have to hold someone he loved in his arms while they bled to death — doesn’t have to feel like he’s still holding onto them a year after it all.

Despite the marred scars on his mind and body, Steve convinces himself that he has no reason to be sad — even though that’s not really how sadness works. Grief isn’t the kind of thing you can just will away, but he beats himself up when he can’t — when the heartache wins.

It’s a never-ending cycle. A loop he’s been stuck in since he was seventeen. A portal he was terrified would never close. 

Now, at least, it feels sort of possible.

“You shouldn’t talk like that, Scout,” he jokes after the urge to weep has passed. He tilts his head to his shoulder and smiles a crooked grin. “I’m gonna start to think you like me.”

Without missing a beat, you retort: “Please, never ever think that. That would completely shatter my reputation.”

You both laugh with the knowing that it’s all just a joke.

You never had much of a reputation because you spent your whole life being invisible. You liked it best that way because never being seen meant nothing was ever expected of you. You’ll happily take someone you went to school with your entire life never knowing your name than any bogus Hawkins High royalty status any day.

Steve, better known by his title of King, wishes now that he’d taken a page out of your book. He learned the power of invisibility far too late.

“Who woulda thought, huh?” the boy sighs, chocolate eyes turned up to the velvet blue sky. “You and me… being friends.”

You arch a brow at him. “Oh, is that what we are now?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve scoffs like it’s obvious. “They didn’t tell you? You fight monsters together, and you’re bonded for life.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. I mean, why do you think me and Henderson are so close?”

“So you’re saying you would’ve never been friends if it wasn’t for the end of the world?” you reiterate with a challenging squint.

“That’s almost exactly what I’m saying. Yeah,” he nods with his pink lips jutted softly out. “If none of that shit ever happened, I’d still be that raging douchebag I used to be. My life would be… so much different.”

“Worse?” you press.

He thinks for a moment.

Without the whole end-of-the-world thing, he never would’ve met Dustin. He never would’ve gotten closer to Robin. Nancy never would’ve had a reason to break up with him, and he figures he’d have long settled down with her by now. They’d be that miserable couple that somehow manages to make it.

He’d probably still be friends with Tommy Hagan, too, getting drunk at parties he’s too old to be at. He’d still be the King Steve everyone loved and hating every second of it.

Fighting monster after monster changed him for the better. Even with its horror, how could he ever take that back?

He winces at the realization. “Yeah…”

“So you’d do it all over again?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“I think so, yeah.” Steve’s smile is shy as he ducks his gaze, peering at you through his lashes. “I’m a total idiot, right?”

Your brows pinch together as you shake your head. “No. I don’t think so… Actually, I think the end of the world looks pretty good on you, Harrington.”

He knows you don’t mean it how it sounds. He gets the feeling you’re talking less about his appearance and more about why he’s standing out here in the first place — talking to a girl he’s halfway known all his life whose name he didn’t know until she almost died.

For the same reason — the one that’s brought you to him and this alley — he jokes back: “It looks good on you, too, Scout.”

Again, you laugh with the understanding that you’re joking. For the most part, at least. 

You’re both so weathered with grief, looking much older than your years, forced to wear your woe all over. For whatever transformation the trauma might’ve done internally, it hadn’t done anything on the outside than leave scars that won’t fade.

When the laughter subsides, a silence roars to life. 

Not a total one. You can still hear the pounding bass from inside The Velvet Lounge and the muddled chatter of people coming in and out of it. It’s not a totally uncomfortable one either, which is far more than you thought you could ever say about talking to Steve The Hair Harrington. 

But it’s still sort of heavy in its way. Likely with the idea of what the both of you know and of everything you’ve confessed out loud.

Now that it’s all out in the open, Steve’s got no idea how to move on. How is he supposed to joke around now? How does he say anything but sorry to the girl who holds all her grief in her eyes?

“Hey, Scout?” he calls quietly.

Your leftover grin hasn’t yet faded. “Hm?”

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

The smile ebbs entirely.

“Why are you apologizing?” you ask with the shake of your head, almost flinching at the sudden condolence. “You didn’t… You’re not the one that killed Eddie.”

“I know. I just… I feel like I should— like I should say it, you know?”

“That’s the worst part about all of this, I think. Like… you lose someone, and no one knows how to talk to you anymore,” you confess, a sad smile hinting at the very corners of your lips — so soft it’s barely there. Your gaze falls to your boots again. “Everyone just feels so sorry for you all the time. All anyone ever wants to do is talk about what happened like I don’t have to think about it enough, you know? It just… It makes it impossible to move on.”

Steve winces. He can’t ever say the right thing. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing,” you tell him, laughing. “I’m not saying that— I’m just… I’m just saying. I think it’d be easier if I didn’t have to stay here. You know, where everything happened. If I could… Like, if I could just go, I think that maybe I could get better.”

“You could,” Steve affirms with a nod.

Your brows furrow. “Get better?”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs, amber gaze flitting between your glittering eyes and his dirty sneakers. “And… And leave. You know, if you wanted to.” 

The thought alone makes you laugh. “By myself? With no car? Barely any money?”

“You wouldn’t have to go alone,” he promises.

“Yeah?” you scoff, still grinning like it’s all a joke to you. “And who would want to run away with a girl with a broken heart?”

He answers without thinking and with a lopsided smile. “The boy with nothing to lose.”

Your smile fades with the heavy weight of his offer.

It isn’t just about running away. It’s about running away together — two people with nothing in common besides a mutual hatred for a dark wizard from the underworld, ditching a town that hasn’t done shit for them, and pretending like nothing’s ever hurt them.

And at first, you’re shocked. Who wouldn’t be with such an offer thrown at their feet? But then, and more than anything else, you’re confused. Why would Steve want to run away? you think to yourself. Why would he want to run away with you? 

When the bolt blue finally dissipates, you’re left with a simmering feeling of disbelief.

Steve shouldn’t want this, and he shouldn’t want it with you.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, smiling because it’s a joke again.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Steve shrugs with his gaze pointed to the sky. The stars are hidden beneath layers of light and pollution. They’re out there somewhere, but he can’t see them — not from where he is now. He looks back to you, a sheepish smile playing on his pink mouth. “But… I’m not.”

“Would you seriously want to leave?” you squint. With me, you keep to yourself, unsaid.

“I’ve, uh— I’ve been wanting to for a while, actually. Even before all of… this,” he confesses, waving his hand out into the ether. He grins in reminiscence, but not the fond kind. “My dad— he’s just been dogging me about work and college and everything, you know? I think he wants me to be the same big shot business douchebag that he is, and I get it, but…”

You lean closer to him, brows furrowed. “But what?” you press.

Steve exhales a sad laugh. “I really don’t wanna end up like my dad,” he admits — a thought he kept like a thorn in his side finally said out loud. “And I’m scared that, if I stay here, I will.”

“So you’ve just been looking for a way out. All this time?” you wonder aloud. While I thought you were on top of the world, you were wanting out of it.

Steve shrugs, then nods.

“And a girl with nothing to lose?” you joke.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly to himself. “That, too.”

You turn away from him again, deep in thought. Steve mourns your gaze — its attentiveness more than anything, the way you look at him and seem to understand him without saying a goddamn word. He didn’t think that was possible before now.

You think to yourself for a moment. Mostly because it’s something you know you should think about before you do it.

How will you pay your way? Where will you go? What will you do when you get there? 

What will your parents say when they notice you’re gone? How long will it take before they do? 

Who’ll feed the stray cats outside the trailer park? 

Who’ll leave flowers at Eddie’s grave once a month and clean it when it’s ultimately vandalized by assholes who still think he was a mass murderer sent from Hell to do Satan’s bidding?

There’s a lot of questions you don’t have answers for.

What little you do know, though, you’re certain of.

You know there’s nothing left for you in Hawkins.

You don’t have much family — especially not since Eddie — and your friends aren’t really your friends. Sure, Nancy invites you out from time to time, but she’d never call you to dish about secrets and shared trauma in this way. Sometimes you think they only include you because your boyfriend died, and they all saw what it did to you.

And you also know that there’s nothing holding you back but grief. To absolve yourself from it all, to finally move the fuck on, you’re going to have to leave it all behind. It’s not like you’d be missing much anyway. 

You’re still a ghost because you live in a soul-sucking town full of people who only want to talk to you when it’s to remind you that the only person you’ve ever loved is dead.

Nothing has brought you back to life quite like this boy and his secrets and offer to run away.

You think you’d been an idiot to walk away from it. From him.

“Fuck it.”

Steve almost flinches at how feverishly you turn to face him again. 

His brows raise to his hairline, honey eyes going wide at the abrupt nature of your sudden reply. “…Fuck it?” he echoes, not nearly as confident as you’d said it — just grateful that you’d said it at all.

For a boy who always expects rejection, your innate acceptance of him and his previously kept secrets makes his chest swell with so much warmth that it’s started to burn him. He can feel his ribcage turning to ash and his heart melting as he speaks.

“Fuck it,” you nod, more serious than he’s ever seen you.

You turn to face him fully, something you’d been too timid to do just minutes ago. You’re more sure now — of him, of this. The proximity between your bodies forces you to tilt your head up to look at him. Similarly, his chin falls to his chest to peer at you.

Tucked away in this alley, you’re made of shadows and shades of gold. The lamplight still flickers over your heads. The brick still shakes with the drumming, muffled bass. You don’t realize until now that you can feel your heart beating again.

“Let’s do it,” you shrug with a blast of hopeful anticipation swelling in your chest, more optimistic than you’ve been in a year. “Nothing to lose, right?”

Steve grins.

“Nothing to lose,” he repeats, reminding himself of the fact when reality starts to set in on him. Even if he fails, even if it all goes wrong and he’s waking up in his childhood bed a week from now, he can’t get any lower than rock bottom. Besides, now he’s got you to fall back on, right?

“Fuck it.”

★。／ ｜ ＼。★

[bloom-hypen]

༘⋆𝕽𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 ☾⋆

Vampire enha au!

In which meeting vampires or even knowing one wasn't your plan, but somehow it ended up like this.

Or

You always thought the world was normal until the moment you saw him with his red glowing eyes staring back at you.

[Plots are just ideas for now! Changes may happen due to a different idea or another reason]

Paring : Heeseung x fem! reader

Warnings: Blood , curse words , may have a bit of violence towards someone who is not the reader

Description: Y/n's boss asked her to do the night shift of the cafe that day, but her day had gone horribly. That was until it went worse when she took a shortcut home. What she saw was about to affect her either in the best or worst.

Read here

Paring: Jay × fem! reader

Warnings: blood , jay may be a jerk [not the way I see him but it's for the plot]

Description: Jay is the boss of a company that y/n works at. Working after hours wasn't what the plan was, but sadly, you were forced to . What happens if she finds out his dark secret for just staying longer than usual

Read here

Pairing: popular! Jake × shy fem! reader

Warnings: slight blood mention

Description: Jake, the new transfer student and a big social butterfly, but it's difficult with y/n he seems more distant, and she's not sure why.

Read here

Pairing: Player! Sunghoon × fem! Reader

Warnings: Swearing , Jerk Sunghoon (again not how I think he acts) , mention of violence , mentions of blood

Description: Y/n knows all the rumors of Sunghoon due to her friends who love the gossip, but what happens when suddenly one of the girls he was with at the time disappears. Then he dissappears, and no one knows the reason, but the rumor of him harming the girl stats to spread.

Read here

Pairing: best friend! Sunoo × fem! Reader

Warnings: very slight mention of blood

Description: It was your monthly sleepover with sunoo, but he was acting different than usual. He then tells you he has to tell you a big secret and to not be scared (had a very opposite effect) but agree to listen wither way. He then explains his past.

Read here

Pairing: class prez!Jungwon × Vice prez! Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood , slight mention of bullying

Description: Lately due to the new campaign to collect money for your class has made you stay after school with the rest of council but when you walk in one day you didn't expect to be ment with only the class president and a mug that contained a red liquid that seemed off.

Read here

Pairing: best friend! Ni-ki × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Slight mentions of death , mention of blood

Description: Ni-ki couldn't keep a secret anymore. Having to cancel meet-ups due to his thirst for blood and not seeing them has made him notice how much he misses his best friend. One day, y/n decided to confront him, and he told her his most well-kept secret.

Read here

Hope you enjoy this!! Please let me know if you want to be tagged in one or all, and I'll add you! :)

[icycoldninja]

OKAY-!

So I've been wanting to request something for a hot minute from y’all; Vergil (or Nero..? Idk if you do stuff for him tbh) having to warm-up with a Male reader during a blizzard???

(👉👈 Never done a request before so idk how much to put. I love your work and can't wait to read more from you (/p)!)

