#this pair can be as heart wrenching and as silly as you want them to be

[silversoulstardust]

rereading my fav lawlu doujinshi bc I want to make myself cry to sleep

[astraystayyh]

Bittersweet

Pairing : Bang Chan x reader, exes to lovers.

Summary : You broke up with Chan because of an once in a lifetime work opportunity. Four years later, you are back home and everything has changed.

Warnings : Some cursing, reader has a big fear of thunder, allusion to sex in the end but no smut.

A.N: I wrote this as part two of Beginning of the End, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Still, i HIGHLY recommend reading part 1 first, it will just be more impactful!! Please let me know if you enjoyed reading, it means a lot to me <333

(Part 1)

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

Four years later, you were back to where it all started.

It felt weird to return home after all this time; to stroll down the alleys you once memorized, to meet up with the friends you once couldn’t live without. To witness firsthand how small your existence is, in the sense that you were so attached to your city, yet it had moved on perfectly despite your absence.

Still, you couldn’t really blame the world for moving on because you changed a lot too.

You had grown happier and more secure in yourself. Your work was recognized and praised, and you made some unforgettable memories that wouldn't have been possible had you not left. You felt as if everything you fought hard for finally paid off.

But throughout the years, one thing did remain the same; your love for Chan. You never tried to forget him or make your feelings go away. You figured that loving him was like the skin that clung to your bones, an inseparable part of your being.

Still, you were human after all, and as the months passed, you began to forget the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body against yours. His giggles became a distant memory in your mind, and so did the feel of his hands on your skin. Loving Chan became like a photograph that you safely tucked away; it chipped at the edges and its colors faded, but it still lived on, just like your love for him did.

And now that you were finally back with a bigger promotion, you couldn’t help but think about Chan even more. Everywhere you went, you saw snippets of your past with him.

You were so young, so foolish, you realized.

But so utterly in love.

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

It was 11 pm, and you were suddenly craving ice cream. You knew it was a bit ridiculous because it was -3 degrees, and you were already freezing, but you had one fundamental rule in life: never say no to your heart's desires.

This is why, despite the cold, you quickly leave your new apartment and skip toward the convenience store near you.

You head inside and grab your favorite ice cream before strolling around in case something else caught your attention. You just loved the calm inside and wanted to bask in it a bit more.

You round the milk aisle and suddenly bumped into someone’s chest. You were about to apologize when the words got stuck in your throat.

Chan.

"Yn…?" he calls out, and you feel yourself grow weak in the knees.

There was something about the way your name rolled off the tip of his tongue that made you feel as if no one, besides him, had ever done it justice.

He was even more beautiful than when you last saw him four years ago. His brown curly hair was tousled and his warm eyes reminded you of galaxies. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest because you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe it was him.

Memories of your last time together came crashing down on you like a wave; how he hugged you and told you to pretend as if nothing was happening, how he wrote you the most heart-wrenching letter that you’ve since memorized by heart.

"How are you?" you ask, clearing your throat. It felt silly to ask such mundane questions. This wasn't what you wanted to know. You wanted to ask if he still hated the taste of alcohol, if he still cried during sad movies, if he still squealed when he laughed, if he still loved you as you loved him.

But you couldn't voice those thoughts, so you willed yourself to drown them in the storm that is your mind.

"I'm good, and you?" he replies, smiling a little. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'm great."

"You look like it," he says, and you meekly nod, "So do you."

"Are you... visiting?" he asks after a few silent beats, and you shake your head, "I'm back for good."

"That's great. It's nice seeing you again," he gives you a genuine smile this time, and you can't help but grin back. You missed him.

You both stare at each other for a while after that, taking each other in. Looking at him felt like looking at a mirror of your past self -you could clearly see yourself in him because he once was a part of you, just like you were a part of him.

"I'll... I'll get going," he points behind him, retracting back, and before you could think it through, you grab his wrist to stop him.

It wasn't butterflies you felt when you touched him, that would be an understatement, it was pure electricity shooting through you.

People had touched you while you were away - hugs, kisses, and intimate caresses - but none of them made you feel this way. You were like a prisoner who had just felt the sun's rays against their skin for the first time in years. And you were starving for that sunlight.

"Can we meet up? Catch up? If you want to, of course," you whisper. Your voice is quiet- a stark contrast to the chaos going on in your mind.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'd like that," he agrees, rubbing the spot where you had grabbed him. Did he feel the sparks too?

"Tomorrow, this time, in the park near our old apartment?" you suggest, and he nods, "Sure. I'll be there."

"Great. I'll wait for you."

----------

You are sitting on a swing, swaying back and forth gently. Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, and you bite your nails from how stressed you are. In the four years you were away, you had to give conferences in front of thousands and thousands of people, yet you weren't as nervous as you are now.

"You still do that?" a voice next to you reprimands and you turn around to find Chan.

"Old habits never die, I guess," you smile sheepishly, dropping your hand down, and he chuckles.

"How are you?" you ask again, and he shrugs, "I'm good."

"How are you, really?"

"I don't think you have the right to ask me that anymore." His words cut you deep, and you swallow forcefully. "I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean to pry."

"I know, fuck, I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay," you reassure, looking up at the starry sky. He was right after all.

"Haven't been stargazing for a while," he whispers, and you smile sadly. That was one of your favorite activities together.

"Me too. But I love looking at the stars," you reply.

"I know. They remind you of how small you are in the grand scheme of things," he says nonchalantly as if he didn’t just knock the breath out of you. He remembered.

"Yeah, like how I've been away for four years, and everything moved on as if I've never been here."

"Your absence was felt, yn”, he pauses, “I used to miss you." Used to. Past tense.

"I still miss you." Your reply is instant; you don't feel the need to hide from him. You never did.

Chan holds your gaze for a while, and you wonder what he was thinking at that moment. You wanted to shout at him to tell you what was on his mind. To just say it. But you couldn't. You can no longer ask things from him; you knew that.

"I saw your name in news articles and TV shows. You had your big breakthrough," he suddenly smiles at you, changing the subject. You feel a blush creep up your neck; the fact that he kept up with you made you feel shy all of a sudden.

"I guess I did, I grew a lot. I... I think that I needed to get away and experience new things. It would have haunted me had I not," you smile, and he nods attentively. He still listened to you intently, as always.

"You were always destined for great things," he says seriously, and you feel your eyes well up with tears.

He spoke those words as if he wholeheartedly believed them, and nothing in the world could ever sway his mind.

"So are you. You've been doing amazing these past few years, getting all these awards and deals. I love your music," you gush, and he waves a hand in the air as if to dismiss your words.

"Don't do that," you chastise, "you should be proud of yourself. I know I am very proud of you."

"I suppose the years did us good," he sighs wistfully, and you hum in agreement. You are both quiet after that. You don’t dare to speak, afraid that your next words would break the bubble you are in. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to face reality yet.

"Just say what’s on your mind," he suddenly speaks up, and you raise a brow at him inquisitively.

“You are scratching your throat as if to stop the words from coming out. Just tell me.” Chan, ever the perceptive.

You take in a deep breath, willing your voice to sound strong, "The only thing I regret is that... I had to lose you in the process. I know I'll never find someone as amazing as you."

Chan doesn’t reply and your words linger in the air, suffocating you. You hoped that a strong wind will come by and carry them away, somewhere they wouldn't hurt anymore.

"I did love you, yn." A pause, and you can feel a heartbreaking ‘but’ coming. "But I don't anymore. I found... I found someone else. They are good to me and I love them."

"Oh". You dreaded it, expected it even, you never wanted him to wait for you. Because you left, so he had every right to move on. Still, you were only human, an enamored human whose heart now broke in two.

You feel the bile rise in your throat and you shake your head as if to clear those stupid thoughts away. You left, for god’s sake, you weren’t allowed to feel this way. But still, it hurt, it hurt so bad all you wanted to do was to curl in a ball and weep.

"I hope that you are happy with them. That's all I ever wanted for you, happiness." Your voice wavers and he knows, Chan must know you are trying so hard not to break down. So he doesn’t comment, he only smiles at you, which makes your heart break even more, because he must smile at them like this all the time now.

"I will get going," you abruptly stand up, dusting your pants. "Let me walk you home," he offers and you shake your head no.

"It's nearly midnight, you are out of your mind if you think I'll let you walk alone."

"Okay," you simply reply. Truth is, you weren’t processing what he was saying anymore. 'I love them' kept repeating itself in your head like a broken mantra. He found someone else. He found someone else. He found someone else, and it isn’t you. 

"This is me", you clear your throat when you arrive in front of your apartment, and Chan stops in his tracks.

“Come here”, he says and it’s all it takes for you to bury yourself in him. Just like four years ago, he was leaving you with a goodbye hug. Only this time, there was no hope left. Only a sense of finality. He knows that you still love him, you couldn't hide that from him. But he doesn't love you anymore and he can't hide that from you.

The hug only lasted a mere ten seconds, but you tried your best to take it all in, to memorize how it felt for Chan to hug you again. You desperately needed to patch up the broken memories you had left of him.

You finally lean away, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. Chan’s brows furrow looking at you, and you smile reassuringly. "I'm okay really. This is just bittersweet to me."

"It is to me too," he whispers and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from breaking down.

"You stay safe for me, yeah?" he tells you softly and you nod again, "you too."

"Goodbye, yn."

"Goodbye, Chan," and with that you turn around, entering your apartment block.

You've never hated goodbyes more than in that instant.

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

it's been 3 months since your talk with Chan. Admittedly, you've gone back to that convenience store where you've met him, for a month straight, just in case he went back there. He didn't. And now you had a large stock of snacks you didn't know what to do with.

After that, you went to all the places where you've gone to on your dates. You don't know what you were expecting. You've lost Chan, but still, you always found yourself back to where you shared memories with him. But he wasn't there.

In the third month, you've started accepting that you lost him for good. The love mingled with the ache and you found comfort in its everlasting presence. It served as a reminder that you did love him, and he did love you back at some point.

Thankfully, your work was going really well, and tonight, you were out with your superior to celebrate a successful deal you chaperoned and discuss some upcoming projects.

You enter the restaurant, your boss hot on your tracks, when you abruptly stop. Sat on a table right across from you is Chan with a girl you did not recognize. You would have bolted out had it not been for your boss who looked at you with worried eyes. You shake your head mouthing an "I'm fine" to him.

While your boss placed your order, you couldn’t help but stare at Chan. He looked so... happy with her. She said something and he laughed, tipping his head back. You felt jealousy gnaw at your heart because you were the one who used to make him laugh like that.

You left, you remind yourself, you are the one who left.

Against your own will, you look up at Chan once again, only this time he was looking at you too. You hold his gaze as if under a spell, and when the girl next to him touches his hand softly to bring him to her, you almost sob right there and then.

"... our partners will come from France and you will have to hold a meeting with them tomorrow."

"Sure. I already prepared the slides and sent them over to your mail," you nod. Work, forget about Chan, work.

"I will check them out. You'll have Clara with you?"

"Yes, she's the only one who can speak French besides me. I have been overlooking her for this past month and she's really competent."

"Should I challenge her?"

"Yeah, I think she's up to the task", you smile and he nods, satisfied.

You try to eat your dinner after that, keeping up with your boss’s chatter. But it felt like a punishment- sitting there when the man you still loved was on a date right across from you.

And as if your night couldn’t get any worse, you hear thunder rumble loudly. You clench your glass so tightly in your hand- you are surprised it didn’t break.

You had a really really big fear of thunder. It stemmed from when you were a child, playing hide and seek when a thunderstorm happened. You ended up being stuck in the closet for an hour because your cousins forgot about you, and you fainted from how afraid you were.

You look up at your boss apologetically, you couldn't tell him you had to leave because of a childhood phobia, so you quickly try to muster up an excuse. "I'm sorry to cut it short but can I go? I have a- a dentist appointment and I need to wake up very early tomorrow."

"Sure. I'll see you at work?". You have never been more grateful for his understanding.

"Yeah, thank you for dinner".

You quickly grab your things, leaving the restaurant. You hop in your car but you are shaking so badly, you can't even start the engine. Another thunder resounds and you drop your keys, forcefully shutting your eyes. You try to drown out the sound with your hands clasped on your ears but it didn’t help. It was too much- the pain, the fear, the ache. You needed everything around you to stop.

You hear the door next to you suddenly open and you snap your eyes toward it, to find a disheveled Chan standing there. He pulls you out of your seat, instantly bringing you to his body.

He knows how scared you are of thunder.

"Shhh, it's okay, I'm here. You're safe," he pats your head gently and you hug him tighter to you; as if he was your only mean of survival.

He tries to peel away but you only hold him closer, to which he rubs soothing circles on your back, “I’m not going anywhere, let me drive you home, okay?”

You nod against his chest and he lets go of you, holding your hand instead. He opens the passenger door for you then he quickly hops into the driver’s seat. He starts off your car, blasting the music so loud you no longer hear the thunder booming.  

Your hand is still tightly clasped in his when you arrive home.

He silently opens the door for you once more, and you lead him to your apartment. You were mortified he had to leave the restaurant for you, but you were so grateful for him, because at the end of the day, he came to you.

Chan awkwardly stands in your living room and you figure the least you could do is apologize. "I’m sorry I cut your date short."

"You sound jealous", he points out.

"I am jealous, but mostly sorry."

"You shouldn't date someone who won't be with you in times like these," he dismisses your words, and you frown. Why did he sound angry all of the sudden?

"He didn't know."

"Still, he should have seen the signs. I was across the room but I saw you shaking for god's sake!” he almost shouts and you take a step toward him.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he is lying.

"Why does it bother you?” you insist. You needed to know.

"I said it doesn’t yn," he enunciates but you don’t back off.

“He’s my boss that’s why I was alone, but why? Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I fucking lied", he shouts, inching closer to you. "Because I lied yn, I never found someone else, it was you, it was always you."

"What... but the girl?".

"She's my coworker yn. I tried to forget you. I tried but you were always there. You were everywhere. And I had to carry on with the love I had for you but I didn't know where to put it anymore. Because you didn't tell me, you didn't tell me where the love was supposed to go now that you left!"

You stare at him unblinking, afraid that this was all just a figment of your imagination.

"And then... and then you came back and it was as if no time has gone by. It was as if you'd never left and I wanted to kiss you and hug you and I wanted you back. I needed you back", his hands are on your shoulders now, grasping you tightly as if to convince himself that you were here.

"But I couldn't, I couldn't allow you in because what if you left again? I wouldn't survive that, yn," his voice cracks at your name and it’s all it takes for you to bring his lips crashing down on yours.

You stagger back, your fingers grazing your lips in shock, "I'm so sorry, I didn't-", your words are cut off by his mouth on yours once again, "don't stop", he whispers and you kiss him, again and again. Your mouths moving in sync to the symphony that is your love.

When you finally pull away, he places his forehead on yours and you close your eyes. "Tell me this is real, that you're back to me."

"I'm here."

"You still feel like a dream."

"I'm here, I'm here", you reassure, your hand gently cradling his cheek, "I never stopped loving you Chan. I knew I was destined to love you, whether you loved me back or not."

"You are my soulmate", he leans back, kissing your forehead softly, "you and I are one."

"I've got a tattoo of your handwriting", you confess softly and his eyes snap open.

"What?"

"I tattooed a sentence from the letter you left me, with your handwriting, 'Our love will remain'."

"Where?"

"Here", you trace the outline of your breast and he chokes, "somewhere only I can see it."

"You are crazy", he chuckles, a bewildered smile on his face.

"In love, yes," you giggle and he blushes, hiding his head in your neck.

“Can I see you tomorrow? We have a lot to talk about," he asks, peppering the curve of your neck with kisses.

"Sure, I'm all yours after 5 pm."

"Works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow?", he smiles, and you beam at him, "I’ll see you."

Chan doesn't let you go and you laugh, kissing his cheek, "you are not leaving?"

"I'm not", he smiles cheekily.

"And why is that?"

"Because....", he drawls out, his lips brushing against your collarbone, "I need to see that tattoo."

----------

A lover’s body is like a land you discover over and over again. And tonight, as Chan made love to you, you drank it all in- the flexing of his muscles and the new sounds he made. But despite those changes, you found out that you never forgot the secret passages to his body, and the ways only you can make him unfold.

Still, it wasn’t when his naked body hovered over yours that you felt bare in front of him. It was when you both laid next to each other, talking in bed until the sun rose, that he undressed your mind.

It is there, behind those walls that you both built, that Chan and yn from four years ago lived on.

And you were still as in love.

[eiightysixbaby]

breathing deeply, walking backwards

roller coaster, favorite ride, let me kiss you one last time

word count: 5.7k

pairing: best friend!eddie x fem!reader

summary: an evening at the fair leads to a big confession from your best friend (who you just so happen to have feelings for)

cw: mentions of food/eating, friends to lovers, use of y/n, and that’s literally all I can think of bc this is a bunch of sweet fluff

author’s note: this is just a sweet little idea that’s been hanging out in my brain all summer, and I’m excited to put it out there finally! it’s really just a bunch of sickeningly sweet ooey gooey fluff, the stakes are not very high here lol I just wanted to write something cute that didn’t feel as daunting to work on. I love the idea of going to the fair with eddie, so this was fun for me. enjoy!

Hawkins Fun Fair, summer of 1986. The warm air was sweet. It smelled of kettle corn and cotton candy, kissed your nose with the enticing scents and lured you in. The sun had just began to set, casting the sky in orange and violet and pink. All around you kids ran rampant, excitedly stomping over the grass with snow cones in hand. You found yourself getting lost looking at the big lightbulbs blinking on all of the carnival rides, when suddenly you felt a pair of arms wrap around your middle, picking you up and hoisting you over a shoulder.

“Eddie!” you squeal, laughing and pretending to pound on his back in protest.

“Come on, space cadet, you were trailing behind! Don’t want you to get lost now do we?” Eddie chuckles, walking quickly to keep up with the rest of your group.

Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin had all gone ahead, debating on what to do first. The kids had run off to god knows where, Lucas and Dustin arguing over which ride to go on first. You breathe in Eddie’s scent, cologne and weed and boy, and it mixes to create the most enticing combination. You want to climb into his cutoff tank-top and live there forever. Eddie finally sets you down on the ground once you’re caught up with the rest of your friends, having found them in line for some funnel cakes.

“Wanna get one to share?” Eddie asks, wiggling his eyebrows to get a laugh from you.

“Is that even a question?” you reply, already pulling out your wallet and a few dollar bills.

You give Eddie a glare that says, ‘I’m paying, so don’t even try it’ before he can protest. He usually always pays when you two go out together, even though you insist he doesn’t have to. He’s just sweet like that, always has been.

The two of you have been friends for only a short amount of time, joining forces at the start of the last school year - your first senior year and Eddie’s third (and final!). But man, did you guys get close over the span of less than a year. You’re basically attached at the hip, your other friends already knowing that if you or Eddie are invited somewhere, the other is tagging along.

The only issue is that you’ve started catching feelings for the curly haired boy you spend all of your time with. You hadn’t told him, just let the ever growing feelings consume you in silence. You’d confided only in Robin and Nancy, who both let you ramble on and on whenever you needed to. They’ve told you countless times to go for it, that Eddie would be silly not to be into you, that he totally is sweet on you, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. What if it makes everything awkward?

What you didn’t know, was that Eddie had feelings for you, too. Big feelings, heart wrenching feelings for you. Steve and Jonathan were his confidants, his right hand men in trying to convince him to take the plunge and confess to you. Jonathan told him how he once asked Nancy if she thought you might like Eddie, to which Nancy got flustered and awkwardly denied, which he found suspicious. Of course, Eddie hardly listened to any of this. He wanted to confess to you, so badly wanted to open the doors to wonderful things if it all went right. But if you didn’t reciprocate the feelings, it could ruin everything. That was a very big ‘if’ to Eddie, and he couldn’t risk it.

So, you two were just friends. Really close friends who cuddled on the couch during movie nights and basically went on dates without calling them dates, who gave each other the biggest heart eyes constantly yet didn’t realize it.

A warm funnel cake on a paper plate is placed into your hands, Eddie grabbing a fistful of napkins beside you. The smell of the dessert wafts into your nose, making your mouth water. You delicately rip off a piece, letting the warm dough and sweet powdered sugar practically melt in your mouth.

“Mmm, so fuckin’ good,” you groan around your mouthful, licking the white powder off of your fingers rather ungracefully.

Eddie sighs blissfully as he takes his first bite, a much bigger piece of the cake than yours, and he swallows before you could even catch if he chewed it first.

“It’s almost as sweet as you,” he says, grinning as he, too licks the powdered sugar from his fingertips.

You catch Nancy and Robin giving you a look after he says it, and you blush a little under their gazes.

“What’re you buttering me up for, Munson?” you ask playfully, elbowing him in the side as the group continues to walk.

Eddie just shrugs, a smirk on his face as he continues to pick at the funnel cake. You don’t want to tear your eyes away from him, his big chocolate brown eyes so sincere when they look at you and his dark curls cascading over his shoulders, shaking when he laughs too hard. You can’t help but watch every time he brings a powder-covered finger to his mouth, licking the sweetness off of it. You swear he’s doing it slowly just to drive you crazy. You flush at all of the possible scenarios that swirl in your mind with that image and stare down at your shoes as they trod through the grass. You’re torn from your thoughts when he grabs your arm excitedly, pulling you over to a carnival game booth with huge fluffy teddy bears hanging from the backdrop.

“I am so gonna win you one of these,” he says confidently, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to kick some ass.

“Are you doing this because you want to win me a bear or because you want prove that you can win these rigged games?” you tease, watching as he rubs his hands together eagerly and passes the attendant some tickets to play.

The objective seems to be simple enough - throw some darts, pop six balloons and you win a big prize. The catch is, you only have ten darts. Eddie’s first attempt goes alright, but he only ends up popping four balloons.

“Aw, it’s okay Eds,” you say, getting ready to turn and walk away from the booth before he stops you.

“Ah-ah. Nope, no way I’m giving up that easy,” he shakes his head, handing the attendant more tickets.

You roll your eyes at his determinedness, never willing to back down from a challenge. Your heart races though, secretly loving the idea of him winning you something. His tongue pokes out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing as he eyes the targets. He wiggles his ass exaggeratedly, getting into position and making you snort. He draws his arm back, dart poised between three fingers, and then he lets go.

Pop!