AAAAAA I KNOW U, U ALWAYS REBLOG MY WORKS WITH THOSE HILARIOUS TAGS! I've also read your stuff on ao3! I love your works too! I'm so glad you requested! I chose to do Vergil cause I like writing for him more than Nero lol; hope you enjoy!💜💜💜

Warm-Up (Vergil x Male!Reader)

Bonus pic I pulled off Pinterest for ya cuz y'all deserve it 💜

You shivered in your seat, goosebumps breaking out across your skin. A blizzard raged on outside, rattling the walls of your house and, via several drafts in said walls, lowered the overall temperature to lows your poor human body couldn't handle. You continued shuddering, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, futile as it was. You were just so cold, for an indescribable reason, no matter how many layers of clothes you threw on or how many blankets you piled on, you were freezing. It was like you were cursed, cursed to be eternally chilly.

The front door clicked, then swung open; Vergil stomped in, covered in snow. "Y/N?" He called, peeking around the corner and finding you curled up on the couch, swaddled in blankets and thick clothes. "What is going on?" He demanded, raising a thin white eyebrow at you. "I'm cold." You grumbled, tugging the blankets tighter around you as another strong wind shook the house and chilled the room even further. "Cold?" Vergil repeated, confused. He had never felt cold in his life, being an ice demon and whatnot. Nonchalantly, he stalked away to remove the snow from his person and change into dry clothes. A few moments later, he rejoined you in the living room, only to find a pile of blankets where you once had been seated. "Y/N? Where did you go?" A hand--your hand--shot up from within the mountain of bedclothes. "Right here, Verg. Right here, freezing my ass off." Vergil sighed, then began shifting the blankets aside to get to your trembling, nearly numb-with-cold form. "You lack motivation," He stated, shoving the blankets aside, then taking a seat on the couch and rearranging them in his lap. "A mere bit of cold is nothing; such a trivial inconvenience should mean nothing to you." While those words may have sounded harsh and derogatory, they were in fact, meant to be motivating--and they were.

"I...I guess you're right," You admitted, sighing and sitting up. "it shouldn't bother me, but it does." Vergil scoffed, then dragged you by the arm over into his lap. With a grumpy huff that was probably caused by embarrassment for his uncharacteristically soft behavior today, he began to wrap you up like a burrito. Once he was done, he scooped you up and cradled you in his arms like a mother with her baby.

You were confused at first, but soon relaxed into your new blanket cocoon. "Are you warm now?" Vergil asked, after a few moments of silence. Believe it or not, you were. The cocoon, combined with Vergil's furnace-like body heat, did wonders for your own body temperature, warming you up much more efficiently compared to all the other methods you previously tried. "Yes, I am," You murmured, rather enjoying this treatment. "Good. I suppose I can unwrap you now, correct?" You shrugged, not really wanting to leave Vergil's lap. "If you don't mind....a little longer?" Vergil gave you a side-eye that could have withered flowers, but said nothing and made no attempt to move you. You yawned, now that you'd been warmed up, you were starting to feel a little sleepy. "Tired?" He inquired, bouncing his leg so as to rock you easier. "Yeah, a little," You sighed, yawning again. "I'm gonna take a nap...wake me in a few hours, ok?" Vergĺil nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Very well." As you closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, you could have sworn you heard him mumble "Sweet dreams, my little lump of coverlets."

[420thewritersroom]

Bloody Rage

Back with another "Raiden is in emotional turmoil" piece, this time inspired by the ending of the Blood Moon season. Had a lot of fun writing angry, budding Dark!Raiden stuff. Doesn't really scratch the vampire itch I was slightly getting, but this was fun to write regardless

Characters: Raiden, Kung Lao, Liu Kang (He's only here for one scene)

Word Count: 1,306

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood

"I'll be fine, Raiden."

"I can handle a little mosquito bite."

"You don't have to worry about me, Raiden. Let's just focus on the mission at hand."

Raiden gazes at the pole where three of his closest associates struggle in vain against the searing hot chains that bound them. They writhe in bestial fury, like an animal trying to break out of its cage. They gnash their teeth, mouths filled with blood, eyes blazing in raging blood lust as they bite at the air while emitting animalistic snarls. If it wasn't for the fact that Raiden was staring down an exiled ninja, an immortal princess...And his best friend...Raiden would've thought them nothing more than animals.

What is he thinking? Even Raiden couldn't bring himself to denounce his friends to such a title. They were suffering, if not from the seething chains, then it was from the disease that demanded they consume flesh and blood. Every so often, one or all of them would exhaust themselves. The pain from their restrictions and their empty stomachs eventually catches up to them. And where their frenzy would once be in full bloom, it ebbs away as their voices become nothing but pathetic whimpers of pain. And then the begging starts. Their growls wither away as weak pleas attempt to allure any who would listen.

"Please, I'm hungry, thirsty."

"Just a drop, I'm not asking for much."

"I beg of you, please, you're hurting me. It's still me."

This only worked once, Raiden remembers. It's how Tomas got infected with the Vaeternian curse. In the beginning, when none of them knew who or what they were truly up against, Tomas, with his loveable bleeding heart, was just trying to help. They were able to capture a victim who was bitten and turned. Days, they were nothing but a ravenous monster. Until one day, they meekly, like a limping dog, asked for just a "taste." That they only needed a small amount of blood, then they would be normal for just a short while. Didn't help, too, that this individual was a close friend of Tomas. So he took the bait.

Raiden still remembers the slow, deteriorating state Tomas endured as the curse cruelly turned him into a monster. And he would be the first victim of the Earthrealm Warriors that had to be contained. The rest would follow suit as they fought off against Nitara and her army of Vaeternians.

He just...He just wished Kung Lao wasn't one of the victims that would fall to the curse. He almost hates him for getting bit, not because of his incompetence, his slip-up; that led to him getting tagged, but because the son of a bitch tried to hide that he was in pain. It was a week later when Raiden saw the tell-tale signs that Kung Lao was infected. Paler skin, longer canines, dimly red eyes, a desire for blood, the writing was on the wall. He remembers scolding Kung Lao for practically endangering everyone by hiding this truth. He should've dragged him over to Liu Kang, it was for his own good, for everyone's well-being, that Lao was locked up.

"I'm fine, Raiden. Really, I am. I'm not going to hurt anyone, I can fight this."

Raiden may be upset about Kung Lao lying about his curse, but the thunder wielder could never forgive himself for...Believing him. Against his better judgment, against the specific directions of Liu Kang, he took his friends' word over any screaming reason that told him to not take Lao on his word. But he did. He doesn't even remember why he listened to Lao. Was it his determined aura? The look of confidence that he was beyond being taken over by the hunger? Or was it that childish, naive idea that Raiden still held for his friend? That despite his shortcomings, Kung Lao always found a way to rise to the top. He never let cold, fever, broken bones, and, in some instances, death, slow him down. So why would a vampiric curse be the one to bring him down?

Raiden gazes at the pole where three of his closest associates struggle in vain against the searing hot chains that bound them. They writhe in bestial fury, like an animal trying to break out of its cage. They gnash their teeth, mouths filled with blood, eyes blazing in raging blood lust as they bite at the air while emitting animalistic snarls. If it wasn't for the fact that Raiden was staring down an exiled ninja, an immortal princess, and his best friend, he would've thought them animals. And where sympathy would've bubbled to the surface to the point of nearly choking him, Raiden felt none.

Instead, anger, like a roiling, vengeful thunderstorm, builds within him. He wanted nothing more than to fry alive the bastard who turned each and every one of his friends. He wanted to wrap his fingers around an unmarred, Vaeternian neck and squeeze. Squeeze until their eyes popped from their sockets, and their skin turned purple from the asphyxiation. Oh, but whoever turned his best friend would get the worst treatment. He can already see it. It would be slow and painful, just like the infectious curse that they spread when they're too unbothered to finish the job.

They would die from a thousand paper cuts, slowly bleeding them out until they were BEGGING to be fed, or better yet, pleading to die. But he would grant them no such mercy. He'd shock them, small sparks that would gradually escalate until they were given the electric chair treatment. He would violently rip out their fangs, and continue to do so until their body could no longer regenerate the bone. Raiden would actually greet their jaw area with a couple fists, maybe even a hammer. Yes, keep hammering away at their teeth until they all shatter and fall apart, one by one.

In fact, now that he's remembering this, the Vaeternians are known for their regeneration capabilities. He wouldn't even need to shock them back to life to ensure that their suffering is prolonged. He could keep them roped up in electric shackles, the shocks keeping them occupied while he gutted them like a pig at a slaughterhouse.

"Raiden..."

The choked sound of Kung Lao's voice tears Raiden from his violent fantasy. The thunder wielder slowly turns his gaze to Lao, his face filled with an unsettling look of passivity.

"Raiden, please. It hurts," Kung Lao whimpers, the sound of sizzling flesh emphasizing his point, "Raiden! Please!"

A pain in his heart lightly pokes at Raiden. He never thought he would see the day where Kung Lao was begging for anything. A prideful, cocksure, swagger of a fighter, now brought to his knees in a state of submission. Yet, Raiden can't find it in himself to pity his friend. Kung Lao didn't need pity, plenty had been given to him. His friend deserves to be liberated, his attacker executed for putting his friend in so much pain.

"Raiden..."

The farm boy is slow to respond to Liu Kang's call, his head turning to face the Fire God. A pang of shame creeps under his skin, and he lowers his eyes, "I'm sorry, Lord Liu Kang. I...I wanted to see him."

"I know," the Fire God approaches Raiden, placing a hand on his shoulder as he gently guides him away from the courtyard where their vampiric allies remained. "We are working diligently to find a solution for them. Geras has been searching for a possible timeline that was able to cure the Vaeternian curse. There's still hope for them."

"...I know..."

Yet, despite these affirmations, Raiden can't shake the anger, the need to break something, to hurt someone. It isn't enough that Kung Lao, Tomas, and Kitana are cured.

It just isn't enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angry Raiden is my favorite Raiden, can you tell :D

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 14 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13

AO3 Link is here, my dear.

Word Count: 2938

————————————

Act II, Chapter 2 - The Lantern

The Shadow Cursed Lands didn’t have a day-night cycle, at least, not one that penetrated through the dark mist that hid the sky. But you could almost feel dawn coming in your bones, and slowly pushed yourself up.

You were surprised to see Astarion sitting beside you, as if he was waiting for you. You reached out and touched his arm.

…hungry…

“Do you need a bite?”

His eyebrows raised in surprise, but he blinked it away as he nodded. “If you don’t mind. It’s… hard to find a meal out there that isn’t tainted by the curse.”

You mean impossible, after what Wyll and Karlach told us yesterday. “Of course, I understand.” You tipped your head to give him better access to your neck.

He looked at your neck for a moment, then his eyes wandered down to your arm. He slowly reached for your hand and brought your wrist up to his lips. “May I try a different spot?” he asked. You could feel his mouth moving against your skin, his warm breath tickling you. His scarlet eyes looked up at you, so big and entreating.

You nodded. Cheater. You stole that look from Owly when he’s begging for treats.

Astarion smiled before he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and bit down gently, his mouth covering your wound as he drank. It stung, and you could feel his hunger through his touch, but it wasn’t as intense as it had been. You didn’t think he wasn’t shielding, just… fainter. Also entwined in his emotions was something close to comfort, as if he felt… safe. So you let him drink, and drink, until you started to feel a bit woozy.

Your voice came out in a light gasp. “Astarion—”

He immediately released you, but continued to hold your hand in his. To your surprise, he pulled out a small vial, popped the cork, and dripped a few drops of red liquid onto your wound. Your skin drank up the soothing liquid, closing the wound quickly. 

A healing potion?

You looked up at him. You had always made a potion during the day and healed yourself. You never asked anyone to heal you; after all, it was easy enough to make a basic potion. You could make those all day with your eyes closed. But for him to think of it on his own…

“Wouldn’t want you getting scars on your pretty little wrist,” he said, letting go of your hand. He closed the vial and put it away before getting up and giving you a slight bow. “Thank you, my dear.”

As he turned to walk away, you had a feeling he was pulling away from you in other ways as well. “Astarion.”

“Hm?”

You got up and touched his hand. Shit, his mental shield is back up. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am. You just fed me, after all.”

You stared at him, but his facade was perfect. No cracks to find. You let go of his hand and patted his arm. “Alright. Just… let me know if you need anything. Please.”

He stared at you for a moment longer before he reached out and touched your ear, tracing the curve of it up to the pointed tip before letting you go. “You’ll be the first to know.”

You nodded and watched him walk away, but it felt like with each step, all the distance you had traversed to get closer to him was being undone.