He pumps his fist, flexing his biceps at you, really putting on a dramatic show for this. He’s so gorgeous you feel like you could die.

“You still have nine more to go, Munson. We’ll see if you can do it again,” you tease, hiding your affection, making him clutch his chest in mock offense.

Much to your surprise, he pops the remaining five balloons almost entirely in a row. Eddie is nothing if not competitive and determined, and his desire to win you a prize fueled him even more.

“Haha! What did I tell ya, sweets? I knew I could win,” he boasts, rocking on the balls of his feet.

The worker hands you a large, brown, fluffy teddy bear with a pink bow wrapped around its neck. You squeeze the bear with a grin, giving Eddie a hug and a thank you for winning you the prize. You hoist the bear over your shoulders so it looks like it’s sitting on them, holding onto its fuzzy legs carefully. You run ahead to catch Steve and Jonathan, who laugh at the size of the bear.

“Geez, Eddie, think you picked a big enough prize?”Steve asks.

“Mmm, no, but this was the biggest they had,” he contemplates, giving you a big smile when you meet his eyes.

You walk ahead with Steve and Jonathan, the latter turning around to mouth to Eddie, ‘ask her out!’. Eddie just laughs and shakes his head, but he can’t deny the way his heart pounds as he watches you excitedly show off your bear. Smitten with the way your eyes light up, the happy bounce in your every step.

Deciding that you’re hungry again, the funnel cake simply being a filler snack, you get in line with Eddie and Robin for some actual food to munch on, finding Max and Lucas already waiting at the same stand. Your eyes scour the small menu in indecision as you talk to Robin, and Max overhears you telling her that Eddie won the bear for you, turning to Lucas with her hands on her hips, ready to rile him up.

“See, Lucas? Why don’t you be a good boyfriend like Eddie and win me a bear?” she teases him, laughing when Lucas gets flustered and stumbles on his words.

You and Eddie avoid eye contact, Robin catching the way you squirm after Max’s implication that Eddie is your boyfriend.

“I’m not….” Eddie starts.

“He’s not my-” you say simultaneously.

But Max is no longer listening, now playfully arguing with Lucas. Your cheeks feel hot, flustered by the situation. You peer cautiously over at Eddie, whose cheeks are pink as he chews on his bottom lip - a nervous habit. He meets your eyes and gives you a sheepish little smile, before you’re taken from the moment by the food truck employee asking for your order.

The awkwardness is washed away once your food arrives, you and Eddie sharing a tray of cheese fries to go with your chili dog. You immediately retreat back into your comfortable friendly nature as you pick at the steaming pile of fries. You can’t help but wonder, though, what was going through his head when Max said what she did. He didn’t seem offended, or repulsed, or anything like that. He seemed shy and flustered just like you, nervous even. Your head spins trying to piece it together, before you’re shaken from your thoughts at Eddie reaching towards you, wiping a stray bit of gooey cheese sauce that had been left on the corner of your mouth.

“Can a girl get a warning first?” you laugh, watching him wipe the cheese on a napkin.

“Sorry, sweets, y’made a mess. Wanted to help,” he grins, knowing you can’t keep up your teasing when he flashes his smile at you.

Before you can really react, or even blush at his actions, Nancy’s calling your attention.

“Come over here, let’s get in line for this ride!” she’s beaming, Robin waiting eagerly at her side.

“Can I trust you to hold Mr. Bear while I go on this ride?” you ask Eddie, looking him over in pretend contemplation.

“Cross my heart, doll,” Eddie swears, his index finger drawing an x over his heart.

You hand him the stuffed toy, running to meet the girls in line. The ride in question has a bunch of little cars on a platform that spins, and the cars themselves have wheels in the center so you can spin yourselves at your discretion. It doesn’t take long before you’re loading into a blue car with flashing lights on the outside, the three of you positioning your hands on the large wheel in the middle.

Eddie stands off to the side, chewing the inside of his cheek as he watches you. His thoughts won’t let him catch a break, replaying your reaction to Max referring to him as your boyfriend, taking note of the fact that you didn’t necessarily seem upset about it. He thinks about your smile when he won you your prize, thinks about Jonathan and Steve giving him ‘the look’ and imploring him to ask you out.

He swears he feels his heart soaring as the ride starts, and he watches as you laugh under the blinking lights and the last bit of a glow from the setting sun. He wishes you could see yourself the way he sees you in this moment, hair blowing in the breeze, mouth open in a never ending laugh, happy and surrounded by friends who love you dearly. The feelings he harbors for you are clawing at his insides, fighting to make their way out. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to hold them down for much longer. Butterflies take flight in his stomach when you catch his eye, giving him a little wave as your car spins round and round.

The ride ends and you come bounding giddily out of the exit gate with the girls by your side, crying laughing at Nancy’s hair - which is now windswept and sticking every which way. Eddie stands waiting for you, smiling at you as you come up beside him.

“Have fun, ladies?” he asks, giving Nancy a raised eyebrow over her hairdo.

“Don’t even say it, Munson,” she laughs, leaning into Jonathan’s side, who’s appeared next to her.

“It was so much fun,” you beam at him, eyes bright as they meet his. “I’ll have to get you on a ride with me.”

“Anything you wanna do, sweets,” Eddie grins.

“Did you take good care of my bear while I was gone?” you ask him, reaching for the stuffed toy.

“Oh yeah. We had a very enlightening conversation,” he jokes, handing the bear back to you.

You giggle at this, watching as Eddie pretends to whisper something in the bear’s fuzzy little ear before handing him back to you. He shyly excuses himself to find a bathroom, leaving you standing with the rest of the group - save for Steve who got dragged somewhere by Dustin.

In all honesty, Eddie just needed a minute away to get his thoughts straight. His body feels like it’s vibrating he’s so head over heels for you, and he’s unsure what to do or how to do it. He doesn’t even find a bathroom, just paces around, weaving in and out of groups of excited kids and less excited parents. He doesn’t feel like he’s coming to any sort of conclusion, supposing he should’ve brought Jonathan along with him to bounce his thoughts off of. One thing he knows for sure, is that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to be strictly friendly towards you. Something’s gonna slip one way or another, and Eddie thinks he wants to have control over that situation.

He starts to circle back in the direction that he left you, palms sweating in the pockets of his jeans as he overthinks himself into a frenzy.

He stops dead in his tracks when he spots you huddled with Nancy and Robin on the side of one of the carnival booths, seemingly deep in conversation. Ducking away before you can spot him, he lingers just around the corner from where you are. He knows he shouldn’t, but his curiosity gets the best of him as he cranes to listen to what you’re saying.

“-and Max referred to him as my boyfriend, and he didn’t seem, like, mad about it? Or, I don’t know, repulsed by it or anything. I swear to god he blushed and I just don’t know how to take it,” your voice rambles.

“Y/N, he won you a fucking teddy bear. That’s about as obvious as he could be without putting a flashing neon sign above his head that says ‘I love Y/N L/N’,” he hears Robin retort, and his cheeks flush with slight embarrassment.

“Okay, listen, even if he likes me let’s not get carried away and say he loves me…” you try to defend.

“I’m with Rob on this one, hun,” Nancy butts in, “this is just the icing on the cake of all of the other things you two do that are so much more than just friendly.”

“Thank you, Nance,” Robin enunciates. “Seriously, babe, I just think it’s about time you admit your feelings to him. He deserves to know, and he’s totally going to reciprocate because he’s so clearly wildly in love with you, but even if he didn’t reciprocate this is Eddie we’re talking about and he’s just a walking teddy bear and he’d never be mean about it or-” Robin’s word vomit spills out, but Eddie can’t focus on her voice anymore.

It’s time you admit your feelings for him. You have feelings for him? Eddie feels his heart rate speed up, turning on his heel and walking away before any of you catch him eavesdropping. He ducks behind a cotton candy stand, his hands trembling with excitement. It’s like a switch is flipped in his brain, all of his reservations about confessing his feelings for you slipping away with ease. He knows what he has to do now, what he should’ve done ages ago. He can’t spend another day in a world where you aren’t his, and so he won’t.

Once he regains some composure, he walks back towards where he saw you and the girls talking. You see him coming this time, waving the arm of your teddy bear at him in greeting. He laughs, his heart feeling warm at the adorable gesture.

Jonathan, Steve, and now Dustin are standing there as well, and the girls’ previous conversation with you appears to be over. Dustin gives Eddie a look as he approaches, the older boy’s eyes trained on you the whole way over.

“What’s up with you? You look like a lovesick pup-” Dustin starts, but Eddie elbows him in the side before he can finish his sentence.

“Ow! Dude!!” Dustin remarks, but Eddie’s no longer listening, having fully turned his attention to you.

He’s about to make another smart comment, but Steve catches him before he can even get a word out, pulling him away and distracting him with the promise of an ice cream cone. Eddie can practically feel Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin’s eyes on him as he listens to you talk, excitedly pleading with him to go on another ride with you.

“I told you before, anything you wanna do I’m game for,” Eddie gives you a small smile before adding “….except that stupid roller coaster that goes in one big continuous loop. I am not risking my life today,” he points a finger at the ride in question, shaking his head as the riders are whipped upside down over and over.

You laugh at this, assuring him you’re not going to make him go on that one, instead leading him in the direction of a different ride. Eddie has hearts in his eyes as you lead him through the crowd of people, and he can’t help himself from eyeing the way your skirt bounces with every step, showing off your thighs. You turn back with a gleam in your eyes, like you’re so unbelievably happy to see him standing there, like you forgot who’s hand you were pulling towards your destination. Your ride of choice, admittedly, isn’t much more favorable to Eddie than the stupid loop-de-loop coaster. It’s designed so you stand against the wall in the big circular structure, and it spins so fast you’re basically pinned to the wall as it flies.

“What, big shot, are you nervous?” you tease him as you find a spot to stand in.

He waves you off with a shaky hand, “Me? Nervous? Pffft, yeah right,” he rolls his eyes. “Are you nervous? Need me to hold your hand?” he teases right back, shrieking when you slap him playfully on the arm.

“This ride’s always been my favorite, so, no. I think I’ll be fine,” you assure, standing up straighter as if to prove your confidence to him.

In actuality, you haven’t been on a ride like this since you were a little kid, and now as you waited for it to start the nerves were setting in a little. Before you can debate it any longer, the door shuts and rainbow lights flash inside the ride, illuminating the darkness. It starts moving, and you grip the handles beside you, watching as Eddie does the same. You squeal as you start to spin faster, listening as Eddie lets out a very nervous groan beside you. He squeezes his eyes shut, and honestly he thinks he must’ve blacked out for the worst of it because before he knows it, the spinning slows. He comes back to reality, looking down and processing that his hand is gripping yours, his knuckles white where they’re linked between your fingers. It’s not like you two haven’t held hands before, you certainly have, but this time has a different context, at least in Eddie’s mind. He has new knowledge now, and he blushes ferociously as his eyes stay locked on your linked hands.

You felt Eddie grip your hand in the middle of the ride, your brain laser focusing on it as the world spun around you. You catch his eyes finally now that the ride is stopped, and the two of you just look at each other for a moment. You ignore the people exiting around you, zeroed in on each other. The way Eddie’s looking at you feels different, and you don’t know why but it’s making your pulse hammer in your chest. It takes the ride attendant calling stragglers off to get you to drop Eddie’s hand, fixing your hair as you walk off the ride.

Neither of you say a word, and honestly you don’t think you could get words to form right now if you tried. Your head is spinning, and you can’t tell if you’re dizzy from the ride or just overly in love with your best friend. You wish he’d take your hand again, wish he’d never let it go, but before you can think about it for too long, Steve is approaching from where he stands by a metal fence surrounding your ride, holding your teddy bear out to you. Eddie jumps beside you, as if he forgot there were other people around him, and you wonder if he was just as lost in thought as you were. Robin and Nancy’s voices ring in your head. You need to confess your feelings. He deserves to know.

“Come on you guys, quit dragging your feet! We have to go on the ferris wheel while they do the fireworks!” Steve says, hurrying both of you along.

Oh, right. Fireworks. You loved the fireworks Hawkins put on every year, always dragging your friends to see them with you. You’re more than excited to get to share them with Eddie this time around. Your chest vibrates with a euphoric feeling, Eddie still walking beside you as you head towards the ferris wheel.

“Wanna sit with me?” you ask him teasingly, knowing he’d never tell you no.

“Hmmm, I’ll have to think about that one, princess,” he says, pretending to contemplate as you shove his side lightly.

He’s grateful for the conversation starter from you, glad you pulled him out of his nervous brain.

“I suppose the bear is sitting with us, too?” he smiles.

“Well, duh, we can’t make him sit alone. That would be rude,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, of course, of course. Forgive me for even implying such a thing,” Eddie offers the bear an apologetic bow, almost tripping over a stray electrical cord, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

Eddie loves the sound of your laugh, he strives to be the cause of it whenever he can. He’s going to tell you how he feels. On this ferris wheel, at the top as you watch the fireworks, he’s going to tell you. He stands in the line with you, palms sweating in the pockets of his jeans. The lights on the giant wheel blink intermittently, bright colors flashing and casting a glow over you as he watches you watch them. You both step up to the man taking tickets, and you step forward into the open bench seat that waits for you. You’re busy stuffing your bear into the seat beside you when Eddie passes the attendant a twenty dollar bill.

“You’ll be doing me a huge favor if you stop us at the top during the fireworks,” he murmurs to the guy, who gives a firm nod in response, pocketing the cash.

Maybe twenty was a bit steep for a small favor, but anything’s worth it when it comes to you. Eddie needs his perfect moment. You’re just about to turn and question whether he’s coming or not when he appears at your side, sliding into the seat beside you. It’s the bear on the left, you in the middle, and Eddie on the right. You’re giddy like a child when a tester firework gets set off, preparing everyone for the real show. Eddie swallows thickly, watching you as your hands grip the metal bar that secures you both in your seat.

Soon, you’re moving slowly backwards and up, stopping periodically to let more people on more empty cars. The sky is a rich navy blue, stars peeking out and blinking down at you as you look up. Your heart races for a reason you aren’t sure of, your mind still stuck on Eddie grabbing your hand earlier, amongst a million other things he’s done. Your car stops perfectly at the top, and you peer down to see that the other cars are all full.

“Oooh! We’re going to be right at the top for this!” you grip Eddie’s arm excitedly, and he thinks he’d be perfectly fine if the smile on your face right now was the last thing he ever saw.

He shares in your excitement, thanking the ride attendant in his mind for not just pocketing his money and not complying with his request.

“I think this might just be the best seat for fireworks, ever,” you say, turning to look at him. “Mr. Bear agrees,” you add, giggling when Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Bear has nothing to compare this to. Of course he agrees,” he says, feigning hurt when you slap him gently on the arm. Nevertheless, he’s ecstatic that you’re this happy about your viewpoint for tonight’s show.

Before you can continue the bit, a couple of fireworks light up the sky, booms rumbling in your chest.

Eddie takes a deep breath, grounding himself. This is it, he thinks. You have to do it now.

“Hey, uh, sweetheart?” he asks, wincing when his voice cracks ever so slightly.

“Yeah, Eds?” you reply, barely turning to face him as you watch the glittery explosions in the night sky.

“There’s something I need to tell you…” he says, his mouth going dry. You actually look at him now, brows furrowing.

“What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, it’s not- I mean I hope it’s not a bad thing. What I’m about to tell you, I mean,” he’s nervously rambling now, you know he gets like this. You squeeze his hand, calming him.

“What is it, Eddie?” your voice is soft, and the way you’re looking at him is making him melt.

“I don’t want to just be friends with you anymore,” he starts, squeezing your hand back. “I like you, I like you so fucking much, sweetheart,” his eyes are searching yours, his voice surprisingly calm given his frantic look.

“Eddie, I-”

“I’ve been hiding this for so long, I didn’t wanna ruin what we have already, but… I overheard you talking with Robin and Nance before, and unless I misunderstood I have a feeling you feel the same way,” he’s smiling shyly, and you can tell even in the dim light that he’s blushing.

More fireworks boom and crackle, your heart pounds with a timbre that rivals them.

“I do, Eddie,” you reply, and you can’t even try to hold back the grin that spreads across your face. Neither can he, his pearly white teeth on display for you, and he’s so beautiful. “I didn’t say anything for the same damn reason,” you laugh a little, shaking your head. “I guess we’re both stupid for not seeing the signs, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah we are,” he agrees, his voice soft as he lets himself melt into your eyes.

He thinks you’re the prettiest thing in the world. He’s glad he can tell you that now with no fear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice breathy now.

Your heart is beating a mile a minute at his compliment, eyes looking away in a rare moment of shyness around the man you’ve been the closest to for months now. You don’t respond, can’t get the words out when he’s looking at you the way that he is. You let him lean in closer, let him rest his palm on your cheek, let your eyes flutter shut as his nose brushes yours.

Then, he’s kissing you. He’s finally fucking kissing you.

Eddie feels like his foot is about to start thumping like a dog that’s being scratched in the perfect spot. You feel like your heart might burst right here, right now on the ferris wheel seat. Your lips slot against his like you were made for each other, molded just right. Fireworks go off in your chest, rivaling the display in the sky. When you finally pull away, both of Eddie’s hands are cupping your face, and your hands are fisted in the collar of his shirt. His smile is radiant, the only thing you want to look at for the rest of your life.

Sparks crackle in the sky, quicker now, and you know the show must be ending soon. Your head goes to rest on Eddie’s shoulder as you both watch the bursts of color erupt. They seem to reach out to you, it feels like you could touch them if you stretched your hand out far enough. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. You feel like there’s a million things you could say to each other, but it can wait. The fireworks show pounds and bangs and sizzles to a vibrant close but Eddie’s touch sends its own sparks over your skin, zaps of electricity flowing through you. You feel like you’re floating when the ride finally takes you back down to the ground and you step out of your bench seat, holding Eddie’s hand. He pulls you to him as soon as you’re away from the crowd of people shuffling through the fairgrounds, his hands resting on your lower back.

His lips find yours once more amidst a clash of teeth, both of your smiles too big to stay out of the way. “Eddie, Eddie, wait,” you say, still smiling as you pull away. “What does this make us, then?” you ask, eyes searching his as he holds you in place.

“Well, that depends. Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asks, a boyish grin playing on his lips.

“Well now that depends. Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you counter, your top teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

“It would be an honor to hold that title, sweet girl.” Eddie says, bowing slightly, the dramatics in full swing as usual.

You erupt into giggles, mock-curtsying in response. “Then I would love to be your girlfriend.”

Eddie lifts you off the ground, spinning you before he kisses you again. He feels like it’s just you and him in that moment, his brain blurring out the laughter and conversations from passersby. It’s only when Robin’s gasp shakes you both from the moment that he comes back down to earth. He sets you down, you shyly leaning into his side as your friends look at you, amused and smug at the fact that they were right this entire time.

“Finally,” Nancy smirks.

“Took you long enough,” Jonathan adds, patting Eddie firmly on the back.

“Yeah, yeah, okay everyone. You were right, we get it, blah blah blah,” Eddie rambles. “Now if you’ll excuse us, my girlfriend and I are going to head out for the night I think,” he says, looking down at you with a lovesick grin.

“Ew,” Dustin groans. “I don’t even wanna know what you guys are planning on doing,” he grimaces, Eddie stepping forward to ruffle his hair.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Henderson, I’m gonna take my lady to get some food,” Eddie says, turning around to face you. “That sound good, sweetheart?”

You nod eagerly, taking his hand as he steps back to you, your bear tucked under your other arm. You bid your friends goodbye for the night, laughing at the wolf whistles from Steve and Robin as you walk away hand-in-hand.

“Where are you taking me, handsome?” you ask, swinging your hands as you walk.

“The diner sound good? That’s our usual haunt but, now it’s a real date,” Eddie knocks his shoulder to yours, shyness poking through his boisterous demeanor.

“Sounds perfect,” you say, dropping his hand then. “I’ll race you to the van.”

“Oh, and you’re so gonna lose, baby,” he enunciates the last word, letting it sink into your skin. It catches you off guard just how he wanted it to, and you stand there stricken as you realize how much you like hearing him call you that.

“No way you’re winning now!” Eddie calls, having already started running.

“Hey! You’re a dirty cheater!” you gasp, trying and failing to catch up with him.

Everything feels right with the world as you sprint past children and food stands and bright lights. Your eyes stay focused on the man running ahead of you, like he’s your bright light guiding you. His giggles and taunts can be heard as he throws them over his shoulder at you, and his laughter’s never been more beautiful. It’s just you two against the world now. The way it always should have been. Navigating life with Eddie is your favorite ride, and you laugh wildly as you imagine what’s yet to come.

[btsgotjams27]

this is us ~ jjk | 11

you receive an unexpected call.

✨ title: this is us | (sequel to all grown up) ✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader | ✨ rating: m/18+ | minors dni ✨ genre/au: drama, romance, angst, fluff, smut | est!relationship, age gap, bff's younger brother ✨ playlist ✨ a/n: if you haven’t read the prequel to this, please do so here! :) you can read them here on AO3 & Wattpad

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | next ✨ 12 ~ i do

chapter eleven ~ the call | wc: 7.8k warnings: yuna smacks jungkook upside the head, jungkook hates himself, yuna has an accident, hospitals, oc has a heart-wrenching convo with her mom, oc briefly talks to jungkook's mom (who's the complete opposite of her mom), angst and more tears

One week. One week without Jungkook by your side. It felt weird. Like a massive part of your life had disappeared.

No tattooed arm draped over you. No warm body to snuggle you from behind. No 'I-need-you-at-3-am-sex'. No coffee or breakfast ready to go once you woke up. No late-night ramen talks. You were met with nothing but silence. It's like your world suddenly stopped. The routine you came to know and love, the physical presence of Jungkook--gone.

The week had passed by much slower than anticipated because you didn't know what to do with yourself. Hyunie had gone MIA. Yuna was pregnant and tired all the time. And then you realized that pretty much concluded your circle of friends. Once you passed the age of thirty, honestly, out of college, it was so much harder to make friends. Everyone was always busy doing their own thing, and you didn't care about befriending hundreds of people. You preferred having a few close friends that knew you well and that you could confide in. But once Jungkook was out of the picture (for now), you realized how lonely you were.