What did I do? And how do I fix it?

***

The companions left in the morning, leaving you at camp with Withers, Scratch, and Owly. 

You spent the morning helping out in the inn, cleaning and cooking. For your help, you were given some of the ingredients and alchemical supplies for your own camp. With a real kitchen, you could bake some pies with a real crust, which you took back to the campsite to reheat later when the party returned…

Except that when you arrived back at camp, they were already sitting around the fire, warming their hands and discussing what to do with the strange lantern in their hands.

Your seal tingled as you looked at the lantern, and it felt different from most of the other tingles you had felt before. It was almost humming, like it was happy.

“There she is,” Karlach said happily as you came up to them with a tray full of food. “That looks amazin’!”

“I thought you'd be gone longer,” you said, surprised to see them back so soon. “Got shepherd's pies and apple hand pies for dessert,” you added as you handed out everyone’s portions.

They explained that their plans were diverted when a group of Harpers asked if they could help ambush a group of the Absolute cultists with the hopes of stealing a moonlantern. Not that they needed it, since Isobel had blessed them, but anything to decrease the enemy's ability to mobilize was worth doing.

As you handed the food to Gale, he set the lantern aside. Out of curiosity, you moved closer and took a better look. Your seal warmed. Putting your hand up to the lantern’s glass, you sensed something. Something… sentient.

“Hello?” you said to the lantern.

Everyone looked at you like you had lost your mind.

A small voice replied, sounding exhausted and weak. “Finally, someone with sense.”

You peered into the bright light and saw the owner of the voice. A pixie.

Pixies will do as they will. They play fair, but only by their rules. Do not seek to parlay with them using the ethics of a mortal. Consider the mindset of a petty being who values only freedom and is entertained only by novelty.

Your father’s lesson from so long ago suddenly came to the forefront of your mind.

“Oh please, oh golly, me oh my, you must release me or I’ll die!”

After her explanation of her circumstances, Wyll and Karlach felt bad for her. They had no need for the lantern at this time. And you didn’t feel right, letting the pixie remain trapped inside.

You carefully opened the cage. The little fey creature zipped out and spewed a litany of curses.

“Did me a good turn there, didn’t you,” she finally said after her rant was done. “What do I owe you?”

Never turn down a gift from a fey. But never ask for too much. Only ask for just enough.

Your father’s lessons were just as confusing today as they were when you had first learned them. 

While you thought of what to ask for, the fey flew in close to stare at you. “You seem familiar,” she said.

You shrugged. “I just have a very generic face,” you replied. She flitted about, looking at you from different angles.

“I can’t place it. Maybe I’ve just forgotten it,” she finally said. “So tell me what I owe, so I can finally go!”

“Perhaps you should tell us what’s on offer,” Astarion said.

Godsdammit, why did he have to say something!

Before you could repair this conversation, the pixie replied. “Honey, I’ll shake your world, that’s for sure.” She conjured a filigree bell, silver and delicate. “Here. Give this bell a shake, speak the magic words, and you’ll get what you’ve earned.”

You held out your hand to accept the gift, but you had no intention of using it.

“Protection from the shadow curse, what more could a dingus want? You’re welcome!”

You watched the purple pixie fly off, and let out a sigh of relief. So anxious about dealing with the fey, you hadn’t realized how tense your muscles were until you sat down, your limbs feeling like jelly. “Gods, she could have cursed us for saying the wrong thing.”

“She’d put a sailor to shame with that mouth,” Gale commented. “Well, it was good of you to release her anyway.” He bent down to look at the strange bell in your hand. “At least now we have a backup in case Isobel’s blessing wears off.”

You stared at the bell. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch when dealing with pixies. “I don’t think you should rely on it. It might make you worse off.”

Astarion deftly took it out of your hand and pocketed it. “Well, we won’t know until we do, hm?”

You glared at him, your unease and worry radiating off you in waves. “Just… Just be careful if you use it.”

The meal continued, and you realized two things. One, Astarion wasn't going to be able to eat if all the wildlife around was shadow cursed. Two, the only person willing to feed him… was probably you. 

You finished your meal quickly and caught Astarion's eyes before getting up and sitting next to him. 

“Hungry?” you asked as you held out your wrist to him.

You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you kept your gaze squarely on Astarion. 

He gently took your hand and lifted your wrist to his mouth. He kept his eyes only on you while he was biting down, drinking casually from your vein as if he did this all the time in public.

The group eventually began talking again, ignoring the two of you, and you were fine with that. In fact, that had partially been your plan, to normalize his diet amongst the others. Then it would be much easier to feed him whenever he needed it. 

When he was done, he smiled at you, licking a bit of blood from his bottom lip. “Thank you for the meal, my dear.”

You smiled back, hiding the fact that you felt a bit weak. You weren’t paying attention, so he took quite a bit of your blood this time. “You're welcome.” Slowly getting up to your feet, you started to step away when you felt yourself stumble.

Immediately Astarion was there, supporting you. He held out his arm like a gentleman and escorted you away from the campfire to the potions stash, where you pulled out a healing potion and dribbled a bit on your wrist. 

“Shadowheart could heal you, you know.”

“I know, but she has limited energy for spells. If you all are about to head out again, I don't want to take away from that.”

“It'd just be a little bit—”

“Not a single bit,” you interrupted. “If something happened and she needed every ounce of energy to cast spells and she couldn't because she had to heal me, I couldn't…” You shook your head. “I couldn't bear the guilt.”

He looked at you, frowning.

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted.

“I know,” he said, sniffing slightly. “I’m just being practical.”

You set the slightly used potion to one side. “So am I. No sense using magic when a potion and some rest will heal me just fine.”

He shrugged, but he still eyed you as if you were being stubborn. Which you were, but you made your point. The two of you returned to the campfire and made no further mention of it.

After their meal and a short rest, the party set off again to the Towers. You completed your chores around the camp and went back to the inn to help with any tasks to keep yourself busy.

As you stepped inside, you were surprised to see that Volo was sitting at the bar, interviewing a tiefling and writing notes.

You tried to make a wide turn around him, but he caught you as you were making your way to the kitchen.

“Ah, there you are!”

Shit. You plastered on a fake smile. “Volo, how good to see you. What brings you out here?”

He told you some grandiose tale about how he was following the tieflings to record their tales, but got waylaid by some Zhentarim mercenaries, and managed to find his way here after escaping their grasp.

You swallowed. The Zhents? Fuck.

“So… are you staying here, then?” the bard asked. 

“Not for too much longer.” I hope.

“Well, if it isn’t much of an imposition—”

It is, you ninny.

“—I was hoping to share your campfire for a meal and catch up on your adventures. Your companions are very interesting people!”

“I’ll have to ask them,” you said, slowly backing away. “They’re usually very tired after a day of fighting the evil shadows and the undead.”

“Of course, of course. Just let them know that I promise to write their deeds as truthfully as I can, so the world can know what good they’ve done!”

About as truthfully as a con man. “I’ll let them know,” you said as you turned and quickly walked away, nearly bumping into Jaheira.

“Careful there,” she said, her eyes flickering between you and Volo. “Escaping?”

You nodded. 

“Good choice,” she muttered as she stepped aside, letting you pass, and yet you could feel her scrutinizing gaze on you until you stepped out of the building.

Outside, you heard the clang of a hammer working metal on an anvil. Spotting Dammon, who you had met at the grove, you headed over to him. 

“It’s good to see you,” he said, smiling. “Have any more random things to trade?”

You smiled back, remembering the first time you had met him. 

“What is this?” Dammon stared at the pile of iron ingots and rusty weapons. 

“Well…” You shrugged. “Sometimes the others find random things off their enemies and bring them back. Not sure what they were planning on doing with them, but I figure it'd be better off in your hands than ours.” You leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “And I think some of them are just pack rats, you know what I mean?”

Dammon finally laughed, and you realized that he was quite charming when he smiled. “I can understand. Well, I don’t have much gold to trade you for these, but how about I make up the difference another time.”

You held out your gloved hand. “Deal.”

You thought about the pile of loot and suddenly remembered something. “Actually, I do,” you said. “They haven’t stopped their hoarding habits. They picked up some chunks of dark metal with red veins. Any idea what this is?”

Dammon’s eyes brightened. “That sounds like infernal iron… Not sure where your friends got it from. It's quite rare too.”

Infernal… “Have… have you heard of an infernal engine?”

He nodded. You proceeded to explain what Karlach had told you, though you weren’t sure if you relayed everything properly.

“Interesting. Bring her here, I’d like to take a look. Oh, and keep the iron safe, don’t let anyone else take it.”

“Of course. Thank you, Dammon.”

You returned to camp, grabbed the iron from the traveling chest and shoved it into the bottom of your pack for safekeeping, and spent the rest of your time preparing food for the party’s return and practicing some of your spells that required dance.

At least the alarm bell will give me a warning so I can stop before they get here.

A few more hours passed before the others returned. You served them supper and listened as they discussed the afternoon’s misadventure. On their way to Moonrise, they got waylaid by some crazy woman dressed in gold, and by the time they managed to defeat her and all of her minions, they were exhausted. They planned to carry on tomorrow, heading into the Tower to see if they could rescue the missing tieflings and gnomes before exploring the rest of the abandoned town for more clues on their current plight.

After the meal, you went straight to Karlach to have a quick word.

“Did you know that Dammon, from the Grove, is here?”

“Oh? I must have just missed him.”

“I talked to him for a bit. He said he could help you with your engine.”

You led Karlach to your pack and gave her the infernal iron you had hidden away. “Look out for any metal that looks like this, it's what he needs.”

She took the bundle from you with a grateful smile. “You're the best. You think he’s still around?” 

You nodded. “Probably.”

“Aces!” Excitedly turning to leave, she paused and turned back to you. “You want to come with?” 

“Of course!”

As the two of you took the path over to Dammon's forge, she told you a bit about her life in Baldur's Gate. You asked her questions, keeping her attention focused on herself and preventing her from asking any questions about you. 

The blacksmith was hammering away at some armor when the two of you arrived. After a brief conversation, he leaned in to listen to her heart. 

You hid a smile as you watched Karlach shyly smile down at the top of his head. 

Aw, cute. 

Karlach handed him the bundle of iron. “Will this be enough?”

He weighed the bundle in his hands. “I think so. Come back to me tomorrow, I'll let you know. But if you see any more out there, grab it, just in case.”

As the two of you walked back to camp, Karlach was brimming with energy. 

“Can you imagine? I might be able to hug people come tomorrow!” 

“Ah, well, don't get your hopes up too high, you might still need to get more iron…”

“C’mon, don't rain on my parade. You're starting to sound like Gale.”

You snorted. “Mr ‘abundance of caution’? Please, I'm nowhere near his level.”

“I know, especially after the mushroom incident.”

You covered your face with both hands. “Can we please not bring that up again.”

Her laughter followed you all the way back to camp.

---------------------------------

Chapter End Notes: Sorry fam, we’re back to the shorter chapters for now, but I wanted to get something out to y’all this week. A bit of character relationship development this time around.

Tag list: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi! I love your writing! Especially your Mairon. Can I request a Mairon x wife Reader (female Maia of Yavanna) where she insists that spending the day outside with her away from his forge will cure his burnout on his current project. He doesn’t like the idea at first, but is quickly impressed with the new skills she shows him. So impressed that it leads to smut in the garden. Thank you!

"The beauty in imperfections"

Pairing: Mairon x Fem. Reader (Maia | Established relationship | Second person POV | Location - Almaren)

Themes: Soft | Smut (Lemon-ish)

Warnings: Kissing | Public sex | Hand job (Male receiving) | Fingering | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1.7k words

Summary: Things heat up between you and Mairon while resting in a starlit meadow.

Rating:🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

For rules and tag form, read here.

"You toil too much, husband."

Mairon poured over many pieces of parchment, all of which were filled with drawings. He welled up with loathing whenever he glanced at them.

"Master Aulë tasked me with the creation of a diadem worthy of Varda herself," he replied, turning to face you, his voice and eyes dulled by exhaustion. "It must be perfect...none of these are perfect."

Ah, yes. Mairon and his quest for order and perfection. It was both a blessing and a curse, one that threatened to cripple him most of the time. You looked at him, your eyes filling with worry.

"You have confined yourself to the four walls of this forge for too long, husband," you said, taking his hand. "You need a diversion. A change of air will do you good, I think."

Mairon protested with, "But my task... Master Aulë..."

You were quick to cut him off. "Can wait. Come, husband. I am certain your vision can wait."

Mairon opened his mouth to refuse. You simply stood there, hands on your hips, bearing a look that would take no refusal. Mairon glared, the light slowly returning to his golden-orange eyes. You were unmoved. He crossed his arms over his chest. You were unmoved. You tapped the toe of your shoe against the floor. The forge soon filled with the unmistakable tap tap tap of hardened leather against stone. You arched a brow.

Mairon's lips curled at the corners. The tap tap tap grew insistent. Mairon's chest rumbled. You grinned while he struggled to hold back his amusement. Mairon finally laughed long and softly and shook his head.

"Determined little thing, yes?" He paused to walk around the forge. The flames in the furnace had been extinguished, and it was cool to the touch. Tools had been safely put away. All that remained was to shut the doors and windows, and he could leave. "Pray be patient a little longer, and we will leave, you and I."

It was not long before you were leading Mairon down a pebbled path that threaded around a beautiful meadow. The way ahead was lit with bright starlight. It turned the world a glorious silver. Mairon glanced at you, how your hair shone, how your eyes had gone soft and bright and dreamy. He found himself sighing softly.

"Here," you said, and led him under the gnarled branches of an oak tree that had withered with time. You spread your skirts over the soft grass and sat down with your back to the bark. "Come lay here and place your head on my lap."

Mairon made himself comfortable, sighing wistfully when cool air washed over him and you brushed your hand down his hair. He looked at you, wondering how much he would have missed and how long he would have been away from you, toiling on a vision that kept slipping through his fingers.

"Forgive me," he whispered, reaching up to curl his fingers around your hair. "For keeping myself from you for so long. Are you angry?"

"No," you replied truthfully. "For you have your duties just as much as I have mine. But I must confess," you sighed with worry, "watching your tasks consume you alarms me."

"I know," he agreed, "but I cannot help myself. It has to be perfection, nothing less. Is that wrong?"

"Perfection is an illusion, husband." You counseled, and reached to the side to pluck a dandelion in full bloom. "Nothing is truly perfect. Look at this flower. Yavannah created these with her own hands. See how uneven its petals and leaves are, how it is filled with little bumps and lines."

Mairon took the flower and looked over it critically. He found the little bumps and lines, the mismatched petals and leaves.

"And yet it is still beautiful," he admitted, albeit reluctantly. Mairon craved order and perfection; he could not help himself. Still, there was truth to what you said. Nothing was perfect, and even imperfections bring about beauty all of their own. "Perhaps you are right. I will stay away from the forge for a while, and go back to my task with rested eyes."

"Yes," you allowed, and looked around you. The meadow was a riot of blooms, and at that moment, the light from Telperion slowly spread out against the night sky in a brilliant display. The world was even more beautiful for it. Mairon saw it too. There was peace here, and magic. He slowly rose to his feet and dusted himself off, wanting to make the most of the time the two of you had together.

"Walk with me, wife," he implored, taking your hand into his. "Come walk with me."

Walk with him you did. You showed where the roses were, and where the wildflowers bloomed, even the lavender and sage and jasmines. Every flower and vine and tree imaginable was here. Mairon followed you, listening to you while you talked, his eyes on your lips the entire time. They were lips that were meant to be kissed. It had been long, too long in his mind, when the two of you kissed. And he thought he might not find himself in a more wonderous moment like this ever again. He stopped walking. You turned your attention to him, your gaze holding his even as he inched closer. His eyes burned into yours as the two of you stood close—so close that you felt the warmth wash off his fana and make your heart race a beat faster. Mairon wasted no time. He took you into his embrace and lowered his head, his lips barely brushing over yours.

His kiss shrouded your thoughts in a veil of bliss when it slowly deepened. Mairon growled, the sound low in his throat, when you responded passionately and returned his kiss eagerly. Goosebumps prickled all over your skin when his tongue slipped into the warmth of your mouth and the tips of his fingers dug into your dress.

"Husband," you breathed, and drew back. "Someone may find us."

"Eru take the others," he muttered thickly, and led you to a patch of meadow filled with glorious red blooms gilded in silver light. He lay down on soft grass and extended his arm. "Come here, wife. We may never get another moment like this again."

You licked your lips and considered his request. To engage in an act so private in a place where anyone could see... it was terrifying, and daring, and so very exciting at the same time. You looked over your shoulder, at the path you took. There was not a soul to be seen. And Mairon was right. The two of you might never come across an enchanting moment like this. You took his hand and lay beside him.

Mairon kissed you, now gently, his skilled hands undoing the lacing of your dress, loosening it, while you found the fastenings on his. He had you on your back before you could even think and he moved over you, caging you to the grass beneath you.

The air smelled so sweet. It was all roses and new leaves and him. You could smell him: all flames and leather and steel and the clean scent of him beneath it all. Your hands were curious in their exploration. You slipped them beneath his robes, running them all over his heated flesh. His breath hitched when you took him into your hands. Mairon trembled, really trembled, his eyes closing, his breathing reducing to ragged little gasps whenever you tightened and released, tightened and released. Just listening to him moan and whisper sweet endearments while hardening in your hands was enough to make you throb and dampen between your thighs.

His hand glided up your leg, going higher and higher before finding your small clothes. There was a sharp rip when he tore apart the wisps in his haste to reach the apex between your thighs. Your back bowed when skilled fingers touched you in a way that was familiar to you, fanning the flames already ablaze in your belly. His kisses muffled your moans. The delicious friction caused by his touch unraveled you.

It was not enough. He drew back and tugged his tunic over his head, his breeches even lower to free his cock. He helped you pull the top of your dress down, dipping his head to taste.

"You taste so sweet," he declared, his tongue leaving a damp trail over the soft expanse of your breasts. You had to bite your tongue. Mairon gripped your chin and tilted it up, compelling you to look at him. He did not want silence. He wanted to hear the sounds of your pleasure. He considered it to be the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. "Moan for me, wife. You know how I enjoy it when you do."

He eagerly dipped his head again. This time his kisses were violent and bruising, turning your fana into a canvas all of its own. Your moans, now wanton and unrestrained, spilled free. Mairon grew drunk on the sounds and shook when your arms slipped around his shoulders and your nails dug in.

"Hurry," you urged. The need to have him inside you was growing stronger by the moment. "Hurry, husband. There. There. Right there."

Mairon slowly sank his cock into your heat and lost himself in your flesh. He felt like such a fool, putting his labors over time with you. Not even the finest of his creations could compare to the time spent with you. His thrusts went from slow to rhythmic to hard and deep and fast, his hips slapping against the insides of your thighs. He trembled when your hands devled into his hair and the tips of your fingers brushed over his scalp, sending wave after wave of unimaginable bliss washing over him. He crushed your mouth with his when your legs scrambled for purchase against his hips.

It was over so soon. When he shuddered and spilled his seed, whispering your name, your fana splintered as your orgasm ripped through you. Mairon moaned when your cunt tightened around his cock. He kept still, his hand over your belly.

"Keep me in," he urged softly. "Do not move."

You forced open your eyes and looked up at him. Jolts of pleasure still licked up your spine. Mairon himself was gilded in the silvery light of the stars. He never looked more beautiful than at that moment. "More," you plead, "Please."

Mairon chuckled. "Then let me take you home. I plan on ruining you, wife."

Tags: @cilil @wandererindreams @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese

[sanctuary1988]

~ Fate's Cruel Hand |9| Gwi

French: /the petals of love/

Pairing: Gwi x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

Warnings: strangers to lovers?, fluff, angst, TENSION (again), general vampire stuff, melancholy, mentions of illness, crying, character death, HEAVY ANGST, feelings of grieving and sorrow, power play, secrets, period typical misogyny, age gap (huge), dark romance, conflicting emotions, feelings of lingering and wishing for someone/something, historical! AU, royal! AU?, cannon copilant, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 5.1k words

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME & Welcome to chapter 9, darlings! A little treat from me to thank you all for all the love this story I began writing for sheer fun is receiving. Tagging @yumisventingmachine and @my-day6 for their unwavering support for this story. And by @yumisventingmachine wish, I wrote another poem for this chapter as well! Let me know your thoughts in the comments! I'd love to hear from you, loves. Enjoy! 🫶🫶🫶

*A/N: There's a poem I wrote for this story that you'll find in this chapter, I do not allow for it to be used in any other media or to be reposted/translated.

In solitude, I find your voice. 

A voice that’s already dead. 

My light was consumed by darkness within. 

A punishment, a curse that I cannot forgive. 

The petal has fallen from the rose. 

The nightmare awakened at dawn. 

An instinct that comes and goes. 

An immense power, yet also my one flaw. 

I have killed my heart. 

Like poison, my words command. 

A demon of temptation, 

a monster of damnation. 

The echoes of your voice are gone,

I can no longer hear you say my name. 

A name from a man that is now dead. 

Killed by the claws of my own fate. 

With a sigh, you closed the book before you put it aside. Each time you read one of the poems of the mysterious book you grew more and more melancholic. For they were beautiful in their own bittersweet nature. You understood that the author had lost someone or something precious to them. And the thought of it made your heartstrings being pulled cruelly. 

It was late at night but you couldn’t sleep. The news of your mother’s illness were still too fresh in your mind. Your heart ached at Gwi’s negation for you to go to her side and be there for her when she needed it the most. Defeated, you stood up, taking up the silver chamberstick at your side, you couldn’t help but observe the intricate design of it. The plate was made with cravings and subtle undulations that resembled a round leaf while the central socket was made into a beautiful rose where the candle stood proudly among the darkness. 

You left your room in silence, ignoring the whispers of your soul as they spoke to you about sorrow and grief. The shadows around you seemed to swallow down the only beacon of light you had in your life. You entered the throne room only to find Gwi sitting on the magnificent chair. You bowed down at him, not uttering a word before you continued to walk to the other side of the underground palace, where the library, your sanctuary, was. 

“It’s late, petal.”

You stopped in your tracks at the sound of his deep voice resonating across the walls. You gulped, turning slowly to face him while your heart raced within you. His eyes, as dark as the night itself were fixed on you with a mixture of authority and concern in their depths. 

“Why are you wandering the halls at this hour?”

You didn’t question why he was up himself. You didn’t question the slight worry that flashed in his eyes, or had it been the candles flickering around him? You didn’t protest about his decision that had crushed your heart. 

“I can’t sleep, My Lord. You said I didn’t need permission to visit the library.”

He hated it. He hated how sad your voice sounded. He hated how dull your eyes looked. He hated how cold you had grown to him. And he hated that he had caused all your pain. His expression softened at your words before he stood up and walked towards you, his movements graceful and commanding. Gwi stood in front of you, his presence was both overwhelming but oddly calming as well. 

“You have been troubled ever since I refused to let you visit your mother.”

His fingertips lifted your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes that you were so trying to avoid. His touch, that had once sent shivers down your spine, now felt cold against your skin and you missed the warmth that had blossomed between you both before the dreadful letter arrived. 

“I know that my decision hurt you, but I will not apologise for it. You belong to me, flower, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“Even if that means breaking my heart?”

Your eyes held a fierceness he had never seen before, the tension rose like a tidal wave. The room spinned with unspoken words that were left to linger in the realm of your thoughts as you lost yourself in his eyes.

“Write to her.”

It sounded more like a command rather than a suggestion. But the softness of his eyes gave him away. His touch left your skin and he straightened back up, towering over your figure with his intimidating gaze. 

Gwi avoided your question for he did not want to speak the answer. He looked down at you with a mixture of longing and sorrow that swirled in the depths of his power. 

“Words are not compared to one’s presence, My Lord.”

Your answer was said without emotion whatsoever. It lacked your usual happiness, your cheerful tone. Your curiosity. It was flat as it danced through the night. 

“But do not deny the comfort they bring. There’s a reason why you are going to the library right now. Write to her, petal. I will see that your letters reach her and I’ll personally hand you her responses. You have my word.”

You looked up at him, searching for any sign that he was deceiving you, that he was making you believe a false truth so that you could move on from your worries and early grief. But you found none. There was not even a spark of lies in his dark eyes. So you sighed to yourself, in either surrender or acceptance you did not know anymore. 

You nodded at him, a subtle movement of your head that was enough to calm his heart as it weighed down with guilt for your heartbreak. A heartbreak he knew was necessary. A pain that rooted into the selfish desires of the vampire lord who claimed you as his one and only rose. 

You sat in the library, your mind wandering beyond your soul. Gwi watched you as he pretended to read a book, his eyes glancing at you from time to time. Silence drowned the sanctuary of books, the soft scraping of the brush against the paper filled your ears, quieting down the screams from your mind that threatened to pull you down a pit of anxiety. 

He watched you write, pour down your heart into the ink and parchment. The rose chamberstick you had carried with yourself rested at the corner of the small desk you were currently working at. The single flame flickered softly and the shadows bathed your beauty in darkness that suited your grey soul. 