Saturdays were laundry days and as you stuffed your clothes in the washer, sitting at the bottom was Jungkook's hoodie. You stared at it, debating if you should wash it because it wouldn't smell like him anymore if you did. So, you opted to leave it alone, and you'd figure out what to do with it later.

While waiting for the laundry, you sat on the couch looking around, seeing traces of you and Jungkook throughout your place. You wondered if it was too early to start taking pictures down. The two of you technically weren't broken up, just on a break - figuring out the next steps. But you couldn't lie, it was hard to see his face scattered through your apartment. You weren't sure what you wanted; all you knew was that you wanted Jungkook, but how could you be with someone who kissed and touched someone that wasn't you?

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, and a notification appeared. A small part of you wanted it to be Jungkook checking up on you because you hadn't heard from him since he left, but you also knew that he was getting ready to go on a trip with Namjoon and Jin, so he probably wouldn't have time.

You picked up your phone and saw it was Yuna, asking how you were doing and if you needed anything. Funny because you should be asking her since she was pregnant, which warranted more concern than a broken heart. This past week, more than usual, she sent you an obscene amount of TikTok videos of silly and funny things, which did help you get your mind off Jungkook for a little bit. You were just happy to laugh again.

You 11:27 AM I'm doing fine. Thanks for checking up on me. I don't need anything, but I know the boys are going on their trip today, so text me if you need ice cream or something lol.

Yuna 11:30 AM We could eat ice cream together if you want. I'll text you whenever they leave so you don't have to see...you know...

You 11:32 AM Thanks for the offer but I might just stay home if that's okay. But please text me if you need anything, 'kay? Love you.

As you set your phone down, another buzz came in. You thought it was Yuna again trying to convince you to hang out, but to your surprise, it was none other than Kenji.

Kenji 11:34 AM Just checking in to see if you've made a decision yet. The clock is ticking. ⌛⌛

Honestly, your show was the last thing on your mind, but you tossed the idea back and forth about working with Kenji. You wondered if you agreed to it if Jungkook would think you were only saying yes to spite him. But in reality, that was hardly the case. Considering what your story was about and Kenji's type of director, he would be the perfect man for the job. He'd be able to push you and the story into something extraordinary. It would be worth it to work with him despite what Jungkook thought.

You 11:40 AM You gonna be on your best behavior if I say yes to you?

Kenji 11:45 AM 😁😁😁 Let's get to work baby!

You 11:47 AM 😑😑😑

Kenji 11:48 AM I promise I'll be good. Don't want your boyfriend to come beat me up.

And there you go again, your eyes beginning to well up at the mention of Jungkook. It didn't take a lot to get you crying these days.

An hour later, the washer began singing its melodious song, letting you know that your laundry finished. You began to unload your clothes, hanging them over the drying rack. You looked at the bottom of the basket once more, picking up the hoodie at the bottom. You held it tight, bringing it to your nose before taking a small sniff. If someone were you catch you right now, they'd probably think you were weird. But the faintest smell of Jungkook still lingered on it. He always preferred softer scents which you grew to love too.

You found yourself practically hugging the black piece of clothing, then undoubtedly, you slipped it on over your head, cozying into the soft cotton. It felt like a warm hug from him. You wonder if he missed you as much as you missed him, and then the thought of Jungkook overwhelms you again.

The rest of the day dragged on as you mindlessly cleaned your apartment, even though it was already spotless. You didn't want to go out because it reminded you that you had no one to go out with.

You crawled into bed at the night's end with Jungkook's hoodie still on. Pathetic, you know, but you couldn't help it. Laying in bed, you scrolled through your phone, looking at his old text messages and pictures. It became a nightly routine once Jungkook left.

You clicked off your screen, groaning at the fact that you were torturing yourself by scrolling through photos. You pressed the side button to check the time, and your lock screen illuminated a picture of you and Jungkook at Yuna's wedding, dancing and smiling like nothing was wrong with the world. This moment captured in time what seemed felt like a lifetime ago. It was as if you were staring at two completely different people. Those two dancing away were happy, maybe even naïve, full of hope and love. The screen darkened, and now it was only a reflection of you, teary-eyed again like you had been all week. You wiped away the tear pooling in the corner of your eyes.

Setting your phone on the table, you turned away, laying on your side, hugging a pillow. Not a minute later, your phone began to ring. Picking up, you didn't recognize the number but figured you should answer anyway in case it was an necessary.

"Hello?"

Namjoon, Jin, and Jungkook planned a guy's weekend trip to Namjoon's parents' cabin. The same place you and Jungkook went with Hyunie, Jimin, and Taehyung.

The dread on Jungkook's face was apparent when he walked through the threshold to his sister's place. He knew she'd beat him if she could. He was packed and ready to go, just stopping to pick up Namjoon and Jin.

Namjoon immediately greeted Jungkook when he came in, telling him he was almost ready. Yuna was on the couch, watching TV, glaring while he sat beside her.

"Jungkookie, can you get the remote for me? I can't reach it." Yuna reached her hand out, but the protruding belly was in her way.

He reached for the remote, handing it to her. But Yuna gestured for him to come to her.

"There's something in your hair," Yuna squinted, tilting her head. She continued to glare at her brother.

His hands reached up, touching his dark locks. "Where?"

"Nope, still there. Come here. I'll help."

Instead of helping, she lightly smacked him upside of his head, earning an 'ow' from him.

"What the hell, Noona?"

"That's for cheating on my best friend," she scowled, crossing her arms. If only she could say what was on her mind, this was mild compared to the things running through it. She had a lot more up her sleeve, but considering you were both hurting, she'd keep some things to herself. If only Jungkook saw the aftermath of when you told her and then when she blew up after telling Namjoon what happened. She clenched her jaw and curled her fist, and with every fiber of her being, trying not to become violent.

He massaged the spot she hit and didn't bother to argue because he knew he needed a good scolding from his big sister.

Yuna's voice became shaky. "How could you do this to her? To your relationship? You guys were doing well, and I thought you were getting ready to propose. What happened?"

She didn't understand what had gone wrong. She thought he was completely head over heels in love with you. But all it took was one person to come back and ruin everything.

After he had spoken to Namjoon and Jin at the housewarming party, he may or may not have started to shop around, looking for rings. He even secretly measured your finger while you were sleeping, trying to get your ring size. Lucky for him, Jungkook got Yuna's opinion on a few different options he had picked out.

Jungkook sat slumped over on the floor next to Yuna, burying his head in the crook of his arm. Yuna felt guilty for hitting her baby brother, but he deserved it. She softly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Jungkook-ah..." Yuna mumbled. He hummed back, not turning to her. "Please fight for her. I can't lose her," she said with a shaky voice.

As much as Yuna disliked your and Jungkook's relationship in the beginning because she didn't want to see her brother get hurt. She overlooked the fact that Jungkook could hurt you too. Her brother would always be around, he's family--so she could never get rid of him, but you...you could easily drift away because it would hurt too much to be around Jungkook. And she wouldn't blame you if you never wanted anything to do with their family again. But the thought of losing you and not going through big life events together pained Yuna. The two of you have been through thick and thin, but she wasn't sure if your friendship could survive this one.

Jungkook finally gazed at his big sister, eyes teary, nostrils flaring rapidly, ready to burst into tears. He'd been crying every day since he left your place. "Noona...I don't--I don't know how to fix this."

The pad of Yuna's thumb wiped away a tear from Jungkook's eyes. "It's going to take time. Give her time."

Time. It was the one thing that Jungkook feared. Time apart could either make the heart grow fonder or make you drift from him. It could make you realize that what you wanted was not him but something better, someone better. He had thrown everything out the window, and for what? A moment of weakness struck him at the worst time. It was one thing he'd never forgive himself for.

"You ready?" Namjoon asked, not realizing the serious moment his wife and brother-in-law were having.

Jungkook quickly wiped away his tears, pretending he was okay with a smile. He stood, ready to head out.

"Jungkookie," Yuna called out, and he turned to her, "Everything's going to be okay."

He was thankful that his sister was hopeful but considering all the shit you've been through with previous boyfriends. He could see why you compared him to them, and he wasn't any better as much as he tried to justify it.

The boys' weekend trip would be better if it weren't for this dark, looming cloud over Jungkook. He didn't know how to fill this gaping hole within himself. He was a mess, unsure of what to do with himself or who he was without you by his side. To distract himself, he worked tirelessly on the project he was in charge of at work, and he played games until he was exhausted and ultimately passed out. It helped somewhat to keep his mind off you, but every night he'd wake up in a cold sweat, wondering where you were, and then the cycle of trying to keep you off his mind repeated.

The cabin was exactly like Jungkook remembered, but spring had sprung instead of light snow piles on trees and the patio. Life was evident here and there throughout the fields the cabin was facing - flowers blooming, birds chirping like nothing was wrong with the world. But not in Jungkook's world - his had turned upside down.

Jin immediately claimed the loft bedroom, which Jungkook didn't mind. There were too many memories of you and him - kissing, touching, fucking, and it was too much for him. Barely there for thirty minutes, and the only thing that consumed his mind was you. Honestly, you were the only thing taking up space in every corner of his mind, body, and soul.

Jungkook walked out to the patio, nursing his beer, watching the sunset color the sky, a beautiful palette of apricot and lilac and marshmallow clouds soft enough to sleep on. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before letting out a shaky one. His heart was burdensome as to what the next steps with you were. He didn't know if there would be any future with you - he sure as hell wouldn't want anything to do with himself after his actions. He broke your trust, lost your respect, and he lost his integrity and sense of dignity. Even he wasn't sure how he would redeem himself.

"Jungkook-ah--" Namjoon broke him out of his thoughts, "Dinner's ready."

The three ate silently, and all sensed the elephant in the room.

Jungkook was tired of the lack of words and patronizing stares, so he set down his chopsticks and glared at the two men at the table. "Spit out whatever you want to say," he huffed, not that he was eager to hear them scold him.

They looked at him, going about eating their food, both unwilling to speak what's on their mind.

"Come on, yell at me. Hit me. Please tell me how stupid I am. Tell me how much I fucked this up," Jungkook declared, nervously tapping the table. He deserved it. He deserved being told he's an asshole. He deserved being told that he wasn't worthy of you.

"You're being a bit dramatic, Jungkook-ah," Jin argued. Although he may have disagreed with how his friend handled things, it didn't warrant a punch to the face, even if he wanted to.

"What about you, huh?" Jungkook directed it to Namjoon. "I'm sure Yuna told you everything."

He sighed, setting his chopsticks aside. "Will us telling you off make you feel better about yourself?" he inquired. Namjoon shook his head, returning to pick up his chopsticks to finish his dinner. He understood that Jungkook was in a tough spot, but Namjoon thought the young man was too hard on himself. Namjoon certainly wasn't excusing his actions but thought Jungkook should be gentle with himself too.

Jungkook shrugged. "Maybe." As if Jungkook wasn't already wallowing in self-pity and deprecation since Alex showed up - he needed more, others telling him how worthless he was.

"Have you thought about why you did what you did? Are there underlying feelings for Alex? Is there something you're not happy with in your relationship with Y/n? Something you want but she can't give you, and maybe that's why you did what you did with Alex?" Namjoon asked, wanting the young man to think about his motives.

"No--I don't even like Alex. She's the worst person I've ever come to know.

"O-kay...then why did you kiss her? Touch her?" Jin asked, confused by the contradiction of his words versus actions.

Jungkook rubbed his face and groaned in frustration. "I DON'T KNOW!" The young man cried out, then apologized for getting upset. "I'm not mad at your questions. I'm mad at myself. I fucking hate myself."

A beat passed before he continued.

"Maybe...maybe it's because I don't have all of Y/n. It's like I do, and I don't at the same time. You know? I feel like I give her all of me, but there are still some parts of her that she's hiding, afraid to share with me. I've been patient in letting her tell me things when she's ready, but sometimes I don't understand why she doesn't trust me with whatever it may be. Am I too young or immature? I've tried to show her that I'm good enough, but...I don't know. Maybe that's why I kissed Alex. Maybe that's why I gave in."

Jin and Namjoon quickly glanced at each other. The two of them discussed this privately in the presence of Yuna after everything went down. They had suspected this was the case. Namjoon knew about your miscarriage and reproductive issues, but he promised his wife he wouldn't tell a soul what he knew.

Jungkook stared at his two friends, probably dismissing him in their heads. "You guys think I'm the scum of the earth, huh?" The younger man implored.

"We didn't say anything," Namjoon said, looking away from Jungkook and at his plate of food.

"You don't have to. Your silence is deafening," Jungkook stated, scooting his chair back, causing a screech against the wooden floors. He stood, walked, and placed his plate in the sink, turning on the water to begin washing his dishes. For some strange reason, Jungkook always found solace in washing dishes. He could mindlessly clean while warm water ran and soapy bubbles on his skin.

Jin and Namjoon cleared their plates and brought them to Jungkook. Jin leaned against the counter, watching the young man beat himself again.

"Hyung, what am I gonna do?" Jungkook asked, hands under the running water, scrubbing away the dirty dishes.

Jin crossed his arms. "Well, what exactly did she say?"

"She said she wanted to take a break. I have no idea what that means or what it entails. Like, can I still call her? See her? Kiss her?"

He shook his head. "You probably shouldn't kiss her no matter how much you want to. You need to give her space to figure things out. She's hurt by the one person she loves, and it will take time to trust you again."

"What if I lose her in the process? What if she never trusts me again?" Jungkook paused, scrubbing the plate to gaze up at Jin. His mind already went to the worst possible scenarios, replaying over and over again this past week - you breaking it off and leaving him, maybe never wanting to speak or see him again. You'd always been a part of his life in some way or another, and a world where the two of you wouldn't collide, made him sick to his stomach.

Jin stood beside his friend, rubbing his shoulders. "Only time will tell."

Again, with 'time.' Jungkook was starting to hate the four-letter word. T-I-M-E. He wishes he could fast forward to when he could be with you again. But he'd wait a lifetime if he had to.

The night had gone by quickly. Jungkook didn't want to spoil the rest of their weekend there, so he figured he should stop pouting and talking about you every chance he got. He was sure everyone was tired of him pouring out his broken heart.

The three of them were heading to bed when Namjoon's phone began buzzing in the pocket of his sweats. He reached in, pulling it out, frowning at the screen. He never answered what looked like spam but picked up anyway.

"Hello?" Namjoon answered. "Yes, this is he." Namjoon's eyes quickly darted to Jin and Jungkook, then to the ground.

The voice on the other line was muffled, and Jin and Jungkook couldn't hear anything.

Namjoon's eyes widened. "What?!" his voice grew louder, "Yes, I'm a few hours away, but I'll have someone come down right now. I'll be there as soon as I can. Thank you."

Jin and Jungkook looked at him with worried eyes. Namjoon hung up and immediately brushed past the two toward the bedroom.

"Hyung, what's going on?" Jungkook asked, chasing after him, and Jin followed closely behind.

"It's Yuna. She fell, and she's going to the hospital. I'm sorry, guys. We gotta go back," Namjoon said, grabbing his bag and franticly searching the room for anything he needed to take.

Jungkook could see Namjoon's hands shaking while holding his duffel bag. "Hyung--Noona's gonna be okay. I promise."

Namjoon nodded at the young man's sentiment. 

"I'll get the car," Jin said before taking off.

"Call Y/n. She can get there the fastest," Jungkook stated.

Namjoon agreed, grabbing his phone to call you.

Walking into the dim, cold hallway, you weren't sure what to expect once you passed through the double doors. The low hum of beeps echoed when you walked the hallway, the heel of your boots softly clicking with every step. You stopped to take a deep breath before walking through the threshold. The first bed in the room was empty, and a divider covered the second. You sat on the chair in front of the bed, staring at the one person who despised you but had to call family.

Hello, is this the daughter of _____ ______?

"Yes, this is she."

This was a call you were not expecting when you picked up.

Your mother has been in an accident, and you were listed as the next of kin. If you could please come to the hospital, we need to sort out some paperwork for her.

"Okay, yes, I'll be there."

You never liked hospitals - they always brought bad memories. The first time was your father's sudden heart attack, which led to his death, then all the personal shit you had to deal with.

You hadn't spoken to her in months. The last conversation took a turn for the worst, and she revealed secrets she'd been keeping for all of your life - a conversation you've been keeping to yourself because you didn't have the heart to tell Yuna or Jungkook. You weren't sure what to do with this secret, so it had become a secret you had buried.

This was the only time you ever saw your mother peaceful when she was sleeping. You watched her, trying to shift into a comfortable position, but her arm sling didn't allow her. She tossed and turned from side to side, finally peering her eyes open to see you sitting in front of her. She didn't say anything but groaned at your presence.

"It's nice to see you too, mother," you said sarcastically.

She tried her best to turn away from you, but the pillow behind her was obstructing her arm, so she could not move it back. You knew she wouldn't ask for help, and she was always stubborn and had to do everything herself. But she needed assistance, so out of the goodness of your heart, you stood by her bedside, removing the second pillow and placing it under her arm to keep it elevated.

"What are you doing here?" your mother asked with malice, turning away from you to peer outside the darkened window.

"The hospital called asking me to come down," you replied. This was the last place you'd expect to see your mother, but given that she was your only "family," you figured you should at least check to see if she was alright, it was the least you could do.

"Well, I'm fine, so you can go. I don't need you."

"Suit yourself. Good luck getting home," you huffed at her comment and shook your head, letting go of the railing on the bed. You spun around, ready to leave her to her demise. If she was going to be a heinous bitch, when you were the product of something you had no control over, then you wanted no part of her life. You'd been fine figuring out everything on your own, so you didn't need her.

You had no problem walking away. She didn't deserve your kindness or sympathy. If she wanted to blame you for everything that happened between her and your father, that was on her, not you. You had no control over the actions of your father or what kind of relationship they had. So you didn't need to put up with any more of her bullshit.

You entered the hallway, ready to never see your mother again, but you stopped in your tracks, fists, and jaws clenched, retracing your steps back towards her room. Your phone buzzed in your bag, breaking you out of your moment of anger. You knitted your brows when you looked at Namjoon's name lighting up on your phone screen. "Namjoon?"

"Hey, Y/n, not sure if you got my texts, but I decided to call you too. Are you at the hospital?"

"I'm here. Why?" You were confused. You didn't tell anyone you were there. Not even Yuna knew.

"Oh, you are! Good. How's Yuna doing?" Namjoon asked with relief in his voice.

Your eyes suddenly widened. "Yuna? What do you mean? Is she okay?"

"You're...not with her?"

You cleared your throat, hesitant to say why you were at the hospital. You paused briefly before answering, "I'm with my mom..."

"Oh, um, Yuna fell, and we're trying to get back to the city, but we can't because some big tree fell, and they're trying to clear it, but I don't know when they'll be done. When you have a chance, can you check up on her?"

"Yes! Of course, I'll finish up with my mom and find out where Yuna is."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're such a lifesaver. I don't know what I'd do without you. I'll call you later to give you our ETA."

There was a weird twinge in your heart when Namjoon said that - don't know what I'd do without you. With everything going on with Jungkook, you realize that if you slowly drift apart from Yuna, you could also lose your friendship with Namjoon and maybe even Jin. You could potentially lose Jungkook, but you could also lose your friends.

"Bye, Joon," you said before ending the call.

You peered at your phone and then at your mother's room. You didn't want to deal with her and would do it later.

"Yuna--babe!" you cried out, rushing to her side, your eyes raking over her, seeing her ankle bandaged up. "What happened?"

"I was clumsy because, hello," she pointed to her belly, "pregnancy has somehow turned me into my clumsy husband. I rolled on my ankle and fell, but I'm fine. Baby's fine too."

You leaned over, pulling her close against your chest. "Geez, you scared me. Us," you emphasized the last part because you were sure Namjoon was losing his mind not being here, which reminded you to call him back before he went ballistic.

"I'm fine," Yuna said, shifting to her previous position. She caressed her baby bump, then tilted her head at you. "How did you get here so fast?"

You flashed her a thin smile, then drew in the chair behind you. "I, uh, my mom is here. She also had an accident."

"Oh my gosh. Is your mom okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine."

"You should go be with her. You must be so worried."

Was this the right time to tell Yuna everything your mom had spilled to you a few months ago? About who your 'real' mother was? Now was as good a time as any. You're not sure why you'd need to keep this from your best friend.

"I have something I need to tell you," you looked up at Yuna, and she had nothing but concern in her eyes, waiting for you to continue. "So, you know how my mom has never shown me any kind of love throughout my life?" Yuna nodded and hummed. "Well, it turns out I'm actually not her daughter, and that's why she hates me so much."

Yuna gasped and covered her mouth. "What? What do you mean?"

"It turns out my dad had an affair with someone early on in their marriage, and it resulted in me," you sighed, "Long story short, my birth mom died, and my dad and mom were stuck with me." You looked at Yuna and could already see the pity in her eyes, which was probably one reason you avoided telling her. Your life was a shit show, so growing up, you preferred being at Yuna and Jungkook's. It was a nice escape from your crappy life.

"Good god--" Yuna huffed. She clenched her jaw, her heart racing. "That doesn't give her the right to treat you like she has. I'm sorry, but she's a despicable human being."

You agreed. Your mother was something alright...she wasn't the best, but what you hated most about yourself because you always tried to put yourself in the other person's shoes - to see their viewpoint. Though you weren't trying to excuse your mother for how she's treated you, you understood to an extent what she must have felt while raising you - having to see the result of her husband's infidelity every single day of her life.

"Don't you dare try to excuse her shitty job as a mom," Yuna cried out. She definitely knew you too well.

"I'm not."

"...how long have you known?"

"For a while now," you said, nervously biting your lip.

"Does Jungkook know?" Yuna probably shouldn't have brought up her baby brother, but she couldn't fathom you bearing this secret all on your own.

You shook your head. There were still plenty of things you needed to tell Jungkook but wondered if there was any need to now.

"Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry you had to go through this by yourself."

"It's fine," you said, feeling bad about how this somehow turned into a show about you when it was Yuna in the hospital.

"No, it's not," Yuna asserted. "I love you, Y/n. You're like a sister to me, and you're family. You've been with me through thick and thin, and I will not forget that. But I need you to promise me something," she said, waiting for you to acknowledge her, which you hummed in response. "I need you to stop holding things back from me, no matter how hard it is. I know you don't like sharing your burdens, but I'll always bear them with you. You never have to walk through it alone."