Time was a foreign concept as you wrote, character after character, emotion after emotion. Word after word until the paper was filled with your handwriting. You sighed, putting the brush aside and waiting for the ink to dry. Your mind was still lost in your own cruel sentiment. Your heart felt heavy within you, was love really such a punishment? 

You looked up, your eyes meeting the ones of the vampire lord as he watched you with a certain sorrow in his dark eyes. You could have melted if you weren’t feeling betrayed by him and his decision of keeping you with him. 

You broke eye contact, a silent conversation that only you both could understand. A silent testament of pain and regret. A subtle wave of emotions that neither of you were fast enough to grasp. You folded your now dry letter before standing up, your yellow hanbok dress a contrast to your dulled out emotions. With silent steps, you walked to where he sat, his eyes followed your every move until he looked up at you from his sitting position. 

“You promised, My Lord. Please make it so that my mother receives this letter.”

Gwi looked at you, his eyes glued to the letter in your hand as you extended your arm to him. Then he looked at your expression, completely ridden of any emotion that had once graced your beauty. 

He took the letter from your hold, his fingers brushing yours. With a gentle motion, you bowed down at him before turning around with the intention of returning to the desk and picking up your chamberstick so that you could go back to your room but his hand stopped you as it held yours with a firm yet still gentle grip that sent shivers down your spine. You swallowed, only for then to look back down at your lord and master of the heart. 

“You do not love your father at all yet you have an interesting affection for your mother. Why’s that, petal?”

Your hand gripped his subconsciously as the question spoken by his deep voice made you remember things you had long since buried in the depths of your mind. 

“Would it make a difference if I told you?”

But he did not answer. Silence was his response. It wouldn’t matter whether you spoke of your burden or not when it came to Gwi’s decision of letting you go and visit your mother. It wouldn’t make a single difference. But his eyes spoke a language of silent compassion that made you sigh to yourself. 

“Sit down, flower.”

You obeyed. His murmured order made you act on command as he pulled you softly to the soft cushion next to him and you sat by his side while shadows swallowed the underground palace in its secrets and lies. 

“I spent the happiest years of my life with my mother. She taught me many things, even when I was just a mere child, her experience and her love made me survive in the world my father lived in.” 

The vampire lord listened to you with his complete attention. His eyes never left your face, even when you broke eye contact and stared into the burning flame of his own chamberstick, lost in your world of memories. He was still holding your hand, and his soft squeeze over your fingers brought you back to reality as you took a deep breath before continuing. 

“My father travelled a lot. There were things happening between them, things that I was too young to understand so he took me away from my home when I was twelve. I never saw my mother again.”

“Is that why you hate your father?”

You looked at him as he voiced that question. Your eyes shining with unshed tears at the confession of your soul that you had kept hidden for so many years it felt strange to let go. To speak of the secrecy. Of the past. Of the unchangeable times you had to live through. 

“At first, yes. But then I realised he was never a good father to me so I simply did not love him as a daughter is supposed to do.” 

It broke his heart to see you so shattered and vulnerable. So sad. For you were his flower, the beacon of light that had suddenly appeared in his life between the darkness he was drowning in. You were his most precious possession, his treasure. And it pained the seemingly heartless vampire to see you suffer like this, more so because your pain rooted to his cruel negation. 

“You really miss your mother, don’t you petal?”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you nodded. A lump formed in your throat, killing the words you so wanted to voice out. His other hand lifted in the air, hovering over your cheek as he hesitated for a moment. A second. A second too long before his skin touched yours. Wiping away the tear that slowly rolled down your precious skin. 

“Give me a week. Then we’ll go visit her.”

Your eyes lit up at what he said. His words had such power, such command that he was able to either make you sad or give you the world with a couple of sentences. It made your heart skip a beat and your hand squeezed his in gratitude. 

“Really? You are not playing with me, are you My Lord?”

Gwi tilted his head to the side, a soft, nearly hidden smirk danced over his lips at your evident change in mood. From sour to sweet. From grey to yellow with just two sentences that left his lips in deep waves of truth. 

“I’m not that cruel, sweet flower.”

You smiled. That smile he had secretly missed. That smile that was enough to light up his life. Even when he didn’t voice it out to you. That smile that was your most beautiful jewel. 

Ever so subtly you leaned into his touch, his warmth hand cradled your face with such delicacy as if you were going to break. 

“Thank you, My Lord. Really, thank you. I can’t express how much this means to me.”

Your words were whispered only for him to hear. The intimacy of the moment grew in your heart like petals that wrapped your soul with feathering touches. His touch lingered on your skin, his hold gentle and almost reverent. He could see the myriad of emotions that swirled in your beautiful (e/c) eyes– the relief, the gratitude and the rekindling of a fragile hope he’d do anything in his power to keep alive.

“Don’t thank me. Just because you serve me doesn’t mean I want to see you sad. Your tears are like poison, flower. They kill the heart of the poet ever so slowly.”

Your heart skipped a beat, losing yourself in his eyes that held so many secrets and so many emotions you couldn’t decipher. So many things were left unsaid. So many things said in silent understanding. 

Gwi noticed your change in mood in the next couple of days. You weren’t back to your usual self but his promise gave you hope. Gave you something to hold onto. He watched you with warmer eyes as you poured down his evening tea. The tension as palpable as the robe he subtly fisted as your addictive scent invaded his senses. 

“We are leaving tomorrow, petal. Have you packed already?”

His dark murmur made you lift your gaze from the tea you were making, there was a delicate spark in your eyes that had turned emotionless. Grey in its nature. 

“Yes, My Lord. I have everything I may need.”

He hummed softly, a dark sound of acknowledgement that made you feel bothered inside at the deepness of it. You handed him his tea and he took a sip, the sweet taste making him sigh softly. 

“My tea has turned sweet ever since you came into my life, petal of mine.”

You looked up, surprised at his sudden words that left you both, yearning for more and scared of their true meaning. A meaning you were starting to understand as the silence stretched on between you both. Gwi took another sip before his eyes locked with yours and your heart skipped a beat the moment you met his intense gaze. 

“I’m not talking about tea.”

“I know, My Lord.”

He smirked against the cup, sipping the last bit of the sweet beverage as your cheeks dusted in pink at his words and the confirmation you blurted out about your understanding. You didn’t dare say another word because you knew something stupid would be spoken once more. And the vampire lord seemed amused at your flustered state that you could have sworn you heard him chuckle. 

“Go and rest, my sweet flower. You’ll need your strength for our journey, we’ll leave at nightfall.”

You bowed down, your eyes meeting his for a split second before you turned around, walking down the steps that led to his throne and across the grand room. Your back towards him as you made your way back to your room. 

Gwi watched you go as he held the empty cup of tea in his large hand. The sweet taste lingered on his tongue as he remembered your warm presence. Never has his tea been so sweet. But when he said he wasn’t talking about the tea, he meant it. For the vampire lord referred to his life. A life tainted with power and immortality. Master of the night. Owner of the Crown. Yet drowning in the shadows of his past choices. Darkness was bitter. But your light had sweetened his life in a way he never thought it to be possible. He never allowed it to exist before. But it felt right to have you so close. Almost as if your fates were tangled before he had seen you that day in the gardens. The day he claimed you as his flower among a garden of thorns. 

Back in your room, you prepared yourself to sleep, changing your beautiful dress to a comfortable nightgown before you lay in your bedding. A sigh left your lips as you got comfortable, sleep quickly claimed you, stopping the racing thoughts in your mind about your journey tomorrow at dusk. 

You were already asleep when Gwi entered your bedroom. His silent steps carried his looming figure across the room before he stood next to you, his eyes, tainted with crimson desire, watched you sleep ever so peacefully. He held your rose-like chamberstick and he couldn’t help but think how it could only belong to you. His flower. His sweet flower. The vampire lord allowed himself that moment of admiration. That single fragment of time of complete lust over your innocent soul, mesmerised by your beauty and enhanced by the nature of your heart. 

He returned you the chamberstick before he left you alone as you lived in the land of dreams during his domain at night. The candle extinguished not long after that, leaving you in the darkness of the room while thoughts of you pierced Gwi’s mind without mercy at all. 

You waited anxiously for dusk to settle. You sat in a bench at the gardens, the last rays of sun kissed your skin and Gwi couldn’t help but admire your golden beauty from the shadows of his underground palace. You were reading something, he couldn’t tell exactly what it was. The book seemed worn out by time and you were so engrossed in it he almost left you be as you read all by yourself in the last and gentle rays of sun. 

But when the sky began darkening you closed the book and stood up, walking back to the underground palace with hurried steps. You walked through the halls, the torches illuminating your beauty as you made your way through the place you now called your home. 

Gwi was not in the throne room so you walked directly to your room with haste; you put the book aside before putting on your long cloak that would protect you from the chilly breeze at night. You fixed your hair, arranging your preferred hairpin, the one Gwi gave you, before you walked back to the throne room only to see the vampire lord walking down the hallway opposite from you, his robes moving gracefully with each step he took. 

You bowed down at him, approaching him with less quick steps. His eyes never left your figure, feeling how his heart skipped a beat upon seeing you wearing your red hairpin. His gift. His claim over his flower. 

“My Lord.”

You greeted, your voice soft and filled with emotions he wasn’t quick enough to grasp as they passed over your eyes in a split second. A second too fast. 

“Are you ready, petal?”

You nodded, a small smile dancing over your lips as you both left the underground palace in silent harmony. Gwi watched you from the corner of his eye, how you took two steps while he took one, how you bit nervously at your lower lip, either in desperation or anxiety he couldn’t tell. But despite all that, you were as beautiful as ever. With your dark cloak trailing behind you and the hairpin catching the torches’ light, you appeared next to him as an angel in disguise. Happy after his orders, feeling safe knowing that he was going with you on the long journey back to a place you hadn’t been in years. Back to a place you once called your home. 

The sun no longer burned his skin as he stepped outside of the underground palace, the last rays of sun hid behind the mountains and the stars began painting the darkening sky instead. His kingdom began. For he was master of the night. And you, his precious flower, stood next to him. 

“Your things are already loaded in the carriage, flower. We’ll arrive tomorrow at night time.”

You stopped walking and he subconsciously mirrored your actions. Your eyes, wide and happy, met his stoic features that softened upon gazing down at you. 

“Thank you, My Lord.”

You were looking at him with so much tenderness his heart felt tight in his chest. Decades of living in eternal power only to succumb to you, a beautiful mortal woman that mesmerised a heart he thought to be death, frozen by time and fate. 

He sent you a soft smile. Small and rare in his usually dark beauty. The chilly air made your hair fly in delicate strands, you never tied it up. Not like the other women in the palace, you always opted for a half updo, adorning it with beautiful hair pins and jewellery that only made you look more enchanting in his eyes. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he was so mesmerised by you, it was a simple thing to do but you, despite your high status in society, did not abide by its rules. 

You bowed to him and only him. And with the small gesture of leaving your hair down, you were different. Just like him. Worthy of your place at his side. As his flower. As his jewel. 

His hand grabbed yours, the contact made your breath hitch as your heart skipped a beat. A shiver ran down your spine and you nearly shuddered at the sudden contact. He pulled you with him wordlessly. You were never going to admit it, at least not for now but you loved the feeling of his larger hand around yours. Unknowingly to you, Gwi thought the same thing as he led you through the gardens and to where the carriage was waiting to take you both to your home. 

The night was peaceful. There was still some light being reflected from the last rays of the sun and you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the journey and to be with your mother. You tried to not think too much of the outcome of your visit but the news of her grave illness made your heart sink deeper within your soul every time you thought about it. However, Gwi’s presence next to you grounded your racing thoughts and anxious mind. He remained by your side like a rock to your thunderous life and subconsciously, you squeezed his hand a little bit tighter with that thought.

“My Lord! My Lady!”

A sudden voice interrupted your peace. You tensed ever so subtly but Gwi sensed your change in mood. How the quiet night was shattered as he turned around and you did the same only to see a man walking with hurried steps towards you both. 

You swallowed, his hand squeezed yours as the man finally stood in front of you as he panted softly. 

“Forgive me, My Lord, but I bring important news.”

“Speak.”

Gwi commanded, his voice lacking the warmth to which he spoke to you and you shivered at the detached sound that came past his lips. The word was spoken so harshly it made you flinch. 

“I bring news about your mother, Lady (y/n).”

Your breath hitched in your throat yet you so desperately gripped onto hope. A spark that had bloomed in your soul over the past week. The last straw that kept your heart alive. 

“Is she alright? Did she receive my letters?”

You asked, your voice sounded curious above everything else. You have written to your mother for the last week every day. Gwi had promised to send your letters and you trusted in his word. You only hoped this man before you was here to bring you her sweet responses. 

“My Lady… your mother passed away last night. My condolences.”

The man bowed down at you in respect. Your heart stopped and your hand went limp in Gwi’s hold. You took a step forward, silently pleading to the messenger to tell you it was false. That your mother was fine. That she was better. That she had written back to you. 

“No, it can’t be.”

Your broken whispers tore at the vampire’s heart. Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head. It could be real. It couldn’t. You were just going to visit her. You were going to spend the last moments with her. A tightness filled your chest just as a lump began forming in your throat. 

“Forgive me, My Lady.”

The pain numbed you. It crashed over you like tidal waves; you weren’t even able to cry despite the need to scream out your agony. You simply turned around without a word.

“Flower, wait.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t hear him over the sudden ringing in your ears that took hold of you. You didn’t hear Gwi’s voice inside the turmoil of your heart. You didn’t hear anything. Your mind was empty. Blank of any thought. He watched you walk away with a sorrowful expression, your steps were defeated and agonising in a pain he very much understood as well. 

“Her Ladyship left a letter, My Lord. For Lady (y/n).”

Gwi turned to look back down at the messenger with silent urgency, his mind screaming at him to go back to you. To comfort you. As a guilt he had never felt before gnawed at his heart. A heart he once claimed to be dead. The vampire lord snatched the letter from the messenger’s hold before he was walking back to the underground palace, his steps in a hurry as he grieved with you. 

It wasn’t until you arrived at your room that you finally crumbled. Falling to your knees as a heartbreaking sob escaped your lips. The tears rolled down your cheeks like endless rivers of pain you could no longer contain and you cried. You grieved. You screamed. You died as well as the hope in your heart, extinguishing like a flame at night. Drowning in sorrow as your sobs filled the once happy room. 

The petals from the cherry blossom fell over you like a constant reminder of how life goes on. How time will never stop. And the tears came harder, like arrows that pierced your heart; merciless in their nature and poisonous in the darkness that was your pain. 

Your heart broke, your chest hurt. How come grief could hurt so much? How could you endure such an amount of cruel pain? How were you meant to go on? There were so many things left unsaid, so many emotions that lingered in the air. So much time that was stolen by fate’s cruel hand.  

A sudden presence made you look up, the tears did not stop falling. Gwi knelt next to you, his eyes mirroring your sorrow as your lip trembled. You felt crushed, betrayed. You felt dead. 

“She’s gone.”

His hand cradled your cheek with a tenderness that made more tears spill from your beautiful eyes. Your whisper held so much pain within the words that it felt as if you had made him swallow poison coming from the roots of your own thorns. 

“I know, petal. I know.”

Your eyes closed as you welcomed the pain as if it had always existed. You felt robbed by fate, stolen of memories you were meant to have. And the next second, he embraced you. Pressing you against his chest and you clung to his robes in desperation. He shushed you, his big hand cradling the back of your head as you mourned for your mother, for a life you were robbed of, for the opportunity of seeing her again and the memories that were now alive only in your mind. 

Every sob and cry that escaped your lips pained him profusely. Never in his astonishingly long life had Gwi ever felt such pain. Such worry over a mortal human before. Making your pain his own. Your sadness was his sadness. And your grief was his to embrace as well. 

He didn’t say anything. There were no words that could offer you even an ounce of comfort. So he just held you. He pressed you against him, making your sorrow melt his frozen heart. You buried your face in his chest, seeking comfort in his embrace as his arms grounded your screaming and guilty mind. Your broken heart. Your dead touch. He grounded you. He offered you comfort. Perhaps there were no words that could ease your pain but his presence was enough. 

If anyone had seen the mighty vampire lord embracing you in your grief they would have fainted from the shock. Because after decades of suppressing his emotions and hiding behind his cold facade, he showed sparks of life in his broken soul. But that revelation was only for your eyes to feel and for your hands to touch. It was you who wrapped his heart in your petals of love. It was you who revived his dead soul. 

And even in your heartbroken state, it was him whom you clung to. Him whose comfort was enough to keep you in this headspace. You fisted his robes, crying and whimpering as the pain only intensified. 

“It’s okay. Just cry, my flower. Cry, it’s alright.”

And you did that. You held onto his words. You allowed your sadness to spill in the form of your pearls of pain. You cried. You cried until there were no tears to spill. You cried until your soul was empty and only Gwi held you through the darkness that fell upon you by fate’s cruel hand. 

In solitude, I find your voice. 

A voice that’s already dead. 

My light was consumed by darkness within. 

A punishment, a curse that I cannot forgive. 

The petal has fallen from the rose. 

The nightmare awakened at dawn. 

An instinct that comes and goes. 

An immense power, yet also my one flaw. 

I have killed my heart. 

Like poison, my words command. 

A demon of temptation, 

a monster of damnation. 

The echoes of your voice are gone,

I can no longer hear you say my name. 

A name from a man that is now dead. 

Killed by the claws of my own fate.

May/28/2024

A/N: Thoughts? O.O

My inbox is open, darlings! Or feel free to leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts and inputs for the story! Take care, everyone 🫶

~ Masterpost

[secret-fungi]

moon without the sun

Pairing: Tyril x F! elf MC (odelia)

Book: takes place in the year mc is miss

word count: 2826

Rating: T

Category: its always gonna be angst.

warnings: Dissociation, anger, mentions of blood.

does it make sense that a bow that a giant can be used by a slightly smaller giant? no. Is the bow Tyril has on the cover the same bow mc has? no but imagine the state the tyril girlies hearts would've been in if he was using our bow.

Tags @lawrencebarkley @choicesficwriterscreations @desired-love-

  

       He came into the run-down inn like a storm hitting the shore, glaring at anyone who dared so much to look in his direction with a look that could wither roses. He stumbled into his dusty, worn down room bloody and beaten.

He tossed his bag onto the wooden floor in anger, taking his bow from his back and raising it violently until he stopped. The sight of a little north star etched into the handle gave him pause, the etching squeezed and dug its claws into his heart it tore his chest open and left his emotions raw. As if this bow held the same power its master did, the power to strip him bare in one glance. 

The thought of her carving a star left his frayed emotions bare, and the memory of when she had found it left him aching.

When had she carved this star? Desperately he gripped the bow, staring at it pleadingly, Trying as hard as he could to just imagine her voice, imagine what she’d say and how she’d say it.

He imagined her knocking at his door, a teasing smile and a challenge in her eyes, “stealing my things?” she’d ask at the sight of the bow in his hands and then she’d lean down and press a kiss to his lips, and she’d play with his hair and say he worries too much when he asks her to tell him that she’s alright, that they’re alright and they’re safe. But she’d tell him anyway. 

But no footsteps followed him through his door, no one came to sit beside him, no one soothed his messy hair, and chased away his frown with their touch.

There were no sweet kisses, or encouraging words. Tyril was alone, just holding a bow that used to belong to someone that’ll probably never come home. 

Gently, he placed it down, let it lean against the wall and pretended she had put it there. If he closed his eyes he could pretend that she was in the bath, just a short walk away until she’d crawl into bed and this was all a nightmare that’d chase away with the sight of her drying her hair.

He fell back onto the dirty bed that was too small for him, staring at the stain on the ceiling as he drug his hands down his face.  

His heart felt like it had been impaled by icicles, it froze painfully in his chest, it felt as if it was being torn apart by fire and ice, a cold burning that spread against his whole chest. 

It began the moment she was taken, and six months later it hasn’t ceased.

The portal closed before anyone could so much as grab their weapons, a breath and she was gone, and they all held that breath, it was as if the world itself stilled for that moment, for that moment when the ice broke under his feet and he fell into the freezing water he convinced himself wasn’t there. 

It was almost deathly quiet as they looked to Tyril, and then after the world could no longer hold its breath they all started, rapid fire questions, curses, things he couldn’t even hear, it was just lost to the noise. 

He would know how to fix this. He was a mage from undermount.

 ‘Don’t you elves brag about being the first to have magic, you have to know how to get her, right?’ 

but the elf just stayed frozen, a dazed look in his eyes, he stumbled a bit and reached for someone not there to steady him and when they didn’t he fell to his knees. His hand twisting his shirt, nails digging at his chest in an attempt to take whatever it was that had struck his heart. 

And as he clawed his chest they still asked him what to do. Their words swarming him, overwhelming his senses as all he could see was Odelia’s face as she was taken. Her lips moved to form his name before the portal closed in front of her.

Tears welled up in his eyes and before he could stop them, they escaped. For six months he tried not to cry, if he cried he was admitting there was no hope and if he admitted that… if he admitted he failed. Truly failed. that once again someone he loved was taken, calling for him to help them only for him to let them down.

Gods please let her know he didn’t mean to let her down. 

His body ached from his latest attempt at finding a way to her, the bleeding had stopped, at least, and part of him thought to himself that he deserved to bleed out in this dusty room. 

But then who would take care of Kade, she had given him a letter late one night and her eyes wide and frantic she made him promise to keep it in case in their quest to free him she did not make it, he would look out for him. 

She always planned ahead, "Prepare for the worst and you’ve prepared for everything."

“What are you thinking?” she asked as she inspected his wound. “You look worried.” he replied “I’m always worried about my friends when they get hurt.” she replied, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before he glanced down to her full lips, watching as traps her bottom lip between her teeth as she works. “I thought I was an exception?” he teases. “Are you trying to get a confession out of me, Lord starfury?” she asked with a grin, her fingers working nimbly to stitch him back together. 

If Odelia was here she’d sit beside him and unburden him from his armor, she’d smile and fix him up. 

 But it was just him, so he stripped himself and with a groan and some effort he rose from the bed and moved to the dresser where a pitcher of water, a bowl and some strips of cloth sat. 

He wetted a clean cloth and started to wash his wounds, flinching as the cool water strung his tender wounds.

Did she have anyone tending hers? Does she resent him for not saving her yet? How much time has passed for her? 

Is she still alive?

He bit down on his lip as he dug into her kit, the little notes she wrote in case she was incapacitated. 

He traced her letters over and over as if touching them was holding her. He imagines her voice, as she tells him what to use. 

His hands trembled as he applied a balm onto the wound on his shoulder. 

He walked through the doors of Starfury manor and was greeted with cheer, His father hugging him and his sister grinning. “Where is the Nightbloom child, is she lagging behind?” his father asked “Tyril! You shouldn’t leave her to carry everything-” Adrina scolded. “She’s not here.” Tyril interrupted. 

The two shared a confused glance before they looked back at Tyril. “What… do you mean she’s not here… She told us she’d be with you…what happened?” “She was taken.” he said numbly before going to the library. 

“What do you mean?” “she was taken.” Tyril repeats “to the shadow realm, so we’ve just gotta find a way to get to the shadow realm again.” he says with a nod.

His hair was a mess, all balled up into a bun, dark circles had formed under his eyes and it was as if their little star was the moon without a sun, as all light had been stripped from him, his color duller, his eyes dimmer, his smile gone. 

But as if he refused to acknowledge that the sun was gone, he went on, in a disordered state of feigned normalcy. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hasn’t failed yet, he’d get her back. he'd get her back and she’d be safe, and real, and here.

The tin container fell from his trembling hands and something about that caused him to be angry once again, a reason not to cry, some other emotion other than this emptiness he felt. 

Once more he was an angry man, angrier than he used be, He was angry at the gods, angry at the fate that mocked him, he was angry at that vile woman that stole Odelia away, he was angry at Imtura for giving up, Angry at mal for believing she died and pretending he didn’t, Angry at his father and everyone at undermount for not being able to help, he cursed Nia when she was just trying to help.

Most of all he was angry at himself, he hardly ate, or slept, but this bothered him little, he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror.

He should’ve been able to save Odelia. He should be able to find a way to get her.

He tossed a book at the door, letting the spine split and the pages fold, a ghastly crime that he didn’t have in him to care about. He reached into his bag and tossed the blasted vial of Sunbeam pollen against the wall, after all the trouble he went through to get it, the only good it did was leave him bruised and drain him of his blood. The vial shattered and the glittering pollen exploded into the air. 

If Odelia was here she would have informed him that sunbeam pollen caused potentially fatal reactions in large doses, but Odelia was not here. Odelia wasn’t going to walk into his room and tell him he’s fine, that this was a nightmare, if she was alive she was likely waiting on him to come save her, and the thought of her crying out for him was too much to bare. This was too much too. 

And maybe they were right about mixing Kilvali and Dinvali, maybe it was foolish. Maybe the rule was not a rule just because of the reason given but because if you mix the two, if you let someone be everything to you and they leave… you are left with nothing. 