Your chest began to swell at your best friend's words. You've never wanted to dump your problems on someone else for fear of them being annoyed with you whining and pouting. Maybe it was the lack of parents that made you feel unsafe enough to share yourself with others - fully share yourself.

You could feel your eyes glistening once more. You couldn't help but be such an emotional wreck. As much as you hated crying, you always felt better after doing it.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. After Jungkook and I started seeing each other, maybe even before then, like during your wedding planning, I felt I had lost your trust because I wasn't upfront about liking Jungkook. You probably noticed me not coming to you as much when I had something on my mind. I didn't feel right because I knew I hurt you and didn't know if we could go back to the way things were."

Your sudden confession felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and as you got older, you understood that not all friendships would look like they used to. Did you miss the times you had with Yuna before Jungkook? Yes, but you had good moments with her after Jungkook too.

"I don't want to go back to the way things were," Yuna stated, holding out her hand for yours, "I know I don't say this as much as I should, but Y/n...you don't realize how strong you are. I've never known anyone like you through all the years I've known you. You've been dealt a shitty hand in life, but you always overcome them. You're level-headed, think about your choices very carefully, and are slow to anger, and I know you always have that little voice in your head making you second-guess yourself. Know that your choice will always be the right one for you."

"Are you trying to make me cry right now?" you chuckled, patting the tears running down your cheeks. "Thanks, I needed to hear that."

Yuna laughed. "I love you," she said, squeezing your hand.

You stood beside her bed, leaning over to hug her. "Love you too friend."

The two of you talked for a while longer before Yuna fell asleep. You told her you'd stay until Namjoon came so that he could switch places with you. The TV quietly played in the background, and you mindlessly watched whatever was on - an old episode of a variety show. You softly chuckled at the game they were playing.

"Hi, sweetheart," said a voice from behind.

You looked up to see Yuna and Jungkook's mom. It's been a while since you last saw her, but you always loved their mother, and she felt more like a mother to you than your own. You stood up to bow, but she pulled you in for a hug.

"It's so good to see you, honey," she said before pulling away, getting a good look at you. She cupped your cheeks, and her hands were a bit icy from the cold night. "You get more beautiful every time I see you," she said with a big smile, gently patting your cheek. You mumbled, thanks flashing a thin smile. "How's my baby girl and grandchild?"

"They're both doing good. Just a few bumps, but the doctor said it was nothing to worry about. They'll keep her here for observation for precaution."

"Ah, that's good to hear," she said as she sat in the empty chair next to Yuna's bed. She took Yuna's hand in hers before flicking her eyes to yours. "How are you and Jungkookie?"

Jungkook's mom never opposed your relationship. It was quite the opposite which was a surprise. She supported the two of you one hundred percent. She even told you she would tease Jungkook about his crush on you when he was younger, asking him when he would finally confess his feelings for you. But of course, she wouldn't know about the current state of your relationship because who would've told her? Certainly not Jungkook himself.

You cleared your throat, debating whether to lie or tell her the truth. "We're um...taking a small break from each other right now," you explained, shuffling over to the other side of Yuna's beside.

"Oh, sweetheart," she looked at you with sorrowful eyes. "Do you need me to beat him for you?" she teased with a light chuckle, making you snort.

"I think Yuna already did," you said, staring at your best friend, sleeping peacefully.

"Ah, good, I'm glad someone did it."

"I'll leave you here with her. I have to go see someone."

"Your mother?"

Your eyes perked up, and you nodded. "How did you know?"

"I heard her yelling at a nurse while coming up to see Yuna, and I stopped to see the commotion."

Oh god. Not Jungkook's mother talking to your mother. "I'm sorry if she said anything to you about Jungkook and me."

She shook her head. "You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart."

Your lips thinned, wondering what they could have talked about. Was your mother completely vile like she usually was? You hoped it wasn't the case and your mother would have some respect for Jungkook's mother. They were, in fact, friends once before.

"I'll be back," you smiled at her. You were thankful that you had someone like her who loved you even though you weren't hers.

You took time walking to your mother's room, thinking about what you wanted to say. Honestly, you had a lot you wanted to say, but if she were determined not to be a part of your life, you wouldn't stop her.

You could hear the light chatter and laughter from the TV show resounding as you approached the room. Your mother was watching one of her favorite variety shows. When you were younger, you'd often find yourself sitting next to her, laughing along - it was the only time she'd bear your presence. You walked in, and your mother was sitting, smiling, laughing away at the show until she saw you standing. She acknowledged your presence for a moment before returning to her show.

You took it upon yourself to sit in the chair beside her bed. Nervously, you licked your lips and shuffled in your seat until you found a comfortable position. Your mother stared at you, wondering why you were there.

"I would like it if you took a moment to listen to what I have to say, and then you'll never have to hear from me again, okay?"

She didn't respond, but her eyes returned to the screen in front of her. You sighed, annoyed at her lack of response.

"My whole life, all I ever wanted to do was make you proud," you chuckled, realizing how silly it sounded because it was an impossible feat, "I'm sorry I wasn't the daughter you wanted but the one you were stuck with. If I could go back and change things, I would." She glanced at you briefly. "I'm sorry that you weren't happy in your marriage, and what dad did to you was unfair. If there's one thing I learned from you, it's that you're strong, and I'd like to think that I got that from you," your voice started to become shaky. "I don't know what your life was like before, dad, and I don't know what your life will look like now, but I do hope that you find happiness because you deserve it. You were robbed of a beautiful marriage. You were robbed of having your own child."

A flood of tears began to flush down your cheeks, your hands patting and wiping away at the streams coming down, sniffles growing louder as you continued, "You were robbed of so many things, mother...so, now I understand why it was so hard for you to love me or even like me - it was because I wasn't yours."

You stopped to take a deep breath. Your thoughts overwhelm you and your mother. You could see that she was, in fact, human because of the tears she began wiping away. You'd always known she had a heart. She just built her walls so high and so thick that no one was able to penetrate them.

"Even though you never saw me as yours, you'll always be my mom. You're the only one I've ever known," you cleared your throat and continued through your shaky voice, "I hope life treats you well and that somehow you'll find happiness."

The twinge in your heart grew ten times more prominent by the end of your monologue. You hoped you were able to get everything off your chest. It's certainly been a long time coming. You've spent countless nights reflecting on your life and your mother's and concluded that you had lived your life long enough without her, so her not being involved in it wouldn't make a difference either way. She chose a path of destruction and displeasure, and you sure weren't going to go down the same direction. You wanted a life filled with love, joy, and hope - everything she wasn't.

You rose from your seat, gazing at her once more before heading out the door. You stopped to look back again; she had already turned away from you. You held onto the door entrance, lightly tapping, debating if you should say goodbye, but opted out. You didn't have anything else to say to her. You had made your peace.

You sat in the hospital lobby, thinking about how much you disliked them. They were so dull and sad, and the contrast of hospitals made your stomach twist- filled with sad and happy life events. Someone could give life to a brand new baby on one floor, and then on another floor, someone could be saying goodbye to a loved one.

Peering up from the ground to the commotion echoing before you, you saw Jungkook, Jin, and Namjoon rushing through the sliding double doors. Namjoon hurried in your direction, asking what room Yuna was in. As you told him, he and Jin went together, leaving you and Jungkook alone.

"Hey...." Jungkook softly called to you, making you gaze up at him, "Are you okay?" He searched your face for an answer. He could tell you had been crying, your eyes were puffy, and the tip of your nose was ruby red.

You swiped your finger underneath your runny rose, looking away from Jungkook. "Yeah...'m fine." You were always bad at lying, and Jungkook could always tell.

He sat next to you, his familial warmth filling up the space, and it was a warmth you had missed so much this past week.

"It's good to see you. It just sucks it's under these circumstances," Jungkook said as his hand struggled to see if he should hold yours. He shifted his hand a few times before settling it on his thigh. He wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable with him touching you.

But you helped him, placing your hand on top of his, curling your fingers between his. You could've easily not held his hand, but you were tired of going against the current. Right now, you need to be in the comfort of Jungkook's presence, and you'd sort out your feelings later.

He was taken aback by your gesture, but he didn't resist it. He had missed you so much this week. Jungkook wanted to keep this moment frozen as long as he could.

You glanced at him; your heart was racing a million miles a minute. "Can you do something for me?" He looked back at you, agreeing to your ask. "Can you stand up?"

He was confused by your request but wouldn't refuse you. He stood to his feet, as did you. Jungkook towered over you, which you loved so much. You always felt safe in his arms. The pair of you faced each other, his hand still entangled with yours.

"Can you...hold me?"

Your little chat with your mother shook you to the core. Sitting in the lobby, you realized that you were now truly alone.

Your father - gone.

Your birth mother - gone.

Your 'mother' - practically non-existent.

Jungkook scanned your face again, trying to figure out if this was a test. You looked up, eyes starting to pool with tears.

"Just for a little bit..." you expressed with such sadness.

In all the years that Jungkook has known you, he'd never seen you look so heartbroken - not even when he told you about Alex. This was different, and whatever was going on was more painful than he could ever imagine, something he could probably never fix.

He brought his other hand to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb gently caressing your cheek. You closed your eyes and leaned in without hesitation, a tear streaming down your face. And then, he finally embraced you, holding you as tight as he could - a part of him never wanting to let go because he didn't want to lose you. He wanted to be your person. He wanted to be your everything, be there for you through the good and the bad, and champion and support you for the rest of his life. That's what he wanted. So, he was scared to let go because he didn't know if he'd get to become that for you. He knew whatever the reason for you giving in to him right now, the feeling would eventually pass, and you'd come back to your senses, remembering that the two of you were on a break.

You softly sobbed into his hoodie, letting everything you were holding in go. These past few weeks had been such a rollercoaster of emotions; honestly, you were just so tired of life continuing to shit on you. You weren't sure how much more you could take.

Jungkook quietly shushed you, telling you it'd be okay. "I'll always be here if you need anything, okay?"

His remark made you sob even more, chest heaving, short breaths leaving your mouth, continual snot running from your nose, slowly dripping down to the top of your lip. You turned your head, pressing it against his chest, hearing his heart thump rapidly, and your hands gripped tightly onto the back of his hoodie.

The two of you stood like this in the lobby for a while until you finally settled. Jungkook didn't say anything and didn't ask what was on your mind even though he desperately wanted to. You breathed a big sigh, slightly pulling away, taking his scent along with you.

You nibbled your bottom lip, quickly exploring Jungkook's eyes before landing on his lips. It would be a complete lie to say you weren't tempted to reach up and kiss them. You admit you almost gave into a moment of weakness, but it was time to return to reality and remember that you initiated a break from him.

"I'm--gonna head home."

"I can take you home," Jungkook immediately responded. He was hoping you'd accept his offer but was leaving room in his heart if you denied it.

"I'll just grab a taxi," you flashed a thin smile, "Thanks, Kook," you said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. You quickly pulled away in case you decided to give in and kiss him.

You walked out of the hospital and into the cab, wondering what your future would look like without your mother, you and Jungkook on the rocks, your best friend about to be a mom, and Hyunie nowhere to be found. You felt as though you were aimlessly wandering through life - just surviving, not living. Life around you moves a million miles a minute, but you are frozen in time, watching life pass you. You wondered when it would be your time to shine.

✨ next ~ i do

[rememberwren]

My friend I am so sorry people ruined the fun of writing for you :(

Writing is literally a piece of your soul posted for everyone to enjoy and I will never ever ever understand how someone can look at that and go “yeah I want to rip this writer’s soul to shreds.”

Full disclosure I don’t even GO to the COD fandom but your writing has irrevocably caught me by the throat. All of your pieces (Skin Deep, DOT, Harmless Fun) evoke such different, beautiful, sometimes heart-wrenching emotions, and we need more writers like you!! (In fact, you’re someone I now look up to re: writing style. Emotions are hard for me to get across in a natural, flowy way, so I love re-reading your pieces to really study them/understand how you did it!!!)

That’s really ramble-y! Lmao I’m trying to get better about sending positive messages to my fave writers on this app. And speaking of positive things! Very silly but I’m wearing my most adored pair of patterned socks—mice holding a piece of cheese. They make me smile every time I look down I hope the mental image brings some joy to your day as well :) <3

Saying they hurt me so badly would be to give them way too much credit. I’ve been writing since I was old enough to hold the pencil, a piece gets soured sometimes but the work itself is where the love is.

Cannot believe there’s a human out there looking up to my “skills”, I’m touched. YOU DON’T EVEN GO HERE BUT WE CAUGHT YOU ANYWAY, that sends me, I’m honored to have cast my net out and snagged you 😂🩶

It wasn’t rambling at all, I appreciated every word very much! Thank you for taking the time to share all of this with me, it really is uplifting.

(Especially thrilled to hear about your socks, I’m gonna need a pair of those myself haha)

[dmwrites]

“Well, if you are feeling uneasy about your alliance with your soulmate, why don’t you two go be useful and find the enchanter. You can keep your stuff here, Etho, and we can always get an extra bed. But I have a house to build, and I don’t want you doofuses in the way.” Bdubs stood in the doorway of the white mid-century house, hands on his hips. Etho looked at Impulse and then back at Bdubs, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, if my darling says so, I’m happy to do it.” Impulse chuckled, laid back as ever. He brushed past Bdubs to pick up a few things in the house. Etho grabbed Bdubs’ arm to keep him from following.

“Really? Me and him? Exploring the deep dark? Together?” Etho muttered to him. “Curious choice.” Bdubs said nothing, but wrenched his arm out of Etho’s grasp and walked inside. Etho followed.

“Okay, Etho, you’re on your yellow life, so you especially have to be careful.” Impulse was rushing around the little and messy storage area, pulling various bits out and piling them on the floor. “The warden is attracted to noise, so what we need is just that. Do you think you could make a redstone noise machine in the dark in mere seconds?” He fiddled with a few bits of redstone and put the device on the floor. Bdubs, apparently bored of the conversation, had already walked away, so Etho resigned himself to paying attention.

“Hmm, dunno. In the dark?” If Impulse had to build this machine, it might give Etho a pretty good running head start if the warden came their way. “You better hold on to that stuff. You’re the redstone genius.” Impulse beamed at that. He’s so easy, Etho thought.

All packed for their trip, Etho and Impulse called for Bdubs. The builder emerged, holding two paper sacks. “Alright, don’t laugh, but I made you both some snacks. Good luck on your trip.”

“Thank you Bdubs!” Etho pulled Bdubs into a hug, definitely for too long. But Bdubs hugged him right back, and that was reward enough.

“Etho, I’ll meet you outside, yeah?” Impulse gave Etho a look. “Wanna say goodbye.”

“If you die you’ll both just respawn in your bed. It’s not like we’re going off to war.” Etho muttered, but he went outside to wait, definitely not jealous at all.

“Alright Etho, it’s you and me now, buddy!” Impulse put a hand on his shoulder after a few minutes. “Let’s do this thing!”

Impulse lead the way to the deep dark, all casual chats and silly jokes. Now, Etho decided, would be the perfect time to plant some seeds of doubt.

“You know, it almost seemed like Bdubs wanted you out of the house. Like he’s getting tired of you.” Etho commented, ducking under a mineshaft beam.

Impulse chuckled. “Oh, well, I mean, we’ve been inseparable since we found each other, so I don’t blame him at all. We all need a little me time.” There was no heat in his voice, no insecurities shining in his body language. Impulse spoke with a casual confidence that Etho couldn’t quite call foolish.

“You’ve really been joined at the hip ever since you found out, haven’t you?” Etho asked.

Impulse didn’t answer for a moment, checking his compass and a map he’d brought. “We gotta do some digging, I think.” He muttered more to himself, and pulled out a pickaxe. “Yeah, basically joined at the hip all the time. It’s crazy, I found out he was my soulmate and now whenever he’s far away I feel like part of my heart is missing too. Why, is that not how you and Joel are?” Impulse kept mining down, more concentrated on his task, voice innocent.

Etho felt a thrill of anger at his words. “No, not exactly. It must be different for each pair.” He didn’t mention the red-hot jealousy he felt when Bdubs announced his love for Impulse for the first time, or how much he’d been trying to get Bdubs to run away with him, just like old times.

“I guess that makes sense, explains the whole Cleo-Scott-Pearl-Martyn thing.” Impulse murmured. He mined through a block and a musty wind flew up to ruffle their hair. They had found the ancient city. “Don’t worry, man, you’ll find love one day.”

“Yeah… one day.” Etho muttered.

They decided to eat the snacks from Bdubs before going down into the ancient city. With legs dangling and swinging over a yawning edge, the two sat in the mined-out spot in the cave ceiling and ate. They both got bread and cheese as a snack. Etho noticed a note on top of his food and pulled a torch close to read it.

Come back safe

-Bdubs

Etho smiled and put the note in his pocket. He looked over at Impulse, who also seemed to have a Bdubs note. Etho couldn’t read it from where he sat, but it was a lot longer then his own. Impulse smiled and folded the note up, putting it in his pocket. As he did so, Etho caught sight of the gleam of a golden band on his finger. Wedding ring. Something white hot shot through him.

“So the newlyweds nickname isn’t just in name, huh.” Etho asked, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking. How had he never seen this before? Did Bdubs have a ring on too and he’d never noticed?

Impulse looked down at the ring and smiled. “Yeah, we just kind of said hey might as well, you know. Bdubs keeps his on a chain under his shirt. It seems like almost too much, right? But it works for us. A reminder. Because, like, whatever happens, even if we break up or something-” and here Impulse paused for a moment, looking right at Etho, “it’s a good reminder that it’s not just one person’s life we have to lose.”

“What would you do if he left?” Etho knew he was pushing it, that he should strike in quieter ways, but that look from Impulse was too much, too pointed.

Impulse shrugged. “I don’t like to think about it. I’d like to think that love can last. But if he decides to leave, I guess I’ll just continue to fight for him. Keep him alive. I said I’d love him for better or for worse. And I keep my promises.” Impulse stood up and gathered a few things they’d scattered around. “Now, let’s go sneaking around, shall we?”

Etho wished he could hate Impulse. It would be so much easier to see him as weak and stupid, a hopeless romantic who could do nothing to stop Etho from taking Bdubs from him. Oh, if only it could be that easy. The rest of the trip was a blur, with wardens coming out of the ground and the heady buzz of enchanting in his veins. But Impulse was always there, a steady voice in the darkness. It was comforting, knowing that he was always looking out for him. He helped Etho escape the city with his life intact.

And as Etho walked back to his own home with Joel, a realization hit him. Impulse was brave and smart, a man who loved Bdubs with his whole being. Impulse was probably in that stupid house, kissing Bdubs all over his face to make him smile. They’d probably swap gossipy stories and go to bed in each other’s arms.

And Etho hated him for it.

[kashimos-hajime]

the colour yellow | jjk

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

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

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

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

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

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

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

Cruel. That was the word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He opens the door. 

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

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

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

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

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

So, why can’t you stop this?

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

After Suguru…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren’t even doing that bad. 

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

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

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

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“I’d never do that.”

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

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

“Do it, then.”

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

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

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

“Yes, I do!”

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

“He was nine.”

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

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death. 

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

“Satoru,” you say softly.

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

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour. 

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

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

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

“We all die.”

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

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

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

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

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

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

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

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple. 

Colour theory. 

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

.

He sits on the bench on campus. 

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

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

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

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

“She’s not going to die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

HANAHAKI DISEASE

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

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

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

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

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

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

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

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

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

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

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

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive 

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

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

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

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

  [Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

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

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

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

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

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

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol 

remember how i can teleport 

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine 

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worse?”

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

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

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

He frowned. “Why?”

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

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

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.” 

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me, too.”

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

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

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

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

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

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

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

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what are those triggers?”

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

“That’s reassuring.”

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

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

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it here?” you ask. 

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

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

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tuna mayo.”

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

He wonders…

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

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

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

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

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

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

“Nanami,” he greets.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

Hopefully, it never does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First day knowing Shoko?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

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

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom. 

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

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly. 

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

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

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

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

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

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

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

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

.

You get worse and worse with every visit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did that hurt?”

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

“Does anything?”

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

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

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

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

He said no every time.

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

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

“Do you want my help?”

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

“Hospital bonus.”

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

“Isn’t that a relief?” 

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

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

Not much to miss, to be honest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“…thank you.”

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

So terribly heartbroken.

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

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

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

I’m the Strongest.

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

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

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

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

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

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

Because if so, Satoru understands. 

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

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

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

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

He glances at the clock. 

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

Twenty-seven seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t eat, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

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

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

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

“We should do one of both of us.”

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re… going to miss me… more.” 

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

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

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

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

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

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

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

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

Click. Hiss. 

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

Click. Hiss.

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

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

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

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

Another blink, slower this time.

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

“Alright, give it your best shot.” 

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

ANGRY?

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

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

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

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

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

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

Click. Hiss.

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

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

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

HERE

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

YOU AND ME

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

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

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

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

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

He knows you’re exhausted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hours pass by in torturous years. 

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

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

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

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. 

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here. 

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare. 

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do. 

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead. 

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head. 

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

.

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend. 

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest. 

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free. 

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps. 

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass. 

So he did. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can. 

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too. 

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time. 

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.” 

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you. 

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall. 

 Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls. 

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

 “They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use. 

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival. 

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant. 

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up. 

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm. 

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink. 

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world. 

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world. 

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless. 

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping. 

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page. 

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday. 

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this? 

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die? 

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay? 

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love. 

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough. 

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either. 

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more. 

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same. 

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

.

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.” 

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.” 

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away. 

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love. 

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

[weelittleweasley]

destined for you (d.m.)

prompt requested by @sincerelymalfoy: everyone wanted to find their soulmate. that was except for draco malfoy. in this world, you find your soulmate because you can feel the same physical pain as them. this makes it harder for draco to avoid finding his soulmate.

pairing: draco malfoy x soulmate! fem! reader, friend! ron weasley x friend! reader

warnings: mentions of previous d*mestic ab*se, language, blood (from a nose bleed), burns from an open flame

word count: 5.6k

a/n: this fic mention’s draco’s abusive household at the end. if you find that this might be triggering content for you, please skip it or do not read this fic. take care of yourself please. fanfic is supposed to be enjoyable! so read with caution! all my love in the world, lex

You had heard of it before. Soulmates. Two souls put on this planet who were destined to find each other and spend their existence together harmoniously. Until death do them part. 