You are left with even less than you had before you met them, because with them they take chunks of your heart and soul, and if you have given your whole heart to someone, when they leave Tyril learned that they take that with them too.

He took everything in sight and took his anger out on it, and by time he was done, The room truly looked like a storm had hit it. 

“Tyril…. it's not healthy to go on like this…. she wouldn’t want you suffering.” 

    “she’s alive, you’ve just gotta… hold on.”

“When your mother passed…” 

but as they spoke to him, her face popped into his head, the terror in her eyes, the way she screamed his name and everything they told him fell away.

Expectations he could never meet followed him through his entire life and even now, he was met with them in the form of a million eyes looking to him in question. 

“What do we do next?” They asked. who made him in charge, just because one elf was a good leader doesn’t mean they all were, he didn’t know what to do either, the entire knowledge of undermount was at the tips of his fingers and all they could give him was a sympathetic look and condolences. 

He glared at the wall with a sneer before he tossed whatever he had in his vicinity at the wall.

Bang. 

     Crash. Went the mirror after he shattered it, the pieces of glass flying everywhere and despite its cries in the moment, it only lasted for a moment. 

The weight of all their expectations crippled him, made his knees give out at the weight of it, so there he kneeled in the center of his storm. 

“We have to face it some time…. What… what if we’re chasing a ghost?” 

 “How could you say that? she's not dead!” “why would they keep her alive… and if there’s no way to get to her…. maybe her bein’ dead is a mercy, hells knows what they’re doing to her if she’s alive.” 

He lurched forward, suddenly feeling dizzy as his friend group dissolved into yet another argument. 

“Tyril? Aren’t you going to say something?” “don’t do that to him!” “Aye, he knows it too, if the one most knowledgeable one of our group can’t get his girlfriend back there isn’t a way, he just won’t admit it.” 

Suddenly, the elf fell forward, his friends all rushing to him to find him out cold. He had run himself ragged from working without pause, and eventually after so long without rest or anything to eat his body could handle the weight of his requests.

Everyone expected him to know what to do, how to fix it, but he didn’t.

Kade looked at him like he could fix this, and he didn’t have the heart to tell him he had nothing, that for all it was worth, all of it was for nothing. That he was nothing, and so he didn’t. Instead, he went after any leads the human sent to him, and he listened to the stories the human told  of his sister when the he got drunk, and sad and in return he’d tell him stories of how his adventures with his sister, and together two pitiful bookworms mourned the hero of riverbend. 

He cried out in frustration, His bones ached and his heart felt as if it would give out on him. And once again he clutched his chest, and in his desperation he cried out to the gods he wasn’t sure were real anymore, sobs ripped through the silence like a dry branch knocking against a window.

Adrina told him to hold on, his father told him how he got through it when his mother died, the priests told him to meditate and the others told him to let go. 

But how could they know? How could any of them understand this feeling? He asked his father if he felt like this as well? If the horrible feeling in your heart stops but his father parted his lips and frowned deeply, as if realizing what his son had done, realizing that his son was in the process of learning a hard lesson, and that he could not shield him from this lesson, even if he tried. 

No one could give him an answer, no one could help, it was not in their nature, and it shouldn’t have been in his. And so he was alone, In this feeling and this life once again. 

He stared at the bow, a spot around it untouched from his carnage.

he chewed his lip raw, blinking away the sound of her voice crying out for him. He pushed the memories, the plans they made-

Tears ran down his face, all the anger washed away as he sat in the desolation of his rage, leaving only an empty exhaustion.

His throat closed up, as the tears raced down his face, the tears washing his cheeks of the blood dirt that covered them before.

In this dirty inn he begged the gods with the desperation of a man out of options.

He begged his mother, bothered her from her rest to ask her to guide his love back to him.

Maybe his mother took pity on him, in that moment where he was not a hero that had gone on many adventures, he was a small child crying as he desperately clutched her dress, afraid to talk to other kids, afraid to speak up. 

Unlike those times where everything could be solved with a wooden sword and being told he could play pretend with them, that a king never is afraid to be strong, playing dress up won’t save his love. 

And like a monster he cried and begged his parents to get rid of, grief found him under his covers, the bed, in the middle of the ocean, in the desert, in the forest, and in a dusty room in a mountain village that’s never met a real elf before. 

Grief would let him think he’s escaped it, just enough to get a breath in just so it could knock it out of him.

It would take a while for his prayers to be answered, where she opens a portal to him and smiles at him from the otherside. 

And even though lies fell from her lips he kissed them nonetheless, for he missed the taste, the feeling of her skin, the crackle of power that was just below the surface. He missed the scent of her soap and the tone of her laugh, so if lies fell from her lips he would eagerly fill his cup with them, to drown in her words once more was a blessing that the gods must’ve given. 

[tothepointofinsanity]

𓆉⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖦹𓇼𖦹⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓆉𖦹

Welcome to my miscellaneous art/dump blog ↓

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Name: ttpoi/Caspian

Pronouns: He/him

Gender: Just Some Guy • Schizoid

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Here's some other stuff I'm interested in, but otherwise, have a good day (((;ꏿ_ꏿ;)))

𓆉⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖦹𓇼𖦹⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓆉𖦹

Music:

Maretu — Girl Eraser, Namida, Magical Doctor, New Darling, The Taste of Cockroach, Brain Revolution Girl, aishiteitanoni, Packet Hero, Miseenen, Dokuhaku, Koukatsu, Last Day

Masa Works Design — Rondon Slag Pathy HI, God of Marie, Soap Lagoon, Paris Green, Himitsuno kingyo

Itimatu Suzuka — Yes I am, yumenokeloid, hana-arashi

Mitski — Stay Soft, Francis Forever, A Pearl, Me and My Husband, Washing Machine Heart, This is a Life, Should Have Been Me, Your Best American Girl

Steampianist — The Singing Tumor, Candle Boy, Dream Eating Machine, Hero of the Abyss, Black Hole, Ang Cariñosa

Cosmo Sheldrake — The Fly, Tardigrade Song, Piloscene, The Moss, Linger Longer, Come Along, Pelicans We

Games:

Yatoimtop — GREENER GRASS AWAITS, Liminal Ranger, Pearl Grabber, Tropic Jim’s Sweet Island Adventure

Yames — Discover My Body, Water Womb World, Via Negativa, Discover Our Bodies

Taylor Swietanski — THAT NIGHT STEEPED BY BLOOD RIVER, Spirits Mirror: Digital Possessed, Caged Bird Don’t Fly

Modus Interactive — Iketsuki, Beneath a Withering Moon, Groaning Steel

Comics/Webtoons/Manga:

Bread and All Variations of the Aforementioned, The Dummy's Dummy, Cursed Princess Club, Shoujo Jiten, Apocalyptic Horseplay, Curse of the Three Sisters, Berserk, Blade of the Immortal, Uratarou

Misc. items of joy:

Breton hats, stickers, keychains, music boxes, aquariums, puppets, vintage dolls, ventriloquist dummies, wooden toys, angel statues, paper stars, cats, old animated fairytale movies, nutcrackers, traditional clothing, the Christmas atmosphere, seashells

[gaepublishinghouse]

A Desert Fennec's Mating Season [ Solo Tighnari // Implied Cynonari ]

╭ ─┉─!! • !!─┉─ ╮

Tags: Heat cycles, transmasc Tighnari, masturbation, breeding kink if you squint.

╰ ─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─ ╯

--

In a temporary campsite off the beaten path of the Avidya Forest, Tighnari awoke with a start covered in sweat. The sun had yet to rise and cast its puddles of light through the thick foliage, or perhaps he had slept in much longer than he anticipated. None of it really mattered because all he could focus on was the sweltering heat atypical to the hour and the area and the biome. Had a withering zone popped up nearby? No, this felt much more oppressive and overwhelming than even that.

As he sat up to root through his travel pack for herbs, a mist flower, anything to help, the movement of his legs made him aware of how his underclothes clung to his thighs and for a brief but lucid moment, he realized that his heat had come early and it had come with a vengeance.

Tighnari groaned and rolled over to his stomach, pressing his face to the rolled-up tunic acting as his pillow for the night as he cursed his lack of foresight. It was unlike him to lose track of something like his heat, but his duties had brought his attention away from the time with how hectic everything had become of late. At some point, Tighnari must have missed one too many doses of his suppressants and well… as much as he liked to lecture the other forest rangers about the importance of being prepared, he was hardly infallible in that regard. 

His claws dug into the packed soil stubbornly and he took a deep breath. Growing up away from his own kind had left him floundering during his first heat, but that had been years ago. He’s older now, much better informed, despite the pervading heat making it hard to think straight. Tighnari just had to keep calm and ride through the first wave so his head could clear enough for the trip back.

His tail swished back and forth, face pressing into his makeshift pillow as his hand slipped down to rub himself through his underwear. Even with the barrier, the pressure was enough to have him biting back a groan. His hips seemed to move on their own, slick soaking through the dark fabric and making his hand sticky. Inwardly Tighnari cringed at the sensation, but quickly his mind was getting lost in the ebb and flow of honey-thick pleasure as he chased the friction. It felt good, so good, almost indulgent yet energizing like a bite of honeyed dates.

“Cyno..”

Tighnari’s thoughts quickly went down that path of thought and the name on his lips made his dick twitch, a fresh dribble of slick gushing between his legs. He would have felt some guilt in thinking about his companion as a means to get off, but he could hardly help where his heat-addled mind decided to go. Maybe some deep instinctual part of him knew that the General Mahamatra was good for him, that he would take care of Tighnari well. His more rational thoughts sneered at the thought of wanting to be protected like he wasn’t more than capable of taking care of himself. Still, unbidden, his mind brought out images of his waist between desert-rough hands, a low voice murmuring in his ear to hold still. He imagined what it would be like, having that strong but agile body forged from combat pinning him down, surrounding him with that warm scent of sunlight and honey.

A quiet curse spilled past gritted teeth as Tighnari wrestled out of his damp underclothes, the cooler air of the night making him shiver but offering a pleasant respite. His back arched, ears twitching as the pads of his fingers rubbed over his dick. He panted, practically drooling from the stretch when he shifted to push past the tightness of his hole. Gods, he could only imagine how much deeper Cyno could fuck him. He wondered if Cyno’s pride would allow Tighnari to push him to his back and ride him until his muscles burned. Maybe those rough hands would grip onto his hips as he fucked up into him, hold his hips down so that he could come hot and deep inside him.

“Ah– ngh, Cyno..” Tighnari murmured under his breath, his head thrown back as his palm rubbed against his dick and his fingers pumped mercilessly into his hole. He was so close, teetering over the edge so painfully close. “Don’t stop, don’t stop–”

His mouth dropped open in a quiet gasp as he came, making a mess of his hands and the bedroll underneath him. Tighnari whimpered in short-lived relief as the heat, for a merciful moment, subsided. He knew that it wouldn’t be long until it would come back, but he still relished in the clarity and bone-deep relief that the orgasm gave. He pulled his fingers out with a wet sound and brought them up to his mouth, sucking and languidly imagining it was something else he could be licking clean..

That thought certainly made the next wave come faster.

Tighnari’s nose twitched as the evening wind carried the scent of warm sunlight and honey. Bare feet padded through the grass outside of his tent for a moment before the scent that was undeniably and potently the General Mahamatra stopped just past the curtain. Surely it was just his imagination, because why would Cyno be out in the wilderness looking for him?

--

Part 2

[cloudninetonine]

Linktober: Withered

(Me: I'm gonna keep on schedule guys! :D, Also me: *Doesn't keep on schedule* PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I'M JUST SO HORRIBLE AT KEEPING TRACK OF THINGS- Also, this story is based on Spirit Tracks Link, but I've never played Spirit Tracks and have no idea on the character, so I tried to use socialc1imbs (I'm not gonna tag them just in case they're not a fan of this kind of writing) SO I HOPE HE'S OKAY)

You knew that Spirit could see ghosts.

It was a fact.

But not in the “I see dead people.” sort of way, no he wasn’t terrified by it, the blonde saw it in a Ghost Whisper sort of sense. When he saw those beyond death, walking around either grieving a life lost or begging for those to help finally rest their suffering soul he was ready to help without much thought- the hero in him really, with a kind heart and determined heart like his brother of the sails and winds.

Speaking of the Sailor, you knew the boy supported the same gift, usually accompanying his twin to complete a favour or two to allow the dead to pass the veil and finally let them have their eternal sleep- or whatever may lay beyond death.

You knew they could see them because you could see them too.

No idea how such a thing came to be, you weren’t a seer or labelled any such back in your world, but suddenly you had woken up and people of a heavenly blue walked in the land of the living.