It all sounded very romantic to you. Finding someone who had a soul, a spirit that matched yours. Kindred together. Your parents were soulmates and watching their relationship grow and blossom as you grew up was something you had always wanted. A love that continued to grow no matter the circumstances. A love that would guide you, protect you, care for you, and spend its days with you. A soulmate didn’t sound half bad.

Until you realized what that meant.

In order to know that you had met your soulmate, you would have to experience the same physical pains as them. Meaning everything that hurt them, you in turn felt, even though it wasn’t happening to you. The person could be on the other side of the planet, but the universe would still make you feel the same pains as them. It was an annoyance, for sure, but to you, anything that brought you one step closer to them was enough.

You remember exactly where you were when you first experienced your soulmates pain. You were about the age of eight, in your bedroom, reading on the floor, laying on your belly, kicking your legs about happily. That was before you felt a red, hot stinging sensation on your right cheek. Like someone had just slapped you in the face. Confusion washed all over you before you cried out, “Mum!” like any child would when random waves of pain washed over them with no reason why.

In a flash, your mother was in the doorway of your bedroom, asking what happened. You turned your cheek and pointed to it, telling her that it stung and hurt badly. Your mother’s eyes grew wide and she gasped, walking down to her child and touching the sensitive area. “Did you do this to yourself, sweetheart?” she asked, making sure that she wasn’t getting ahead of herself. Your soulmate couldn’t have possibly started showing signs of pain this young. 

You shook your head and looked up at your mother worried about what was happening to you. “Am I gonna be alright, Mum?” you asked, your eight year old head full of worry and fear. This was scary for anyone, especially a child. 

“Yes, darling, you will be quite alright. When you are a little older, your father and I will explain it all to you,” your mother brushed your cheek gently as you relaxed into her warm, maternal touch. She placed a gentle kiss on your hairline before speaking, “This happens to everyone, dear. I know, it’s confusing and can be scary. But it will end with good things, I swear it.”

And you held onto that promise that your mother told you that day on your bedroom floor. From that day on, you continued to feel random spurts of pain. A pinch in the fleshy part of your arm, a slap upside the head, a gut wrenching pain in the your gut, but most often you felt pain in your chest. Less physical pain, but like someone had just broken your heart. It would go away within seconds, but for those few seconds, it felt like someone had told you the worst news of your life, your heart felt hollow. This continued on and on for years but when you turned eleven things changed.

Two weeks before your eleventh birthday, your mother and father had talked to you about soulmates and how you felt their pain no matter where in the world they were. Even more specifically, your parents had given you warning that you might be meeting your soulmate soon. “What do you mean?” you sat in the dining room chair, dropping your fork at the suggestion of meeting your soulmate at the young, ripe age of eleven. 

Your mother looked at your father who gave her a supportive nod. She took a deep breath in before speaking, “(Y/N), honey, you know that you’ll be going to Hogwarts soon. Kids from all over will be going to school with you. One of those kids could very well be your soulmate. I mean, that’s what happened to me and your father,” she tells you as your father grabs your mother’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Whilst you sat at the dinner table, face blank, your mind was running a thousand miles a minute. You were going to turn eleven and all of a sudden you could be meeting your soulmate? You were a child. You should be focusing on school work, meeting new friends, having fun, enjoying this time of your life before it goes by in the blink of an eye. “But I don’t want to. Not yet,” you protest, tears starting to pool in your eyes. “I want to meet them soon, but not now.”

Rising from his chair, your father rushes to your side, not wanting to see his daughter torn over the news that she could be meeting her soulmate. She was supposed to be happy. “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay,” he wipes away your tear, brushing the hair out of your face, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It doesn’t mean you’re definitely going to meeting them. You might. That’s all. What your mother and I are more worried about is you being safe and having fun. That’s all,” he tells you with a reassuring smile. And in that moment, you calmed down and succumbed to a sniffling mess. “Hogwarts is going to be a blast. You’re going to meet so many new people and have so many new adventures, pumpkin. No need to worry about a silly soulmate.”

Your father’s words soothed you, but that was only temporary. When you arrived at Hogwarts, you were too involved in the thrill of things to pay attention to the small pains you would get from your soulmate. Instead, you let yourself wander away with new friends, discovering new parts of the castle and the grounds. Soon enough, finding your soulmate became the last thing on your mind.

But the years started to go by and a lot of your classmates were discovering that they had soulmates within Hogwarts. Students were putting two and two together, realizing the pains they were feeling were similar if not the same as their soulmates. In fact, most soulmate encounters happened in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey. A student came in complaining about a mysterious pain in their leg and low and behold, there was another student laying in a bed with their leg in a cast. Another match.

It came down to a new soulmate announcement happened every few days. You would groan and roll your eyes at the news, but deep down, you secretly wished that your soulmate would reveal themselves soon. Sure, when you first got to Hogwarts, you didn’t want to meet your soulmate because you wanted to focus on making friends and getting used to life at a new school. But now that you were in your sixth year and everyone was starting to find their soulmate, you felt left out. 

You sat in the library, studying quietly by yourself before someone hurls themself in a chair right next to you. “Quick, pretend like we’re having a conversation,” Ron grabs your arm tight and shakes you. You give him a puzzled look before he speaks, “It’s Lavender again.”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you mindlessly start talking about whatever, pretending to be deep in conversation with Ron. Out of your periphery vision, you see Lavender approach the table, but then stomp her foot in frustration before leaving the area you were in and out of the library. Ron sighs in relief and leans back in the chair as you chuckle. “Why can’t you tell her that you’re not soulmates. Is she still on you about that?” you ask him, crossing your arms across your chest.

Ron groans, “Because she makes shit up! Like in Potions! I had burnt my hand on the flame and it hurt and then she pretended like her hand burned too, but it didn’t!”

You continue to tease Ron. “Oh yeah? How do you know it didn’t actually hurt?”

He leans forward on the table and exclaims, “She’s making it up! Because when we were in class last week, she bumped into Katie Bell and she got a nose bleed. And me? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. We are not soulmates, (Y/N)! She’s bloody out of her mind.” You just sit back and laugh at Ron’s hysterics. You did have to admit though, making up pains just so you can be soulmates with someone who didn’t want to be soulmates with you. That was a little strange. “I’m telling you, we need to find our soulmates soon or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

At the mention of finding your soulmate, your heart speeds up and you gulp. You really didn’t want to talk about your soulmate right now. The thought just made you frustrated. The last sign you had gotten from them was about two weeks ago. A deep pain in your side, like something had smashed into it. 

“Have you felt anything recently? Maybe if you tell me, I’ll know of someone who felt it too,” Ron encourages. “Go on now.”

With a groan, you sit up and prop your head up on your hands as Ron waits for you to tell him. “Two weeks ago I had a crippling pain in my side. In the afternoon. Didn’t fade until an hour later,” you reveal to Ron.

He thinks for a moment and then speaks, “Which side? Where in your side? Like your stomach?”

“My left side by my ribcage. Hurt like a bitch,” you suck in, reminiscing the pain that had you curled over in bed as your roommate sat next to you in your bed, rubbing your back, trying to soothe the pain. But there was no use. 

Ron think again before speaking, “I mean...I know it’s a long shot, but I remember someone saying that during quidditch practice someone was sent to Madam Pomfrey’s for an injury. I don’t remember who, but you could probably ask Madam Pomfrey and see if she remembers.”

You shrug, running your fingers through your hair. “I don’t know if it’s worth it, Ron. What am I going to say? Two weeks ago my side hurt and I don’t know who was injured. Do you know who it was? It might be my soulmate,” you tease Ron who rolls his eyes. “When the time is right, I’ll find them.”

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

Another week goes by and it’s another week of no pain. From either you or your soulmate. It was like they were doing everything in their power to prevent themselves from getting hurt. Even a paper cut. Nothing. And it was making you more frustrated then ever, seeing people happily walking in the hallway with their soulmates and yet here you were, soulmate-less and painless walking in the halls by yourself. 

You walk into Potions class with a sigh, not really wanting to be here. You’d rather be hanging out with your friends in the courtyard on this beautiful, warm day rather than being cooped up inside the castle, doing nothing. “You look thrilled to be here,” Cho teases you as you take your usual seat next to her and behind Ron and Harry. “You alright?” she asks as you simply nod, not really feeling like vomiting all your baggage right now. 

Class begins as normal and your assignment was to replicate Girding Potion successfully and quickly. The whole class was at work diligently as you opened vials, reading the ingredients list, dumping them into the cauldron. As you did so, girls around you chit chatted about their soulmates and their pains, taking them as clues as to who it could be. 

The chatter was like a fly in your ear, buzzing around and around and around, driving you towards a meltdown. Sweet Hannah Abbot gushed at how Neville told her that he thought they were soulmates, bringing her two bunches of beautiful, lush flowers. Girls cooed at the story, telling her how lucky she was. Hannah was lucky; having found her soulmate and that being Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts’ sweetheart.

Girls continued to chatter about their soulmate and how close they were to finding them and how excited they were. This only made your blood boil as you angrily tossed things into the cauldron now, fists tightening. “(Y/N), take it easy,” Ron laughs next to you as he watches you angrily toss things into your concoction.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ronald. Is my frustration bothersome? I can’t help it that I’m one of the last people in this school to find their soulmate after relentlessly searching for signs that they’re still alive,” you angrily tear up dragonfly thoraxes, tossing them into the potion as Ron just watches you concerned. “I mean bloody hell, there are fourth years who have found their soulmates and I’m still clueless as if they even go to school here. You’d thing finding one person wouldn’t be so hard, but damn it, Ronald, I’m so exhausted of hearing everyone else’s stories and how happy they are and how in love people are whilst I’m standing here trying to figure out if I still have a soulmate at this point!” you whisper yell at him, growing angrier with every word you utter. “Ugh, whatever I ju-Ow! Fuck!” you hiss as you realize you’ve burnt your hand on the open flame that licks the the cauldron. 

Ron looks at the burn and his eyes widen. “Not again,” he huffs, having been through this before. “Come here, we’ll have to run it under ice water to stop the stinging,” Ron tells you, grabbing an empty cauldron. “Aguamenti,” he casts on the cauldron, filling it up with cold water as you submerge it fully, the stinging sensation subsiding. “Professor Slughorn! (Y/N) seems to have burnt her hand,” Ron calls over Slughorn who is attentive at another work table.

Slughorn turns around and lightly chuckles, “You too, Miss (Y/L/N)? Mr. Malfoy seems to have also burnt his hand. One moment and I’ll be right with you to take a look at the burns.”

Your eyes widen and your heart sinks for a moment. “O-Okay,” you stutter before you turn to Ron who looks at you in disbelief. Draco Malfoy? No. Absolutely not. No way. Not a chance. “It’s a coincidence,” you tell Ron with a shake of your head in disbelief. “Everyone burns their hand in Potions. It happens all the time,” you try to convince yourself as you focus on your hand in the cold water, watching it clench and flex underneath the surface. 

Ron opens up his mouth in protest, but you give him a look as if to say don’t you dare try to rationalize this. Ron sighs. “Whatever you say. It’s your soulmate,” he shrugs with a little smile. 

“Shut up, Ronald, or I’ll tell Lavender,” you warn him and he instantly shuts up.

The thought of Draco Malfoy being the person the universe chose to be your soulmate made you feel physically ill. Draco was nothing you wanted in a soulmate. He was cruel and vindictive and ill-mannered and vicious. He had no care for anyone except if it benefit him in some form. How could you manage to care for someone with a character like that? 

You glanced over at Draco who watched as Professor Slughorn wrapped his badly burned handle in cream colored gauze. The motion of him wrapping the gauze around his hand was almost hypnotizing as you watched it go round and round, your eyes trailing up to Draco’s face. His face was relaxed, but his jaw was clenched and tense, accentuating his bone structure of his face. Slowly, his head turned to face yours, his cold blue eyes meeting yours as you gulped. When he looked at you, your heart thumped against your chest like a drum. Shaking it off, you look back down at your hand, but you can still feel Draco’s eyes on you. 

“If he’s my soulmate, I don’t know what I’ll do,” you whisper down, not daring to make eye contact with Ron. 

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

Another week passed and their was radio silence from your soulmate. Nothing. However, you were kind of glad there was nothing after what happened in Potions class. You wouldn’t let yourself entertain the thought that Draco Malfoy could be your soulmate in some timeline. The more you thought about it, the sicker it made you feel. 

When you passed him in the hall, you refused to look in his direction and him you. The both of you knew what the other way thinking, but wouldn’t dare confront the other about it. It was far too risky to play that game. No need to talk about something if neither one of you wanted it to be true. 

You found yourself hanging out in the courtyard, messing around with a few of your friends as you sat on the grass, absorbing the brilliant spring sun. People chattered amongst themselves, delighted to be surrounded with their friends. As you leaned up against the tree, you chat lightly to Ron, watching other people toss around a ball, others lay around in the grass, some reading books. “Lavender finally off your back?” you ask Ron, giving him a nudge with a smile. 

Ron rolls his eyes, “Bloody finally. It only took forever.” You chuckle before resting your head on his shoulder. “Anything from you? We haven’t talked about it since....you know...” he trails off, not daring to say his name like it was You-Know-Who.

But he was always around. There was no escaping him. There he was, standing in the courtyard, surrounded by his little bitch boy posse as you sneered, “No. And I’m not even entertaining the thought that it’s him. He’s horrid.” 

Ron chuckled lightly, giving your arm a squeeze. “Alright, let’s get your mind off of him. Did you do the DaDa homework? Because I certainly did not and Hermione told me she won’t let me use hers again ‘cause I used hers last week.”

The two of you keep chatting for a little while until you feel a sharp pain in your left side, like the one you had all those weeks ago. “Ah,” you wince in pain as you hands meet you left side, clutching it in pain, writhing. “Not again.”

Ron turns and faces you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You alright? What do you mean not again?” he asks, searching your eyes for some clarity. “You need a medic? Someone? Hannah? Come over here!” Ron calls out to Hannah Abbot who lays on the ground, head in Neville’s lap. She shoots straight up to meet you at your side, asking you what the problem was.

“It’s fine. This happened a few weeks ago. You can ask my roommate about it. I think it’s my soulmate actually. They hurt themselves badly and it seems like, ah shit, they’ve done it again,” you seethe in pain as you clutch onto your side, electricity shooting up and down your sides. 

Hannah looks at you and grabs your shoulders, trying to get you to stop contorting your body. “Don’t move, it’ll only make the pain worse, alright?” she tells you. “The pain should subside if it’s only your soulmate’s pain and not yours directly. That being said, you have any clue who your soulmate is? Are they at Hogwarts? ‘Cause if they are here, we can get them help which will ultimately help you,” Hannah explains.

And that’s when the moment you dreaded finally came. You gulp, your chest heaving up and down from the pain as you look up through your eyelashes to look across the courtyard. And low and below, there he was. Clutching onto his side, wincing in pain as he threw an arm over Blaise Zabini’s shoulder, using him as a crutch. 

From the distance, you hear him speak, “I’m fine. Honestly. I think I reopened whatever injury I got from that quidditch practice a few weeks ago. I’m alright, Blaise, honestly, no need to fuckin’ baby me.” Draco untangles himself from Blaise as brushes off his shirt while still wincing lightly at the pain.

Your heart sinks into your feet and all of a sudden you feel lightheaded. So the day in Potions class was real. Draco didn’t coincidentally burn his hand too. He felt your burn because you were soulmates. You felt his rib injury because you were soulmates. Draco Malfoy was destined to be yours. 

“I’ve got to go. Now,” you try and scramble to your feet, pushing through the burning pain up and down your ribcage, ignoring Ron and Hannah’s protests that you needed to take it easy. “The pain is gone. I’m fine. I need to go,” you simply call out, walking away from the group in the courtyard.

You were on a mission now and you were going to put an end to this. Once and for all. Without further hesitation, you grab your bag and start marching over to the other side of the courtyard to where Draco was. As you do so, he notices you approaching and starts to leave the courtyard, trying to prevent you and him having some sort of interaction. “God Godric, really, Malfoy?” you huff out to yourself, knowing that if this was the way he was reacting to the news, the future didn’t look too bright.

Draco starts to march through the corridors as you are quick on his heels, chasing him like a predator chases its prey in the wild. Draco turns to see if you are still on his toes and much to his dismay, you are right behind him. “Malfoy, would you stop running away from me? We need to have a conversation!”

He scoffs, “No, you want to have a conversation. I would like to go back to the common room and take a load off.”

You groan out in frustration before taking up a light jog and grabbing a hold of his wrist, pulling him into an empty classroom. Before he can squirm away, you shut the door and put your back against it, preventing him from going anywhere. 

The two of you just stand there, glaring at each other, both gravely disappointed with the reality that just slapped you both in the face. No one says anything for a moment. You two are just breathing, heavy and hot in the room, a few feet separating the two of you. Neither one of you dared to take a step closer to the other. 

“What’s the problem, (Y/L/N)?” Draco tucks his hands into his pockets, playing the fool. Pretending he isn’t bothered by this information that your souls were made for each other. He was trying to play it cool whilst inside his mind was screaming and shouting, how could this have happened? Someone like you with someone like him. The universe had to have made a mistake.

Oh, Malfoy, you fool. The universe doesn’t make mistakes.

Your chest is still heaving up and down as you speak, “We’re soulmates, Draco.”

He shakes his head, “Sure. Whatever that means. Congratulations, we did it. Go us. Now can you kindly move your arse out of the way so I can go relax in peace?”

“No!” you exclaim, firmly planted at the door, glaring at him. “Listen, I’m just as unhappy as you are with this outcome!” you reveal as Draco gulps with a scowl on his face. “But the universe chose us as soulmates for some reason and I’m going to listen to the universe. We both can’t ignore it anymore.” 

Draco looks away from you, refusing to look you in the eyes. For some reason, looking at you in the eyes was too much for him. It felt like you were looking into his soul, you knew all of his secrets with just a gaze into those iceberg eyes of his. 

“That day in Potions, you didn’t burn your hand...” you gently coax him. “That was my burn that you felt.”

“So what! We both burned our hands in Potions! That doesn’t make us any more or less soulmates!” he explodes in fury.

His sudden change in demeanor makes you change tactics. You knew that this conversation would be hard to have with Draco, but not like this. You didn’t think he would succumb to acting like a child at this news. Finding your soulmate should be something to celebrate, to rejoice about, but instead it was an uphill battle. But one you intended to win.

“Alright then, you want to ignore Potions. Fine! What about your rib cage? Four weeks ago, I was writhing in pain on my bed one afternoon for hours from the pain. Ron told me that a quidditch player got injured during timed trials. He didn’t know who. So, today, I feel the same pain in my side in the courtyard, just to look up at see you writhing in pain in your side. You were the quidditch player, Draco. And don’t you dare lie to me and say it was someone else. Because we both know damn well that neither of us deserve to be lied to again!” you exclaim, hot tears now brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill out. 

Draco hears the emotion in your voice and watches your soft face crack to reveal a truly sad person. His eyes soften and he gulps, feeling horribly guilty. But he doesn’t let you know it. 

“When I was younger,” you sniffle, “I always wanted to meet my soulmate. I felt so badly for them because I always felt their pain. And my soulmate was always hurting. In his body, yes, but in his heart,” you try to reason with him. “I told my mum and dad that when I met my soulmate I would give them a hug because I didn’t want them to feel anymore pain. I wanted them to feel loved.” Your eyes search Draco’s for some glimmer of hope. You weren’t expecting a proclamation of love or realization. You were looking for hope. “We were destined for each other.”

Draco takes a deep breath in before speaking, “We may be destined for each other, (Y/N). But I don’t think we can ever love each other.”

His words leave you blank. That was the best way to describe the way you felt. You weren’t surprised he would say that, but you were shocked that he had actually done it. His sad smile means nothing to you; in fact, it feels like he just twisted the knife that was in your gut.

He manages to slip out of the classroom, leaving you there, numb and blank.

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

You didn’t sleep that night. It was nearly impossible to sleep. The scene just kept playing on and on and on in your head until it became a broken movie reel. Your mind screamed to close your eyes and sleep, but your memories manifested themselves into a sick nightmare as you jolted awake, heart pounding. 

Your roommates were still fast asleep as you peaked a look at your clock. 2:22am. Angel number now? Great. Well, where were you hours ago? 

Slowly, you toss your legs over the side of the bed and grab a sweatshirt and slippers, pulling the cozy material closer to your chilly body. Quietly, you descend the steps of your dormitory and away into the castle to go for a midnight stroll, hoping that you would be caught by the Head Boy or Girl or any other prefect that roamed the halls patrolling them from midnight stragglers. 

The halls of Hogwarts were quiet. But not in a scary way. In a comforting way. The pictures on the walls slept gently, small snores coming from a few pictures making a small smile draw its way onto your lips as you shuffles the halls. The air was cool and crisp as you breathed it in, the sensation cooling your lungs as you sighed. This was much needed after a day like today.

As you stroll further through the castle, you come across the courtyard again and you gulp. The scene plays over and over in your head. “We may be destined for each other, (Y/N). But I don’t think we can ever love each other.” His words were a sick mantra in your mind. How could you possibly spend the rest of your life with someone who didn’t even want to put in an ounce of effort? You were supposed to be loved. Give love. Get love. But instead, you ended up with a shattered daydream of what things could have been. 

You peel your eyes away from the courtyard and to the corridor where on the edge of the wall sits who you wanted to see least of all right now. Your heart stops at the sight of his white blonde hair, sloppily slicked back. His eyes were dark and tired. He couldn’t sleep either. 

Maybe you could slip away without him knowing you were even there. Maybe if you turned around you coul-

“My father was ruthless to me as a child,” Draco speaks up without looking at you. You stop in your tracks and listen. Slowly, he turns to face you and gives you a sad smile. “Still is, to an extent. Not as physically ruthless, but...you get the idea,” he confesses as you sigh and walk over to him, taking a seat beside him on the cold brick, leaning your back against the wall.

Draco gulps and settles before continuing on. “I was always worried. That whenever he would make me feel hurt, my soulmate would feel it. My mother tried to tell me that they would be just fine, but I knew....I knew that she was lying to protect me. Protect me from whatever it was,” he trails off, becoming quiet. In the dark, you couldn’t really tell, but you knew he was softly crying, tears falling down from the pools of blue in his eyes. “I’m so sorry that you had to feel what I felt growing up...he’s a monster. My own father...”

You scoot over closer to Draco and shake your head. None of this was his fault. “Draco, you don’t need to apologize to me. Your father is despicable and you are not him,” you tell him as Draco wipes his tears before you could see them. He didn’t want to cry in front of you yet. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that all those years.”

He shakes his head, “You know, for years, I tried to convince myself that I didn’t have a soulmate,” he lightly laughs. “That way, I only had to protect myself. It was selfish of me. But...obviously, that didn’t work out. I would feel your pain too. I remember one day in third year, something had happened to you. You were running and you fell and you broke your arm. I remember yelling out in pain in the common room and Goyle looked at me like I had ten heads,” he laughs as you joined him, smiling at the memory. He was right. You were running with Ron when you had tripped and fallen in Hogsmeade and broke your right arm. “I remember you came back with a bright orange cast and everyone signed it in Divinations class. You told everyone Madam Pomfrey said you didn’t need a cast because of the Healing Potion, but you insisted on getting one because you had one when you were eight. I remember I thought you looked cute smiling and giggling as people wrote their get wells on your broken arm.”

The smile that appears on your face is wide as your heart gently flutters as he remembered all the tiny details of when you broke your arm. Draco knew for so long that you were soulmates and yet, you were so dead clueless. 

“I didn’t want to tell you that we were soulmates because I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” Draco confesses. “I guess I’m a bit too late on that one, eh?”

You shake your head and sigh, “No, Draco. I mean, do I think you’re a down right dickhead? Absolutely.” He laughs. “But I don’t think it’s too late for you to start trying to act differently. If you can remember me breaking my arm in third year and remember what color the bloody cast was...I think you can work on being a better person. Not for me. But for you.”

Draco inhales deeply before shaking his head, exhaling. “I want to be better. For me, but I want to be what you deserve. If we’re going to...do this, I want to do it right. And if, by some fucked up reason,” he laughs as you chuckle, “it doesn’t work, then at least we know that we tried.”

You feel his hand grab yours as he intertwines his fingers with yours. You look down at his hands and smile, giving it a soft squeeze, assuring him that his proposal sounded like a plan. You were going to give this a go.

If the universe believed in you and Draco, why shouldn’t you?

“That’s all I can ask for,” you whispered gently.

“And I promise I’m going to do more than you ask for. I swear on my life.”

------

taglist: @lumos-barnes @kerie-prince @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @another-lonely-heart-blog @starlightweasley @shilohpug​

[muffindaddystyles]

SERENDIPITY.

(n), beautiful accidents turning out in beautiful journeys.

Nothing to explain, just Vampire!harry.

Smut, Smut and Smut.

Masterlist , Let's talk about more vampire H!

Author's Note: This's me just testing waters with my fantasy writing skills. It got deleted at first and I had to write everything again with fat sad tears. Tried my best hope ya'll like it. Reblogs are always appreciated and I kinda deserve it for this one *sheepishly*

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back.

Or

Y/N interrupts Harry amidst his meal and ends up him clinging to her.

Kittens. One hell of the beasty creatures they're. You'd give them your heart but they'll prefer their two hours sleep over it. Such type of beasty wee landed Y/N into such situation. She's been searching for Meowsie her cat for fifteen minutes now when she heard a feeble cry of an animal. The tall trees with it's roots snatching at soil - the moon at it's peek. Gasping she crouches down for the rescue of a deer with it's fur wrenched in blood. 

When she does so her eyes struck at the sleekness of a pair of loafers stubbing yellow leaves under it. A groan of annoyance whirling in air and gulping she rakes her eyes to find a tall, swiney man staring down at her in offence like she disturbed him. 

He's gorgeous. Features that of greek sculpture with silk kissing it, eyes –well she can't figure them out in her fear. "Who're ye'!?" He snarls and she toppled back on her bum with a squeak, "Aish. should be asking you the same." She shuts her eyelids. He thinks she's very stupid for leisuring in an abnomished forest at this hour of night when every creature's ready to strangle her alive. 

"Who're you?" She emphasizes each word grabbing the broken branch and pointing it towards him mustering some courage not letting her brave cascade waver. 

His first instinct was to say that he's vegan. But, why should he when he's not. He doesn't like lying. 

He steps from under the shadows of trees rims glimmering under the beautiful moonlight, "Could be anythin' ye'r little brain's been thinkin' of." He smirks towering her and scrambles back. Her facial expressions blown out more from the fright he's causing. 

Poor little thing. 

Before, he could fill in her curiosity his prey escapes into darkness gaining his attention. He growls throwing his head at his shoulders — Harry isn't that of tantrum throwing person (a practice of one hundred year has taught him that bitterness brings you nothing) but he's been devastatingly hungry and the feeding clubs grossed him out. 

The smell of grinding bodies, sweat and the combination of different human's blood makes him sick to core rubbing his appetite away. He's bored of them. 

Her sweet glazing auroma calls him to trap her and take a succulent bite out of her but before that she benefited the opportunity running away from him exiting the dark forest only to find Meowsie snuggling inside her bed. 

"You batty creature!" She huffs, "No wonder I'd be found – dead one day because of you." 

With whoever; she bumped in the forest wasn't human at all Y/N thinks. 

.                                  .                                .

She's been fighting her sweet tooth for so long but it's not helping her. She muttered a fuck it before lecturing Meowsie, "No sneaking." When Meowsie meowed bobbing her head she cheered, "Good baby." Like a proud momma. 

It was success. Reaching the nearest store and buying the oreo yogurt to savour it immediately. When she strolled outside gloomy vibe hit her causing her nerves to shudder winter chillness freezing her toes.

The cup hits the pavement and she emits a loud scream as a brutal force rams her in a brick wall. 

A groan of pain rumbling in her chest and she shuts her eyes as a shadowy demon creeps up her calves agonisingly trying to pop her in two. 

Counting on her death when it screeches in horrifying noises being ripped into bits and pieces mercilessly. When she squints her eyes open she finds the mossy jade eyes peering down at her more pissed than he was in the forest, "do ya humans don't sleep at night? Or are ye' a mouse that steals good-ys at night?" He traps her head with his hands on either side of wall and she grumbles at his insult of calling her human. But isn't it what she is? A human? 

"I -- don't be mean." She pouts hissing at the dull ache in her legs and he sighs voice getting gentler, "Can ye' walk?" When she nods he scoffs with a thick accent lips quirking and nose scrunching. He wanted to leave her at it but the scared look on her tightened his chest and he felt his responsibility to walk her home safe and invest if she got hurt. 

"No you can't!" He winds his arms around her encouraging her to put all of her weight on his side as he walks her. "Who're you. And how did ya do that?" She asks with a timid voice. He doesn't want to scare her away but the truth's he's been keeping an eye on her for days. Muttering a curse to himself whenever she'd have her nightly visits without a care for herself. Silly human. 

"Harry." He replies without a care and if it wouldn't be for the pain she's feeling she'd have never let him inside her home. "I can't even eat my yogurt in peace 'cos of you Harry." She reproaches as he sits her on sofa taking her ankles and putting them over his knees. 

[That's how I felt when you interrupted my meal you little pesty thing he wanted to mutter but held back.] 

Taking out the potion Nana gave him that heals painful scars. 

"It'll hurt a bit little mouse." He murmurs pulling out the cork of bubble shaped bottle she flinches, "Don't call me that!" Staring at the way her ripened gnashes disappears in beautiful spirals. "Then stop acting like a coward-y mouse." He stands up looking down at her slumpy with sleep. He shushed her, "'s okay. . ." with each dab feeling sorry for exposing her to his world and now the demon who was manifested without a precise spell thought they're co-related kept lingering around her and well he couldn't leave such an innocent girl to be harmed by evils.

"Not gonna tuck ye' in bed, now." He stands up chin doubling raising his hands in defence albeit he's privy for such actions. Too domestically affectionate for him. 

"Please." She doesn't want to be here on uncomfortable sofa and wants to snuggle inside her blankets. "Fine." He rolls his eyes not giving heed to the angelic details of her home for that it'll create a soft spot in his heart for her. 

His body swimming in her scent once stepping inside her room and he tucks her under quilts grabbing Meowsie akwardly and putting her beside Y/N so she could cuddle with her. He stares her for time and Y/N doesn't hear door shutting and he's out of her bleary vision in a tick 

.                                  .                           . 

White swarms over the crimson in hues with yummy smell spreading everywhere along with the waves of Y/N melodic hum. Meowsie tries to rip the muffin batter and Y/N smacks her paw away ending up having a standoff stare competition with her in the kitchen. 

She literally heard her saying mean mommy. 

Y/N thoughts are all over the place. All she could think of is his's stupid beautiful face and they way his gentle touch made her feel floffy from muscles. He shouldn't pesk her like that. The white chocolate chip pops and she was about to see if they were done when a rasp crawled in her ear making her jump and causing the pyrx bowl to hit the oak counter, "Been thinkin' of meh, lil mouse?" 

"What the fuck. Harry!" She spins sending him into fits of laughter with squeaky scream.

"Not funny. Don't you guys not go somewhere unless invited?" She gasps putting her hand atop her heart and Harry's eyes follows her commotion, "'course we do. Got some manners 'n shite." He scoffs with cupid bow quirked up and nose scrunched. 

"Then where are your manners now?" He smirks at that leaning at her level, "You manifested me s' hard it broke rules." Heat splashes on her cheeks and she notices the intricate details of his features finding them dull and sick than his prior glow. She gasps in shock taking his hands leading him to sofa and sitting him with a push to his shoulders. 

"God. You look terrible what happened?" He gives out a smile at her care throwing his head into headboard cushions, as she scrambles back to kitchen to take out muffins from oven she asks worriedly proper concerned for his health, "Would you like something?" 

A warm mug of delicious bubbling blood thank you very much.

He wanted to mutter but his throat went dry from the headache making him all dizzy. He's been death starving for days now cause his appetite seems to vanish and tongue wouldn't accept any kind of blood since the day he smelled the gush of crimson running inside her veins. 

"Can I bite you?" He regrets the moment it slipped from his tongue. Y/N doesn't seem to mind instead mulls about it for a moment putting two warm hot cocoa milk and red velvet muffins on the lil coffee table. 

"Will it keep you alive?" When Harry closed his eyes in gentle affirmation she cranes her neck to side like she has seen in many movies. "Okay. Go then." He smiles weakly taking her fingers ever so tenderly in his hold and ushering her in his lap. 

"If you wouldn't mind — it'll be more comfortable like this. ." She just nods knees bended on either side of his thighs and his mouth waters at her appetizing sweet smell. He rakes his nose along the curve of her neck swearing that she's made of puddle of how soft her skin's. His senses wrecking havoc as his fangs glistens at the surface grazing against the barrier of her sensitive spot. 

"Aa-a!" She cries out and He pulls her back anxiously brows kinking, "Didn't even bit yet." 

"Surprised is all." She confesses shyly and Harry shakes his head with a silly smile letting her fist the hem of his shirt tight as he wrapped his arm around her waist smushing her closer to him and keeping her head in one place stopping her from squirming..

"Ticklish baby mouse ye're." Saying this he pushes his fangs into her flesh and she created a mousey noise head lulling. He gives out a moan-y growl at the taste of first droplet hitting his tongue. He doesn't think he could stop from now on. She tastes like the nectar birds of heaven could feed on. 

His body coming to life. Inners feeling fresh as ever again. 

She feels float-y. Like taking a nap over clouds and letting the zephyr cocoon her and she stuffs her face in the crook of his neck breathing him happily with a loopy smile.

This's oddly satisfying and calming. He wants to take care of her. She's a beacon he always wants to keep protected from the storm. He gasps feeling himself nourished all over again after days of starvation. Lapping at the shiny drops of what's left making her giggle and he could easily recognize that smell. Of her arousal. 

She's all worked up in his embrace snuggling closer to him. He has been in this position with many people before but once they serve his purpose they'd been walked away to take care of.

"Don't go lost on me little mouse y'need to eat somethin'." He settles her over his thigh taking the mug and muffins. 

Tearing it in two and bringing it to her mouth as she lays her head against his shoulder. He sighs happily feeling full as she nibbled slowly, "Thank you." He wipes the crumbs from the corner of her lips feeling the petalness of them and wondering what he shouldn't be wondering at all. "'S okay." She quips with cracky voice making Harry chuckle and sipping onto his own warm milk.

.                                  .                               .

Harry didn't know a human could attract him like a magnet to metal. She manifested him once and now he's always at her cosy home, he likes the radiance of sunshine that promises from her presence. They watch movies till the clock doesn't strike six in the morning, have secret rendezvous hidden from the eye of normal people at the places Y/N has never been, he has his weekly bites from her and in return brings her every Oscar Wilde's books from his shelf. 

Biting her's the most pleasing yet excruciating part because the way she melts like a honey over him like she depends on him and the sweet smell of her wetness that billows in the room makes Harry gripe at her sides, sometimes drinking more than her petite body could handle. He feels awful after that. 

Cuddles her to sleep and makes the walnut pie he learned from his Nana which apparently is a witch (she isn't actually his grandma — he has long forgotten about his real family). 

Harry took her to the vampires museum and when her marshmallow lips baubled in astonishment at the wings of Angels displaying on the burgundy wall. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist the whole time eyeing anyone that would look towards her weirdly (humans aren't allowed at vampire premises, but who dares to point a finger at Harry? No one.) One of the reasons he hugged her in a smushing coddling suffocating way to lather his scent all over her leaving her flustered and confused. Y/N has finally met someone that shares the same sleeping schedule as her insomniac ass. "We better leave before they hang me angel here too." His breath was hot against her neck running shivers down her spine. 

His words carrying amiability and seductivity causing Y/N to gape at him. Did he just call her his Angel? He definitely did. Annoying leech that's fucking up with Y/N's emotions. 

They didn't talk about it at all after that. 

Harry did with Nana. Freaking out to her how his emotions are always spiraling for her. That he wants her all to himself. Wants to feel her in ways that's beyond just the touch. Nana just laughed it off and made him eat his coconut pie. He almost choked on his bite. Adam apple bobbing in pain when she cleared to him – that; The they indeed have bonded to eachother. 

Her blood runs inside him. His marks are on the most precious spot of her body. Where lovers claim their affection — how could he not feel like that towards her? She's sure that Y/N also feels the same for Harry. 

Harry was getting done with some cluster of work when a stab of pain invaded his whole body prickling uncomfortably against his skin. Something's up. He could feel in his bones that his little mouse's not okay. When he goes her home he's met by pure silence making him more anxious than he already is.

He picks Meowsie from the floor rubbing her crown as he steps inside her bedroom. She's layered under many fold blankets in her bed shrinked into a pea and her head perks up when Harry's voice reaches her, "Angel. . ." She throws everything aside tackling him to mattress making him squeak.

He smiles petting her hair as she purrs against his chest fisting the hem of his shirt tightly. "One of those days?" He asks genuinely not stopping his gentle action and she bobs her head  vigorously bottom lip wobbling, "Oh my little mouse – c'mere what happened?" His gaze flitting between her's as he cups her cheeks squishing them adorably. 

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back, "Then can I bite you?" She just wants to distract herself from the unbearable headche of her history course. 

He chuckles breathily at that sighing because could he say no to her? No. He smiles down at her dimples denting in his cheeks, "Kay. Go then." She stuffs her face in the dip of his neck sniffing the marbled beach fragrance of him that of summers I'm December's cosiness. Her teeth grazing at the curve of his pale skin and Harry closes his eyes in anticipation. He feels intimidated by this little human being like no other. His little human.

Her teeth grazing against his cold skin and Harry almost whined letting a moan slip his eyes rolling back into his sockets as she bites him. His hands on her ass twitching to grope at the flesh when his cock stirred with her heat leaking against it. She creates sweet filthy noises succling the mark and "Enough." Harry cleared his throat and the haze in his head bounding her wrists between them pulling pulling her away looking at her sternly when she whines. 

"Baby. . talk to me." He caresses her cheek with his knuckles but she ignores his words floating in her all headspace staring the mark she created. Tracing the beautiful hue of love bite with her fingers, "How did it feel?" Harry's eyes flutter with charming smile as he kissed the hand which's not busy memorizing him. 

"Like a lil mouse ticklin'" She leans at that kissing her work of art, giving wet little sweet kisses up his jaw palms running down his midriff as she whispered. 

"This?" Her hips stuttering with his swell sitting delicious between her panty clad pussy lips, she peers up at him from her under her lashes as her lips rested against the corner of his pillowy full mouth. 

"And this?" Test of his patience. "Like I've never felt before." Saying. He smudges his lips against her's in a succulent, sweet and affectionate kiss. Lapping tenderly with his pink wet tongue at her mouth to deepen the kiss squishing her cheeks in the process. Swallowing her whimpers and whines down his throat like she's most precious. She humps his bulging cock with erotic swivels of her hips and Harry griped at her sides to leave blue blemishes in some hours.

He closes his eyes still smiling foolishly resting his temple against her's – noses doing eskimo kisses. 

"Can we talk now, what's disturbing my angel?" He tucks her hair back kissing her forehead and she bobs her head embarrassed at her tantrums. "It's silly. 'M gonna fail my history exam." His eyes twinkle, "Just havocin' your brain for this?" 

"No worries. I gotcha."

. . .

This's how they ended up like this surrounded by notes and papers. Harry complaining with an unbelievable scuff, "What do they teach ye' kids now days? That didn't happen at all in history." Still ending up helping her with learning which ended up him giving her his slender fingers fucking her with them to let her work for her reward.

"No pet. Wrong answer." He tutted eyes still on the quiz card and it's the sight for sore eyes. She cramps her thighs around his wrist and he curled his fingers rubbing her walls in return as a warning, "Come on lil mouse ye' right there." He leans from the edge of his chair to snatch a chaste kiss from her parted ones.

"189-5?" She mewls not sure of her answer and Harry again pressed his lips against her's murmuring against them driving a third finger inside her and rubbing her clit in circles with his thumb, "such an intelligent girl. doin' s' good fo' me – wanna cum?" He bites at her earlobe gripping the quiz cards tightly.

"Yes. Please‐" He cuts her off taking his digits out making her whine and squirm loudly. Sage coloured panties clearly drenched in her slickness as Harry licks her sweet juices like a hungry kitten from his fingers wrapping his magenta lips till his knuckles — if it's a lollipop humming around them vulgarly.

"Harry No!" She huffs making grabby hands at him and he squeezes her bossom thigh to push her down, "Harry yes. Now -- tell me babe where Buddhism originated from?" He wets the pad of his thumb nonchalantly eyeing her playfully and Y/N just wants to kiss that pink pretty tongue as he turned the page around.

She grabs his hand moving them closer to her swollen pussy head falling at his mere graze, "Please." He gives love nibbles at her cheek flickering her clit to tease her.

"What baby?" He murmurs gliding them up and down her slit causing her to rock her pelvis against his touch his freezing fingers adding upto sensation. "Want your fingers." She gasped breathily because before her request Harry was stuffing her back with his fingers massaging the sweet shell of her g-spot.

Her tummy coiling with pleasure and she threw her arms around his neck parted lips pressing against his throat, "Last quiz and then ye' can come all over me fingers." He tells her pinching her thighs. His cock weeping in his pants. The world around them deafening to glitter noises and Harry puts his chin atop her shoulder raising the card infront of her shoulder as she thrashed in his arms.

It was for his last criss-cross of swipe when she gushed all over him with noises that stroked Harry's ego and this time he gave her a hickey coaxing her orgasm from her high, "Hmh. S' warm I could stay inside ye' forever." A sugary smooching voice echoes in room when he kissed the spot between her ear and neck.

Y/N thinks Harry has successfully made a nest in her heart.

. . .

They were flopped over quilts in her bed moon glowing happily in love with them together and Y/N turned in his arms admiring each glimmer of his skin with an awestruck puppy eyes, "You're such an Angel. . .so pretty." He chuckles softly bringing her closer to her chest to hear her heartbeats.

"People think otherwise my mouse." He gives out a 'oof' sound giggling when she climbed up his torso heels of palms pressing against his pecks. "You're for me resting in the depths of ye'r skin — that went through love and sorrows, nourishment and pains until god decided you were meant to be mine. . ." She sucks in a breath cupping his beautiful face to lull it side to side. Harry could bite her whole made of petals and honeycomb she is. He stares her zoning out for a moment.

"Sorry. But seeing ye' with my bites makes me s' hard. . ." He whispers. "Bite me again then." She nuzzles in the crook of his neck pressing her wet crotch down against his hard dick pressing against his zipper.

"So polite and carin'." He grins smacking kisses against the thin skin of her shoulder reaching the mark that's still pudgy and purple. She moans getting him out with shaky fingers and kissing him heatedly in full vigour making slick filthy noises. He slaps her bottom ripping her panties to throw them carefully rubbing his weeping blushed head in between her clenching pussy lips to smudge their arousals.

Whimpers of bliss whirling in air when he slipped inside her slick cunt filling her to brim his balls pressed against her bum, "Fuck. Just how I imagined — tight 'n snug. I love ye'r cunt baby." He gritted grinding his pelvis against her's in slow teasing motion hitting one spot continuously.

"Feels good. . ." She cries softly thighs quivering by his sides and he wrapped his hand around the nape of her to bring her down for another passionate kiss, "Would ye' bond to meh? Huh - lemme cum inside ye'r pretty pussy? Make it mine?" He mumbled wet-ly against her lips sucking her lower one to make it all plump and pinkish.

"Make me yours." She gives out a squeaky whimperish moan when at her words he licked his mark biting it. Her walls creamping around his cock to feel each, ridge and thick vein and she turned a loopy butterfly in his arms.

"Ye' can't cum unless I give ye' permission and I've had plenty to drink. . ." He growls grabbing her jaw eyes turning oyrx and she wipes her own blood from his mouth to press her thumb against his tongue letting him suck. Now, she doesn't have one mark only it's plenty that of flowers scattered on canvas.

He stretches his legs wide toes curling holding her down from her hips to fuck into her with rough mind forging thrusts, "Yes!" Y/N whispers with hoarse throat that she hasn't spoken from months.

"Cum fo' me. Over me cock baby wants to feel ye' Angel." He moans fondling her breasts in his large calloused palms smauching kisses at very skin he could find to shower his love to. Y/N comes a wave of shiver running from her soles to head as she just created noises straight out of porn.