You weren’t sure what to feel at that moment, excitement? Fear? Confusion was certainly there.

The Dynamic Duo had discovered such a fact when crossing through the ruins of a ruined farm within the traveller’s timeline, burnt to the ground by a hoard of monsters wanting to cause chaos for the sake of causing it, a barn of cattle losing their lives within the embers never to be seen again. The two had dodged and weaved through the many wandering ghosts, mooing in distress while the other heroes walked straight through without a care in the world.

It was only when Spirit and Wind had turned back they saw you on the horizon, cooing towards a little ghost foal who trotted after you merrily, the hoard meeting the two of you halfway before disappearing with a blink of an eye.

You were roped into their very good deeds as soon as it was confirmed.

“This is trespassing, Engi, I don’t think-”

“This is the only way to help Mrs Seine pass on!”

“Okay, but, listen- I don’t want to be chased by some madman with a pitchfork like last time.”

Wind had caught something earlier within the week when you had settled in a lovely country, sick as a dog, the decision was made that you would all be staying until he had recovered- a good one. 

Spirit and you had taken the chance to check out the place in the meantime, after all, it was cosy and you weren’t about to be cooped up in the inn any longer. So you explored, chatting to a few villagers about possible black-blooded sightings or a shadow with no owner- alas you fell short, but that was nothing to fret, not with Mrs Seine sat within her withered garden as she wailed about her precious plants.

You had both looked at one another before approaching her.

And now you were here, in her garden with fallen flowers in the dead of night to feed them a concoction of red potion, sap, water and some other things you didn’t quite know, only associated with the art of gardening.

“She said Mr Seine sleeps like a log!” Spirit whispered-shouted, kneeling down to yank at some of the invasive plants. “We’ll be fine as long as we’re not hooting like some sort of train!”

“Yes, but, Mr Seine also has neighbours I don’t want them deciding to be neighbourly and beat the ever-loving shit out of us!”

“Just pour the potion!”

“Watch your tone before I kick you, brat!”

“You’re too slow, you old coot!”

A curse tickled your tongue before you jumped as Mrs Seine’s voice wailed about her garden once again, hurrying to lift the watering can over some petunias by your feet. “Alright, god damn.”

“Coward.” The snicker had landed the blonde head first into the grass when you kicked him.

“Slowpoke.”

An hour or so later the both of you were finally done, panting from the hard work, sweating like a pig in a slaughterhouse and covered in dirt but still proud, looking over the restored garden with the variations of colours, standing proud under the light of the moon which shone down directly on you both.

Proud was the word you would use, not for you but for the boy under your arm, looking over your shared labour. It was expected of a hero to be good of heart but to see it in action truly filled you with such a feeling, overjoyed to be the tilted “Guide” of someone who was just kind. Spirit (as well as Wind) had done these things because they wanted to, were good to these ghosts because they could, they didn’t want a thing out of this, no form of payment, just to see the joy over the dead’s faces when a favour could be fulfilled.

Mrs Seine’s face was definitely worth it. The black tears of anguish finally fading away to show her old face lighten, a smile breaking through with gratitude in her eyes as she gently stroked over her prized possession; cupping a single rose within the rich rose bush with a fondness of a lifetime, turning to you both a final time.

“Thank you.” And with that, she was gone.

A silence settled between you both when you finally squeezed him to your side, catching his eyes when he looked up at your face. “You’re a good kid, Link.”

His own smile broke out as he opened his mouth to respond- only for the sound of the back door opening to cut him off.

You didn’t even wait to see the look of Mr Seine before throwing the boy under your arm and leaping over the small wire fence, racing into the night.

[lettherebemonsters]

10 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 .

Muse: Kenneth Chase "Jeffrey Hawk"/ The Clown, William Afton/ Clown Springtrap, Domenico " Nicky" Giuseppe SanGiovanna/The Ringmaster (my three stooges lol)

The Clown

1.) The Greatest Show Unearthed by Creature Feature

" Welcome to the lower birth The greatest show unearthed We appear without a sound The darkest show around We will leave you in a daze Madness, murder, dismay We will disappear at night With blood on the concrete..."

2.) The Carnival by Amanda Jenssen

" Hammerman, you make me dull I'm going to the carnival I'll sit beside and watch them play It's gonna be an awful day..."

3.) Put on a Happy Face! by Jagwar Twin

" Flip the switch, flip the stove World gone mad, let's start the show Get your kicks and let's go If you're sad, don't let it show

Say I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy today I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy today They say put on a happy face 'Cause we're tick-tock, tick-tock Ticking like a timebomb..."

Clown Springtrap

4.) Our Little Horror Story by Aviators

" Five nights left to find you One last thing to tend to You'll fear what I can do But you'll never run Ghosts warn of my actions But I'm the main attraction You'll bring my satisfaction Our little horror story's just begun..."

5. A Gorey Demise by Creature Feature

" One by one we bite the dust Kick the bucket and begin to rust Give up the ghost when your number's up We all fall down

Ashes to ashes, bones to paste You wither away in your resting place Eternity in a wooden case We all fall down..."

6. One Foot in the Grave by Creature Feature

" I've got one foot in the grave And in its shackles I'm its slave And here I lie With all the night The pearly gates turned me away In this sarcophagus I lay No longer dead but I am bored of breath

I can feel the cold night air I can feel the decay there I can feel it in the wind In death I have been born again..."

The Ringmaster

7. Slasher by Aviators

" Starved out in dust to make a killing For shares that we won't see Our minds feel hate and flesh is willing We hurt what lies between One second passes and you're gone Our weapons drawn but Somehow these kills won't make us whole We've sold our souls..."

8. Scarlet Vow by Aviators (though replace 'she' with 'he' lol)

" Lock your doors She's coming back to even out the score Vengeful spirits do her dark commands In the devil's hands Now the fire's in her breath Scarlet vow Taken by the girl who you cast out You're not the only one with chants to sing Or a prayer to bring But her patron saint is death..."

9. Death of a Dollmaker by Creature Feature

10. Here There Be Witches by Creature Feature

" Unholy hexes, dark incantations Our days are numbered just sacrificial lambs Depraved and corrupted agents of darkness Chosen by the black mark of the beast Archaic volumes, forbidden writing Blood ceremonies, sermons for the damned This curse must be lifted before the full moon Or we're all just meat for the feast..."

Tagged by: @silvcrignis (thanks boo! >:3)

Tagging:

(Anyone who wants to do this!)

[oddchirithy]

Yu-Gi-Oh 5ds Descendants: Prolouge?

Note: I don't know how to make titles so I just left it as Descendants. Originally it was meant to be another next gen, but it got changed to descendants. Again, typed out without really reviewing so it won't make much sense. Feel free to point out inconsistencies. This chapter is more of an introduction. Very short. Might make this it's own thing separate from this book.

Summary: Descendants of a group from a long time ago. Very vague.

Carmen Santos knew (saw and was, almost,) everything. (She was the result of an "affair"{Ryota Fudo and Maya Santos}, she was cursed from the start.)

Everything. What would happen, what should happen, what could happen. Even as her skin went from smooth to wrinkled and sagging, even as her nose began to droop, and even as their memory started to wither away, Carmen knew everything. Even if the others (Akiko, Lucio, Usagi) couldn't. Even if her own descendants (though one would try eventually {he'd cause, almost, everything}) couldn't. They knew (saw and was) everything. (Almost.) 

Daichi Santos was simply himself. (Carmen, his half-sister, also was, only she possessed abilities that made it harder for her. He didn't, he was grateful.)

Daichi, hot tempered, stubborn, and resilient. Cousin of Robin Atlas. He saw it all (through his eyes, like the rest). When Carmen knew it was him who broke the window, when Usagi gave Akiko a scratch on accident, and when Akiko outed Lucio as the one who snitched Daichi out for sneaking out to meet up with a girl. And, before Daichi died, (a little old, frail and wrinkled, not like Carmen) he still refused. He refused help and only relented once Carmen told him to see his family. Nadia (his beautiful wife) had passed earlier, he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Akiko Fudo, Carmen's half-sister, a girl who felt everything, and child of Momo (nee Iwai) and Ryota Fudo (son of Seiji and Victoria Fudo {nee Atlas}). (A beloved sister, cousin, wife, grandmother, and soon to be great-grandmother)

Akiko would always stay being herself and refusing to stay ignorant about the past that shaped the present and eventually future. Even if she was afraid. She would live longer than Daichi, along with Sayuri, but not longer than Carmen (no one would). She'd live to see the announcement of her first great-grandchild and died peacefully in the arms of her wife.

Usagi Kawata, a relative of sorts to all Akiko and Carmen, too fearless and loving (for everyone, even herself).

Even through arguments and fights, Usagi tried to understand. She'd later marry her tag duel partner who didn't mind her eccentric habit of dying her hair. They were a good pair and also lived until their 60's. Lucio had given a long speech as her family mourned. (Her great grand-father was the twin brother of Lucio's great grand-mother)

Lucio Nomura, distant cousin to Usagi, too kind and noble (to the life of others instead of himself).

Lucio never married, but he explored the world with Usagi occasionally joining. He'd traveled all over the world and competed in tournaments (like his great-granduncle), sometimes with friends or family. He only died after his return from South America in his late 60's. (Carmen counted that as a blessing, for Lucio began to forget and hallucinate.)

Both Lucio and Usagi had always lived to be role models of sorts for the next generation. (And that was good enough for them). (Carmen was proud.)

Robin Atlas, too stubborn and caring (for his own good {Probably because of the Hogan and Atlas blood in his veins}). 

Robin (the last one to remain) would always remain stubborn and caring for others. Even as he too became old and grew grey hairs, Robin stayed happy and always, always, made sure to brag about the stunts he pulled off as a teenager. Later on, he'd ask for his parents and grandparents who would never appear. Like his great-grandfathers, he was surrounded by family as he passed on.

Sayuri Kyosuke, known from a past close family friend and Carmen and Akiko's close friend (later girlfriend).

Sayuri would always never be ashamed of her family. No matter how twisted it once been all those years ago (long before any of them were born). She and Akiko had lived a rather long (compared to the rest), happy life with their son, later granddaughters, and left soon after the birth of a great-grandchild. 

(In one life, they all {minus Carmen} could've died in a Hail Mary. They should've just scattered around the world and lived however.) 

(Compared to five millenniums, two centuries were nothing. A lot happens in a short time.)

And, despite being one of the oldest, Carmen was the one last to go.

Even after her child died, Carmen lived. Even as her grandchildren had their own children, she lived on. In her early 100's (long after Robin) she still told stories (stories that'd cause a conspiracy) about dragons and heroes and psychics. Only when her youngest grandchild's child's son was a young teen, did she finally pass on. (And even then, even though Carmen them self physically was no longer living, Carmen's tales would fuel an impersonator) Carmen lived enough to see one generation more than her own great-grandparents and nearly lived long enough to witness humanity's downfall.

But as it was, Carmen was cursed, and knew everything to come. (Almost. Even as Carmen went blind, numb, and finally deaf.)

[basil-shipping]

welcome to the dusk lily cafe!

(part of the selfship con, go check out @selfshipping-port​ for more details!)

As you walk into the cafe, a tall purple elf walks up and hands you a menu. Inside are a variety of different foods common in Suramar, accompanied by swirling cursive text that, while pleasant to look at, is unfortunately near-impossible to read. The purple elf, who introduces himself as Runas, seems rather amused by your menu-related conundrum, and leads you to a seat while rambling off various things about the menu items before taking your order. A slightly smaller blue elf, who you identify as "Serleil" from his nametag, passes by your table shortly afterwards to drop off your food, but he doesn't seem to be very interested in conversation.

Oh... look! Whatever you ordered from the cafe seems to have a small piece of paper attached to the side of the plate.

Gummy Wyrms: What are you and your F/Os go-to snacks for the movie theater? If you sneak snacks in (because honestly who doesn't), then how do you go about doing it?

Shaldor'ice Cream: What are you and your F/Os favorite carnival/amusement park games? Do either of you try to cheat the more unfair or rigged games?

Fresh Arcfruit: Do you or any of your F/Os have a garden? What do you grow in your garden, if you have one?

Mana Biscuit: Have you ever tried to cook with any of your F/Os? If so, how did it turn out?

Arcway Bisque: Do you or any of your F/Os have any favorite autumn activities that you are looking forward to doing this fall?

Nightpear: What is a song that reminds you of your F/O, whether it be of just them or your ship as a whole?

Midnight Morel: Where is you and your F/Os favorite place to take a stroll? If stroll-taking isn't really your thing, where is you and your F/Os favorite place to just relax and chill out?

Mana-Eel Eggs: Do either you or your F/O have a favorite food that the other just completely refuses to try?