Her creaming around him. Warm and slick cum dribbling down his balls didn't last Harry too. He came inside her in thick spurts of ribbons leaving blueprints at her arse.

They remained like this for some moments. Cacooned into eachother breathing eachother Harry memorizing her to memorize the memory he could never forget and caresses her cheek with the back of his hand.

He lays her on bed gently slipping out of her shushing her with pecks on mouth when she whined from sensitivity, "Gonna take care of ye' little mouse." He bends her knees kissing them stroking the insides of her shivering thighs to calm her down taking his discarded boxer from side.

"Want you to squeeze baby -— I came alot." She does as he said and he cleans her with his clothe showering her in kisses and praises.

Running a steamy bath with essential lavender and rose oils and bathe salts. Resting her between his legs to feel her skin everytime against his skin.

"I love you. Gonna keep ye' forever." He whispers in the silence of night and she smiled with fuzzy heart. Feeling good and fluttery. "I love you too."

Shrugging she retorts playfully, "I'd be all old and wrinkly but you'd be still this gorgeous now that's unfairrrrr." He just laughs at her cuteness creating obnoxious kissing noises while kissing her face.

"Gross." She mutters bashfully eyeing him and he fake offends tickling her sides causing the water splash from rims, "Wasn't gross when I was fucking your brains out—" She tries to smack him in between laughters.

"Heyyyy."

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Dumb Luck

Prompt: the usual "Everyone knows Merlin has Magic but Merlin doesn't know they know" but Arthur's being really fucking thick about it. Everything that could possibly be magic Arthur has brushed off as luck or something. At some point Merlin realizes that the knights know (or maybe he's known all along) and the knights tell Merlin that Arthur knows but he's being stupid, which leads to Merlin performing increasingly extravagant/impressive/silly magic in front of Arthur until the point Arthur just asks if Merlin would like him to acknowledge the fact that he doesn't care that Merlin has magic

no brain cells for these boys, leon stop hoarding them

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic who tf knows

Word Count: 2943

Alright. Merlin’s going to be honest. Is the absolute best at hiding his magic from people? No. Is he a damn sight near better than some other bastards would be if they had his magic? Yes, yes, he is, thank you very much. They would do quite well to remember that he is magic, and he’s had it since he was born, so he knows what he’s doing when it comes to knowing that he has it. Yes, thank you, he doesn’t go around doing every single thing he could with magic because well, then he’d never get to do much of anything ever again.

And that would be boring.

But yes, maybe he’s a little petty or lazy sometimes. Honestly, he’s just being efficient. Yes, he can justify pettiness as efficient. He’s just getting them back for something that he would otherwise have to expend so much effort doing. It’s very handy.

So the knights work out he has magic. Big surprise there, he knows. Lancelot is Lancelot, Gwaine is Gwaine. Percival stumbles in on him lifting too much a little too easily and cracks a joke about having Merlin pull his weight more on hunting trips and patrols. Elyan watches him fix armor and immediately clamors to bring Merlin to his and Gwen’s forge so he can actually show him how to fix armor.

Leon takes him aside quietly one day and thanks him. Merlin doesn’t start crying, he doesn’t end up breaking down into Leon’s arms, and Leon definitely doesn’t promise that although Merlin may not have been knighted, he thinks of him as his brother in arms.

Leon is very rude sometimes, as a matter of fact.

But Arthur doesn’t seem to notice.

Now, Arthur doesn’t notice a lot. Doesn’t notice Merlin shifting his chair a little bit so he crashes onto the floor, doesn’t notice Gwen spending just a hair too much time with Morgana in the evenings, doesn’t notice the guards that don’t even pay attention to the dungeons. Like, at all.

But there are some things he…should notice.

Like when a branch suddenly lifts itself up from a forest floor to trip a bandit.

“Bandits,” Merlin mutters under his breath, “why is it always bandits?”

He deflects a blow and sends one of them flying into a tree. Behind him, Elyan parries a blow and deftly clubs the man over the head. Arthur is battling another bandit a few paces away as one tries to run up behind him.

Merlin’s hand is out in a flash and the tree branch right in front of Arthur wheels up and smacks the man across the face.

Arthur whirls around and cuts the other man down, successfully putting an end to the fight. Around the clearing, the knights shake their heads and go about picking up the rest of their camp. Really, being far too calm for men who just killed a bunch of people.

Except for Merlin.

Merlin, while this is happening, is slowly coming to the conclusion that he would like to be swallowed up by the ground and never emerge again.

He just used magic, very obviously, in front of Arthur.

Is this the first time he’s done it? No, not by a long shot, but it is the first time he’s done it without any regard for whether Arthur can see.

Arthur turns and Merlin’s heart drops to his stomach.

Arthur wrenches his sword out of the ground and stalks over to him.

Arthur roughly grabs his shoulder. Shakes. Hard.

“Merlin! Merlin, answer me?”

“…Arthur?”

Arthur’s face is drawn. Grim. Almost his father’s. His grip hurts.

“Where are you hurt?”

Merlin blinks. What? Where is he what?

“Where is it, Merlin,” Arthur growls again, already looking him over, “where did they hurt you?”

“I’m—I’m not hurt.”

“You’re paler than a damn sheet, Merlin, you must be losing blood.” Arthur’s hand is…surprisingly gentle as it lifts his chin. “Tell me where. Come on. Now’s not the time for shame.”

“No, no,” Merlin mumbles, “I’m not—not hurt. Didn’t get hurt.”

Arthur slows, grim expression morphing to confusion. “Then why do you look so…”

If in doubt, poke fun at yourself.

“Just scared, I guess,” Merlin tries with a self-deprecating laugh, “wasn’t expecting bandits.”

Arthur huffs, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Leave it to you to be such a drama queen that I think you’re bleeding out.”

“’S nice of you to care.”

“Just glad I don’t have to drag your corpse back to Gaius.”

2.

So that was…bizarre. Not the most bizarre thing that’s ever happened to Merlin, not at all, but bizarre. Arthur may be a little unobservant at times but he’s not that oblivious.

But, in fairness to him—which is something Merlin tries not to do too often—he was in the middle of a fight and had just killed a man. Knights may not be known for the smarts but they are known for their overprotectiveness.

Yes, he can hear you lot protesting over there, it’s true and you know it.

And maybe…maybe Merlin’s been getting a little sick of Gaius screaming about how secret his magic must be kept in broad daylight with the door wide open. Listen, if you think he’s about to get scolded by your parental unit and not immediately find some way to rebel, you don’t know Merlin very well.

And yes, maybe there’s a sick little thrill he gets out of doing magic in front of Arthur.

Maybe.

So. The next time they’re on a hunting trip and he’s as sure as he can be that there aren’t any bandits around, he decides to push a little bit.

Arthur is lounging around because you can take the prince out of the castle but you can’t take the castle out of the prince and he thinks he’s still about to receive the finest of dishes that Camelot’s kitchens can prepare. Well, no, but he is about to not have to cook it himself.

“Light the fire, Merlin, it’s not that hard.”

“Have you ever lit a fire a day in your life?”

“Sure, when I was training.”

“Training? You needed training to learn how to light a fire?”

“It was survival training, with the elder knights. Had to survive a night on my own.”

“On your own?”

“Well, my own campsite. They stayed about a league away.”

Merlin just sighs and crouches down. He eyes Arthur, who is tending to his sword, and then very slowly but pointedly sets the flint and steel aside. Arthur isn’t paying much attention to him.

Slowly, Merlin leans forward and lights the fire with his magic.

Arthur looks up. Merlin looks back at him. Arthur swings the sword off his lap. He sets it on the log, his hand still wrapped around the pommel. The tip of the blade points straight at Merlin’s chest. It gleams in the firelight.

“See? I told you it wasn’t hard.”

Is…is he serious?

3.

As it turns out, yes. Arthur is completely serious.

And at this point, this is science, now, what Merlin’s doing. Experiments. He has to know the limits! He has a hypothesis, he has a method, he wants to reach a conclusion.

Hypothesis: Arthur is really, really oblivious to anything magical.

Method: do increasingly obvious magic in front of Arthur until he notices.

Conclusion: how oblivious is Arthur?

An important caveat: Merlin doesn’t know how Arthur will react to finding out he has magic, but he can burn that bridge when he gets there.

So when he wakes Arthur up the next morning, he draws the curtains with a flourish and when Arthur turns over and pulls the blanket up to his cheek in protest, he flicks his wrist and yanks the covers off the bed.

What does Arthur do?

Mumble and groan and stumble out of bed saying Merlin’s worse than his first governess.

“Wait, first?”

“Morgana and I snuck a toad into her bed. She quit after that.”

“You two did what?”

“Think there’s still frog spawn in that bed frame. Father had that chamber closed off for a while.”

“You—eat your breakfast, you prat.”

“You’re the one that pulled my blankets away!”

4.

…okay, so he needs to take it up a notch.

One of the ones that pisses Gaius off the most is when Merlin uses magic to polish multiple pieces of Arthur’s armor at the same time. So when Arthur is at his desk, Merlin lays his shield across his lap and grabs two polishing rags. He sets the can of polish next to him and starts working on the shield. When he’s sure Arthur is focusing, he uses his magic to lift the breastplate up next to him and start to beat out the dents.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs, “can you keep it down any?”

Showtime. “Don’t know what you mean, sire.”

“That bloody racket! Can you at least be a little quieter?”

“What racket?”

Arthur shoves the paper away from him and glares at the ceiling. “That banging! It’s so loud I can barely hear myself think!”

“It’s no louder than you normally are, sire.”

“Oh, you—I ought to—“ Arthur just mutters to himself as he claps his hands over his ears.

But he never looks toward Merlin.

Huh.

5.

So maybe Arthur isn’t ignoring him because he’s oblivious. Maybe…maybe he knows already and is…is trying to protect Merlin.

Uther is still King of Camelot. Morgana is outspoken against his cruelty but he is still very much in charge. There’s only so much protection the knights can afford him. There’s only so much protection Arthur can afford him.

So…so maybe Arthur is pretending he doesn’t see because he knows he can’t save Merlin if he has to acknowledge it.

Merlin takes a few days to process that. The knights are concerned, they ask him what’s wrong, what does he need, how can they help? He waves them off, says he’s just thinking.

“Maybe,” Lancelot says kindly, “but with you, Merlin, you’re never just thinking.”

“Or at least it doesn’t stay that way for very long,” Gwaine agrees, slinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, “and I don’t know about you lot but I like a little bit of forewarning before I wake up to ale in my shoes.”

“You asked for another round, you didn’t say where.”

“Why the hell would I want them in my shoes?”

Gwaine does what Gwaine always does and steers the attention away from Merlin, leaving Leon and Lancelot to carefully prod him a little more privately. He waves them off too, even though he’s sure he isn’t keeping as much as he would like to be from Leon.

Merlin stops using his magic as much. He does his chores as much as he can using his two hands, lugs buckets of water without complaint, polishes armor until his nose burns and his eyes sting. He uses his magic for particularly stubborn stains in his room and keeps a sharper eye out for how to move this bandit’s sword a little to the right, or how to make this knight’s staff a little heavier.

He thinks Arthur is trying to hide for him, so he hides for Arthur.

Then he can’t hide.

A sorcerer is threatening to collapse the walls of Camelot in on themselves. The entire citadel shakes as Merlin and the knights rush out, dragging as many people as they can. The stone trembles and the wood groans and there are screams. More screams than Merlin could ever bear to hear join the chorus of more than he could ever know that plague him every time he closes his eyes.

He shuts them anyway and runs.

He runs away from the knights, magic pushing him faster, faster, faster with the need to protect the castle, protect the people, protect Arthur. The sorcerer is pulling him away from his people and for that…for that, he must pay.

By the time he gets to the field, it is rippling with magic. Merlin’s fingertips, his ears, even his nose tingles as he rushes deeper, deeper, deeper, trying to get to the eye of the storm.

There, in the middle of a patch of grass, stands a sorcerer. In robes deeper than night and hair whipped up in the wind of the spell.

Merlin grits his teeth and says no.

And when the Greatest Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth calls, Magic answers.

The sorcerer is dust before he manages to open his mouth. The field settles. Magic returns to the earth. And Merlin collapses to his knees as the knights run up behind him.

He isn’t a fool, despite what others may have led you to believe. He knows this was magic, could only be magic, and could only be stopped by magic.

So when the knights rush up to him and collapse to their knees around him, muttering that he’s alright, he did it, he’s safe, he did it, is he hurt, all he can think of is how he’s going to have to explain this to Arthur.

They tell him he doesn’t need to explain anything. That Arthur already knows, that he doesn’t care.

Merlin doesn’t believe them. Even if he saved Camelot, which he’s already done, he has magic. He used magic to do it.

They tell him again that it doesn’t matter, that Arthur doesn’t, won’t care.

But Merlin still has to tell him.

“Tell me what?”

+1.

Arthur rushes into the clearing. He can hear him behind them. He can’t find it in him to get up. The knights are still around him, he can hear Lancelot’s voice in his ear, feel Leon’s hands on his shoulders, but he can’t move. Can’t speak.

“Tell me what,” Arthur repeats, and oh, he sounds angry, “what is it?”

“Merlin,” someone—Gwaine—is muttering, “Merlin, it’s alright, he won’t care, he doesn’t care—“

“Of course I care,” comes the cold, cold voice and Gwaine falters, “now move.”

Merlin’s chest clenches. There’s the sharp sing of steel as Gwaine draws his sword.

“Put it down.”

“Nope, can’t do that.”

Then Leon stands up. “Arthur, please think carefully about this.”

“I don’t have to think carefully about anything. Merlin is hurt, let me tend to him. He’s mine.”

“You won’t hurt him.”

“No, I certainly don’t intend to, so move.”

Lancelot’s hands are the last to leave him. Merlin is cold. It’s so cold. His magic buries deep inside his chest and it feels hard to breathe.

Boots. Boots on the ground in front of him. They flatten the grass as a shadow blocks the light. Armor creaks as the figure kneels down. A gauntleted hand cups his chin.

“Merlin,” comes a voice that’s soft, too soft, “Merlin, I need you to look at me.”

And what is he supposed to do, disobey?

Arthur’s face is too warm when Merlin looks up at him. His mouth tugs up into a little smile as Merlin finally makes eye contact with him.

“There you are,” he says, still in that soft voice that doesn’t make sense, “now, are you hurt?”

Merlin can only blink.

“Merlin,” he says, and his voice is a little firmer as he cups Merlin’s chin properly, “are you hurt? What happened?”

His throat is too dry. “Not hurt.”

Arthur relaxes, only marginally. “Then why do you look so upset?”

The world could collapse and Merlin would be frozen here, trapped in the silence of Arthur’s gaze.

Unbidden, his eyes flash gold.

Arthur takes a sharp breath in. Merlin braces for a hit only for—

“Oh, you idiot,” Arthur whispers, “do I actually need to tell you I don’t care if you have magic?”

Pause.

Go back.

One more time.

What?

“I don’t care, you idiot,” he says in a tone that is too fond, “I don’t care that you have magic. You have it, you’re still Merlin, I don’t care.”

Rough metal gauntlets cup his face and oh—it’s cold—

“Merlin, look at me.”

“I—I am.”

“No, look.”

He blinks and has to focus on looking at Arthur.

“I’m not mad,” Arthur says firmly, “and I don’t care that you have magic.”

Merlin starts to laugh. Because of course, of course, Arthur doesn’t care. He’s been so stupid. Arthur doesn’t care. Arthur doesn’t care. He’s doubled over before he can stop himself. The laughs keep pouring out of him, his magic rushing back to his fingers, his nose, his chest. He laughs long and loud and hard and then Arthur is murmuring at him again because no, no, he isn’t laughing anymore, he’s crying.

“Come here, you big baby,” Arthur murmurs, tucking him into the gentlest embrace he’s ever had from someone wearing armor, “yes, there you go, that’s it.”

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

Arthur has known Merlin has magic and he doesn’t care.

…wait, does that make Merlin the oblivious one?

Nah, that couldn’t be it.

It’s not like Arthur is hiding anything else from Merlin.

[rosesloveletters]

The One.

pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader

word count: 1,240

warnings: language, cheating, mentions of violence

summary: (Part two to ‘Illicit Affairs’) You catch Patrick in his lies; when you chase two, you lose the one. 

notes: What can I say, inspiration struck *shrug*. @mshadows77​ asked for this and I wasn’t going to write it so quickly, but for some reason it just felt right. This is completely unedited, so please forgive any glaring errors. The last I wrote for Pat was three months ago; it doesn’t feel normal to even be doing this. I hope you enjoy this heart-wrenching piece. (And Patrick, I’m so sorry.)

I am a tired soul; I’ve always been afraid that if I stand still for too long, it is eventually going to catch up with me.

Her hand hangs limply in my firm grasp, the familiarity of our linked digits long gone; if I let go, she would not notice. Her eyes are cold. I’ve never seen them like that before.

I cannot believe she saw right through me, from the very beginning, but she knows me, my second half, you know... how could I have ever forgotten?

“Fuck you, Patrick.”

I cannot believe you have the strength to say that to my face, but I do not blame you. At the end of the world, you are given a reprieve and I welcome the repercussions of that. It feels good to take responsibility for once, after all the lies. It feels right to tell the truth, but I know it can’t be enough. It never was.

The words, that’s all that they are, words…

“Fuck you...”

For years I've been hiding behind a mask, and I've hated every second of it. This isn't me. This is another who has taken hold of me, gained possession over my actions and forced me from what I’ve known.

No. This is me.

Is this the end of all the lying? I am tired of pretending. I am tired of hiding.  I just want someone to care about me the way I want to care about anything. I ran so far and so fast that when I tripped, my opponent gained the lead, karma overtook me. I do not want to run anymore; I cannot pick myself up off the ground. I’m too muddied to clean myself off this time.

I would have been better off to stand still, because when you chase two, you lose the one.

***

You had known that something had been off for months; the seriousness of the situation eluded you and, had you known better, you would never have gone digging for answers that you were not prepared for.

A pebble is enough to cause an avalanche.

Your throat was dry, your voice hoarse from screaming and cracked beneath the weight of unshed tears; being in the same room as him was enough to make you sick.  You could not fathom the magnitude of what he was accepting, the gravity of his actions and all, but it all made sense. You had clung to him so tight out of fear of losing him and how silly it seemed; he was never yours.

“I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt you.”

The echo of his words rang in your ears until you were deafened by the sound; It filled you with rage. Perhaps he had wanted you to know all along. How long could a person keep a secret like this? How long would they want to? Wanting to come clean and actually doing so were two separate things; Patrick had a habit of avoiding both.

“Why did you do it?”

You had caught him on the phone with her. You had not come in the door at the time he had been expecting you and Patrick had assumed you were working late. When you arrived, silently hanging around the corner so as not to disturb his conversation, you thought nothing of the absurdity of his demeanor until he said those words. Everything changed the second he had uttered them and you felt the world crumbling out from under your feet and your stomach lurched; the great claws of uncertainty and disgust gripped your belly and you felt lightheaded.

How could he?

Your heart sank when you heard him. Your life changed forever.

‘I love you, baby girl.’

You knew what those words meant; how many times had he said them to you?

“I thought I loved her.”

You wanted to scream. The thought of violence crossed your mind more than once that night and how many times had you nearly considered taking him by the collar and shaking him like a dog.

His apathy wounded you more than the betrayal.

It was like Patrick had given up. He was not the same man you had met, your high school sweetheart who had never left your side. This man was stricken, painstakingly oblivious to the life that was passing him by. His soul was screaming out for help, but the man himself made not a sound.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around any of it.

You had screamed until you could scream no more, while Patrick remained motionless, a poor rendering of a man who once lived.

There was a time when Patrick got high off the adrenaline rush. When he would burst out the door on his way to her, you now assumed, but something had struck a chord in him. Your words meant everything yet he only felt nothing; your words carried the only kind of pain he wished he could bring upon himself. His hands shook violently and he stuffed them into his pockets to keep them hidden. Memories that were worn with age came back to him, thoughts he had not allowed himself to think in what felt like a lifetime… Patrick did not remember who he had been then. Faces came to him with no names and the laughter was even worse; he preferred the tears because that was what he knew.

Perhaps he had grown up too fast or maybe not at all.

The greatest indignity was the promise ring he’d given you. Three summers had you known your dear Patrick and it made no difference to you; you hadn’t known him then, just like you didn’t know him now. You slid the silver band off your finger and threw it at him. He made no movement to retrieve it as it laid carelessly at his feet.

Then you were gone.

It all happened so fast that Patrick knew not how he remembered your final accusation so vividly and brutally.

“You never loved me. Fuck you, Patrick.”

‘Fuck you, Patrick.’

He had fucked up and he knew that. Patrick was a man of whim and circumstance; he was a child living inside of a young man’s body and as much as he might have said he knew about the world, he knew much less about himself. There was not much one could do when one was responsible for themselves at a younger age than they should have been, let alone being responsible for the adult who was supposed to have been guardian.

Then the tears had come; the hardest part about them, he found, was that you were not there to wipe them away. How could he have expected you to dry his tears when you were the one who had brought them?

Patrick had never meant to hurt you; it hurt him that he had.

He crumbled onto the floor, folding in on himself as the sobs wracked his frail body; the lies had made him weak. He needed you, he had told himself, and how true it had once been. He was blinded by his immaturity and his need to hurt himself.

Most of all, he was a child who carried the full weight of an adult mistake; he was clueless and perhaps too stubborn to have admitted it in the past.

His mistake would be imprinted on your mind, just like those words.

‘Fuck you, Patrick.”

Fuck you.

[slashersins-abandoned]

build-a-bear date

jason voorhees

this boy will dead ass put on his best clothes , his gloves , a hat , a face mask , sunglasses , and come to build a bear with you . he may not speak but fuck he is so excited to do this with you , and you look so fucking happy and excited . he will without a doubt do everything with such dedication and seriousness during the heart ceremony that the bear builder is a bit nervous . he gets his build a bear soft , barely stuffed so that it falls over when it’s sitting . he picks out an outfit similar to his , a bit sad there is no mask or little machete . he’s having so much fun and you can tell . and oh god , there’s little kids who can’t quite reach things and he is helping them , and somehow there are now two kids sitting on either side of him helping him make his birth certificate for his new stuffed animal and jason is just so happy and enjoying himself despite the fact that the children’s mothers look slightly terrified . he ends up naming his bear mr fluffington due to the help of the children who decided jason was their new best friend . the cashier takes a picture of you on the polaroid and jason is very happy with it . he may or may not make a small machete for mr fluffington so he can gaurd the cabin .

michael myers

somehow you got michael maskless and dressed in normal people clothes and inside of a mall . he’s intimidating , hair pulled back into a messy bun , face full of stubble , blue eyes cutting into everything and everyone . he doesn’t seem to care , picking his build a bear after staring at them . his bear is completely over stuffed and hard as a rock . he doesn’t move . doesn’t sing . barely holds the heart before dropping it onto the back instead of stuffing it in and watching it fall to the floor . the bear builder tries to pick it up , but michael steps on it , basically telling them to sew the bear up without it . after wards he takes the heart and pockets it . he doesn’t care what the bear wears . the bear has a black shirt and some jeans and that’s it , the clothes barely fit , and it is almost impossible to put them on . when he names it , he just sits at the computer and stares . he names it “no” . later that night , you find “no” stabbed , half of it’s stuffing on the floor leaving a trail to his body . michael is on the floor sewing the heart back inside of it .

brahms heelshire

you have to get one of those do it at home yourself build a bear maker kits shipped to you , but you try and give brahms the full experience . it actually scratches an itch of indulge on a childish activity that he didn’t know he had . and the fact that the bear that comes in the kit is rather small , makes him happy . he gives his bear to doll brahms . making it was fun , you taking on the role of peppy bear builder . he thought it was cute . his bear is medium full , and he wanted it dressed in a suit . his name is bearington the third . when you asked if he wanted to help you make your bear he lit up , using his adult voice and treating you like a child . he made you do a million and one things during your heart ceremony and you couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he was . all in all it was a super cute fun time and now bearington and doll brahms are never apart .

thomas hewit

you can’t really bring him to build a bear as i don’t think they existed in the time period he lives in , buuuuut you can make him one . you have him pick out a fabric he likes , not giving him any clue as to why . you ask him how soft he likes things . he tells you like his pillow . a little on the firm side . you make a little heart and you have him do a little ceremony with it to put his love in it . he humors you but looks at you with a raised brow as if you’re the silliest person he’s ever met . you ask him what his favorite outfit is and make him pick out more fabrics to get a clothes set out . when you present him with the bear he is shocked . he tries not to tear up . tries not to cry , but he’s so so so happy . he keeps it on his dresser and when he gets out of bed before you , he will put it in your arms so you won’t miss him .

jesse cromeans

jesse walks in like he owns the place . the prettiest most expensive bear is his . only the most fancy suit ( he will later order a suit from some fancy designer for his bear ) . he does the heart ceremony , smiling at you the entire time and bumping your hip with his . he promises that he’ll get a chrome heart to put inside of the bear later . and you best bet that jesse gets everything . sun glasses , boots , socks , underwear , roller skates , back pack . his bear is spoiled to shit . you’re is too , and you almost wanna laugh at the look on the other customer’s faces when the price rings up . jesse was being so showoffy that he forgot to get a birth certificate or name his bear .

bubba saywer

much like with tommy you can’t really bring bubba to build a bear . but unlike tommy , you already know all of bubba’s favorites . you know he loves textures , so the body , each limb , the head , and the tail are all different fabrics . different sensations so he can have those little stimming moments . you know he likes things extra soft , so that’s how you fill it up . during the heart ceremony you have bubba do so many cute little things and he is more than happy to bounce around and babble . then you have him close his eyes and sew the heart in . when he opens them his eyes light up . and when he feels over the bear he is in utter heaven . it becomes his stress reliever and cuddle buddy . and you’re so happy he finds so much comfort in it . bubba will be giving you so many kisses as a thank you .

billy loomis & stu matcher

it’s pure chaos . they’re messing with the kids , putting things out of their reach , debating on what animal or bear to get . but they are the most creative . billy gets a bear , stu gets a bunny . billy gets his stuffed medium full , stu barely makes his stuffed at all . stu over exaggerates every fucking heart thing , billy just smirks and makes everything filthy despite the gasps of mothers around you . billy dresses his bear up like a bad ass punk , stu give it a dress and tries to make a thong for it . billy names his bich fuker and stu names his fuking bich . you don’t know how you made it out of the store without being kicked out but somehow you do . later , at lunch , both of them disapear only to suddenly see the stuffed animals pop over the table as they give you a weird stuffed animal porno scene that you try not to die laughing over .

vincet sinclair

surprisingly , vincent will go into town with you for this venture . and even more surprising , he will go maskless . his long locks will cover the damaged half of his face , and he might look just a bit annoyed with how crowded it is in the store and how loud it is . he’s used to peace and quiet and metal music . he spends a long time deciding on a stuffed animal , even if he doesn’t think that he’ll put it up anywhere . he tries and does convince you to only get one to share . you’ll both build it together . he choses two and lets you get the choice in which one to get . he does the heart ceremony with you , giving a soft look to you , amused at how much fun you’re having , memorizing the way you look so he can sketch it later . you both decide to try and dress up in cozy clothes , a sweater and pants and socks . you name the bear vincent jr and vincent shakes his head , looking at you amused and presses a kiss to your temple .

bo sinclair

bo is annoyed as fuck to be there and is glaring at the kids , calling them brats and ankle bitters . he doesn’t act like he cares , and much like vincent just wants to get one . he isn’t made of fucking money . though he does get pissy when you don’t pick the bear with golden curl fur and you end up changing it with hitting his chest with a limp bear hand . he talks down to the bear builder because at first it’s too soft , then it’s too fucking hard , and then there’s too much stuffing taken out . you end up tipping the poor girl when his back is turned . he almost fucking faints when he sees how expensive everything is for clothes so you only get one white shirt . you then convince him to get a pair of socks because that’s what bo wears when he’s being lazy . he names it ankle bitter . a few days after you get the bear you can’t find it and you think it might have been thrown away , and then you see it in bo’s garage on a top shelf holding a wrench .

lester sinclair

lester has a lot of fun . once he makes it inside he gets pumped and asks if he can give his to jonesy . you both decide that your gonna get on each for her . lester gets her a bunny because of how much jonesy loves them . its absolutely adorable . the bear builder has and issue understanding lester’s slurred country talk , and it makes you want to laugh so hard because it’s obvious they’re from out of state . you end up just doing your best to translate and only laugh harder when lester starts laying it on thicker for a laugh . the bear ends up between limp and medium , a good fluff for a cuddle and chew toy . he dresses the bunny up as you , saying that it’s good for jonesy to have a little version of her daddy’s love . and you can’t help but think lester is fucking cute . he doesn’t name the bunny . later , after you decide to eat in the mall , lester says he’ll be back and goes to the bathroom . when he comes back he hands you a little bear that is dressed up like him and tells you that he wanted to make you something to hug on to when you missed him too much .

jacob goodnight

jacob is nervous , overwhelmed . you go during a school day in the morning so no one is really around . he doesn’t what to do or what to chose , but decides on one that has eyes that can be removed , you understand that he has a bit of an issue so you promise that you’ll put pretty patches over the eyes when you get home , he’s very relieved by this . now , your boy is usually pouty or neutral looking , but watch him light up and smile during the heart ceremony . he takes everything to heart and is so happy . his bear is medium fluff with most of the fluff in his tummy . he takes his time cleaning it , and picks out a very basic outfit . just a plain shirt and shorts . he names it jacob , after himself and wants you to hold it , thinking that you look so cute with two soft stuffed animals in your arms . later , he’ll try to make matching cross necklaces for both your bears . he also wants to come back and make a bear each for all his dogs .

martin ( 1977 )

this shy boy is extremely excited and nervous at the same time . he’ll be quiet , glancing towards you and back at his bear , one that is pure white . he does the heart ceremony , shy as hell about it , whispering the words and such . but the further into the store the more he comes out of his shell . he smiles and stands close , looking at clothes and wanting your bears to match . they both end up looking cute and fancy , his a girl he names angel , and he tells you it reminds him of you . he keeps it in his room , often looking at it when he thinks and misses you .

carrie white

this girl is excited , eyes bright and smile wide and sweet . she picks out something soft and pink and colorful . she doesn’t want her bear to be plain , no she wants her to be beautiful and stand out . you can’t help it . you put your own bear away so you can spend all the money spoiling this happy girl you have . she does everything with gusto , even doing it with some shy kids . she’s so lost in the moment that it’s wonderful , she really needed this . her bear is so soft , nearly limp , and dressed in a pretty yellow sundress with ribbons on her ears . she names it sunshine .

[hello-everyfandom]

"I love you more than the sky and the ground but I can’t do this anymore."

Warnings: Fighting, heavy language

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Words: 1.5k

Summary: A fight between lovers.

(Loves, my darlings, when I tell you writing this broke my heart, it truly did. It really hurt to write as I was putting my own words, my own experiences into this piece. It is alright to be heartbroken, it is alright to hurt.)

When you and Sirius broke up, the entirety of Hogwarts knew within minutes, some in the Gryffindor house knew within seconds due to the loudness and ferocity of your fight. It seemed as you both had gotten older, the fighting became more constant. No longer were the two of you young and flowing with the cool autumn breeze of Hogwarts. War was upon you and was nearly palpable to the touch so it was bound to cause tension between every teenager and teacher at Hogwarts. The fight? You couldn’t even remember what spurred it and caused it to ignite. However, you could feel the red, anger searing through your veins as you yelled out at your boyfriend. Maybe the fight was about your constant studying, Sirius’ blatant flirting with other girls, or the fact that you hadn’t actually spent any quality time together within the past month. Any moment you two were alone was spent sleeping, on opposite sides of the bed with the duvet as a divider between you two. It was odd, though you didn’t spend as much time with Sirius anymore, your heart still beat steadily for him. Nevertheless, it was difficult not to fight with Sirius. He had the tendency to be quite dramatic and go overboard with fights with his hot-headed self. Usually, your fights ended with a sigh and a tight hug with whispers of apologies. However, this fight, you knew, would end horribly. 

Sirius’ shirt was unbuttoned and his eyes were sharp while his lips were drawn in a line. His cheeks were flushed from the yelling and his hair was loose from his bun and flowing down his neck. You stood opposite of him, in his dorm room, your hair pulled into a messy bun and your lips chapped from biting them constantly. You had stood up from his bed where your books were sprawled everywhere from your study session, facing him with your arms crossed.

“This is ridiculous,” you shouted, “We’re fighting over nothing.”

“Nothing?” Sirius yelled back, scoffing at the back of his throat, “So you call our relationship ‘nothing’?”

“I didn’t say that! You’re twisting my words,” you shook your head, “I’m saying, we’re fighting over nothing! I have to study, school is important to me, Sirius, you knew this from the minute we began dating.”

“Well, sorry,” Sirius sang sarcastically, “that I just want to spend some time with my fucking girlfriend without having her nose in some awful book.”

“You had time to spend with me before, but if I recall correctly you were too busy with your nose up Georgette Retter’s arsehole!” you spat angrily remembering sitting in the common room watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl right in front of you.

“This again?” Sirius groaned, “Really, Love, jealousy is not a flattering shade on you. At all.” Sirius nearly gritted the nickname ‘love’ out from his teeth, it was painful to hear.

“I’m not jealous, I’m angry! You think you own me, you can spend whatever time you want with me and then go off and shag some other girl!” you clenched your fist as you felt your throat go hoarse. The fight must’ve been an hour already as you felt your head becoming faint with the screaming.

“I don’t shag anyone! For fucks sake! I just want to spend some time with my bloody girlfriend and now I realize that she’s too much a fucking bitch to pay attention to her boyfriend.” 

You slammed your hand on his desk, fury in your face, “I’m a bitch? Well, at least I’m actually trying to pass school! Unlike you, Sirius, I actually have a family to impress.” The words slipped out of your mouth faster than air as Sirius stared at you stunned. The two of you watched at each other in horror realizing the words you had said to each other. The toxic, dangerous, angry words that would cause you relationship to plummet into the pits of hell. You put your hand to your mouth, clenching your eyes tight and letting out a gut-wrenching sob. Sirius rubbed his face, exhausted and clearly distressed.

“I’m sorry,” you let out, “that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

Sirius approached you slowly, gathering you in his arms, placing your head against his chest. “It’s okay,” Sirius whispered, kissing the top of your head, “I’m sorry too.”

The silence was deafening, more painful than anything either of you had ever endured. You felt the soft fabric of Sirius’ shirt and the tears staining his chest. You could feel his ragged breathing and his hands clutching onto your sides. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, low enough for Sirius to hear. He stiffened and clenched his jaw.

“Me neither, let’s just... let’s just go to sleep, yeah? We can wake up fresh tomorrow.” Sirius released you and began to put your book that laid on his bed onto his desk gently. As Sirius’ hands began to move the comforter, you cried out,

“Sirius, we need to break up.” 

“What?” Sirius looked up at your crying figure, your hand still on your mouth. He glanced down at the ring he had given you, the ring gave to promise himself only to you. He wore the same ring on a necklace that was lying across his heart. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Sirius paced towards you, holding your hips with his hands. “No, no. This is just a fight, we’ll get over it. Come, let’s sleep.”

“No!” your voice broke, “Sirius, I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. I love you more than the sky and the ground but I can’t do this anymore. We can’t do this anymore.” You choked out, “We can’t.”

“No.” Sirius shook his head, pulling you closer to him, “We can, this is just a rough patch, love, we’ll be alright.” he said softly.

“I don’t think it is. I think,” you swallowed thick air, “Sirius, I think we need to break up.”

“No, Y/N, we’re not breaking up. What are you on about? This is just a silly fight, a silly Y/N and Sirius fight that we’ll laugh about in the morning.”

“Listen to me,” you begged, “we always fight and we... we just don’t have time for each other. We need to break up.”

Sirius felt his Adam’s apple go dry as he tried to choke out any other word but “No.”

“Yes.” Tears slipped down your cheeks and into the crevices of your lips and collarbone. 

“Don’t say that,” Sirius begged, pulling you into a hug. He placed one arm tightly on your hip and the other clutching the back of your head, something he used to do all the time. The small gesture of love only made you sob harder. “We can’t break up. We can’t.” 

“We have to, I’m sorry. But, we aren’t good for each other anymore, we... I’m sorry.” 

You stayed in Sirius’ arms, savoring the feeling of his heartbeat against yours. 

“Please don’t go,” you felt your knees weaken at Sirius’ tiny, broken voice. He pulled back to look at you. His girlfriend. The love of his life. The person he wanted to spend the rest of eternity with. You. You were slipping through his fingers and turning into dust right before his eyes. He blinked rapidly as his lips turned into a frown.

“Don’t go,” he said again, this time more firm.

“I have to. We have to break up, Sirius, I’m sorry.”

“But,” he choked, “I love you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to contain yourself from falling into a heap on the floor, “I love you too. I love you more than anything.”

“Then why can’t you stay? Why can’t we work this out?”

“We need time, Sirius. I’m sorry. I need time from us... I just. I love you.”

You turned to clean up your books, placing them clumsily in your bookbag as Sirius watched helplessly. As you began to leave, Sirius’ hand caught your wrist gently.

“Kiss me.”

“Sirius...”

“Kiss me before you go. Kiss me. Please, just kiss me.”

You let Sirius cup your chin, his warm hands on your cheeks. He rubbed them comfortingly with his thumbs as he looked into your eyes. He searched desperately for any sort of rejection but only saw desperate sadness. Sirius tilted his head and fit his lips against yours. There are no words to describe your last kiss. It was effortless. It was drowning in sorrows. It was the last breath of pure air into tiny lungs. It was the moment the sun hit the morning sky. It was the feeling of sinking in the murky sea. It was the moment of life and the moment of death. And with his final breath of love, Sirius kissed you. He kissed you desperately, clinging on to your cheeks, hoping any piece of it will lead you back to him. He kissed you with begging and agony laced lips. He kissed you with the fiery passion and the lasting effervescent love he could convey. And when it ended, when your lips separated. Your eyes remained closed. Both of you wishing you could memorize the feeling of each other before it was gone. When Sirius opened his eyes, he saw your saddened eyes, your broken heart, and he let you go.    

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 4

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x Reader Warnings: Injury, swearing, mentions of ptsd and drug use Length: 2k Notes: Hello my Freaky Darlings! I was watching The Martian while writing this and didn’t edit so bear with me and forgive errors!

Part One, Two, Three

Damn your stubborn pride. Damn it, and your swollen wrist, all to hell. Now that you were back at home, nursing your previously ignored injury, it was easy to forget why you had felt the need to work through the pain. Prime harvesting season was ending and all the old farmers in town were predicting an early frost. Knowing how this would destroy any unpicked apples, you had worked hard all day.

Frankie had grumbled at you once, an hour into the workday when he saw you emptying your half-full basket into one of the tractor-pulled bins. You didn't feel like explaining your stupid injury, or risk drawing his memory to when you eye-fucked him, so you just grumbled back an assurance that your total count would be the same.

He was slightly more attentive than usual, and you were worried he had read more into your glances than you had meant. Because, you still hated the guy, right? His... what was it again? Arrogance? Yes! That was it. 

Not wanting to encourage any more misconceptions, and still trying to hide your damn swollen wrist, you worked through your breaks and barely stopped for lunch.

Frankie had finally put his foot down when Jacquie had arrived with stew and biscuits for dinner, forcing you off the ladder and stashing it away to make sure you didn’t get the idea to head up again that day. 

You had successfully hidden your swollen wrist from him but knew that Jacquie had a much keener eye. So while you were remiss to leave the company of your friend you begged off dinner, citing exhaustion, and went home.

Now though, with a meal that paled in comparison to Jacquie’s cooking, and your bound wrist on ice, you wished you had stayed.

That is until you remember the moment when you had stared at your boss's lips for an inappropriately long time. With a groan, you decided to leave the dishes for tomorrow, just wanting to bury your head under your blankets and try to bury your embarrassment as well.

The sound of rain pelting against the window woke you a few short hours later. You would have just gone back to sleep but the memory of leaving a few windows open forced you out of bed. By the time you made it downstairs, the gentle rain had turned to a downpour of sleet and you could feel the cold air blowing through the house.

Your mind immediately went to the orchard. If this storm got any worse, a sizeable section of un-picked trees would be rendered worthless. Grabbing your boots and discarded coat off the floor, you rushed to your truck with freezing rain stinging your face. It wasn't until you were near the end of the driveway that you realized you hadn't closed any of the windows.

That wasn't what caused you to slam on the brakes, though. Frankie's truck had just turned down your driveway, fishtailing around the bend as he barely slowed down in his hurry. Seeing you at the last minute, he braked hard but the slush already accumulating on the ground caused him to skid. The impact wasn't hard but your smaller truck wouldn't be road-worthy any longer.

Wrenching your doors open and coming around the assess the damage Frankie was swearing while you were trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.

"What the hell are you doing?" Frankie called to you from across your crumpled hood.

"Me? ME?!" You countered, voice becoming shrill from panic and stress. "What the hell are YOU doing?!"

"Coming you help you and save your damn house from this storm!" He yelled back, giving a little jump and waving his arms out of frustration. It would have been comical under different circumstances. "This is gonna flood your fuckin' house!"

"Your orchard!" You were hollering now "This is going to ruin the rest of the apples!"

Jerking his head back Frankie looked at you with confusion, "What the hell are you worried about them for?"

His query forced you to stop and wonder that for yourself.

"I-" you stuttered, feeling a little silly "I don't know? Are you really going to argue with me though?! We've wasted enough time..."

Heaving a sigh, Frankie jerked his head towards his truck and growled, "Get in."

In a desperate bid to save as much of the fruit as possible, you and Frankie laid tarps down under as many trees as you could. Shaking the branches caused the ripened fruit to fall and you just prayed the rest would survive the sudden storm which had now turned to snow.

Working together you dragged each tarp towards the tractor and took turns driving the filled bins into the barn. It wasn’t a heated cab but still a nice respite from the blizzard.

By five a.m. you had done as much as possible and the adrenaline that had once been surging through the both of you had long faded. The snow had now slowed to a light drizzle but the ground was a slippery, muddy mess, as so were the both of you. Once Frankie noticed the shivers that wracked your body he ushered you into the barn and up the side stairs into his loft.

“It’s not much but it’s enough.” was his way of welcoming you into the space. It was cozy but lacking in luxuries or personal touches.

While Frankie got busy making tea and warming soup in the kitchen you explored the loft. It was one large room broken into three basic areas: his bed in one corner with a small bathroom just off the side, a kitchenette along the opposite wall, and a couch flanked by rocking chairs faced a fireplace at the end. Making your way over to the fireplace you intended on getting a fire going but were distracted by the photos decorating the mantel.

“You served?” Your voice came out sounding loud and strained, not at all the casual way you had intended. Frankie had been gruff with you but never unkind, however, seeing photos of him in uniform instantly raised your hackles. It was an automatic response from being reminded of your husband and you hated it.

Shaking the thought of Brad from your mind, you realized Frankie hadn’t answered and was just standing next to you, staring at the photos with a blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried” you spoke softly, not wanting to spook him from his reverie.

You had seen that far-off look on your husband’s face when he had been home between tours. It had always been best to stay quiet and out of sight when he had gotten like that.

Frankie took a sudden step in your direction. That movement, mixed with the current memories swirling in the forefront of your brain, caused you to reflexively throw your arms up to cover your face. Hot tea spilled out of the mug Frankie had been passing to you and immediately burned the skin on your hands and arm.

“I’m sorry!” you cry out, immediately, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Tears were spilling down your cheeks and you had instantly curled up, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Shhhhhh, no, nononono, shhhhhh” Frankie was frantically trying to reassure you while simultaneously trying to get close enough to assess how bad the damage to your skin was. He seemed to know that you were feeling unsafe so he made himself small and lowered himself to the floor. “That was completely my fault, right? Can I see?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath you calmed yourself enough to see the warmth and worry in his eyes. Your heart immediately constricted for an entirely new reason when you noticed his posturing, how he had made himself smaller than you and had his hands out wide where you could see them, waiting for you to show him the severity of the burns.

This man had dealt with PTSD before. 

Nodding, you reached out both hands for Frankie to take and tried to swallow the embarrassment you felt from your little breakdown. That emotion was quickly forgotten, however, when Frankie finally got a look at you and noticed, for the first time, just how swollen your wrist was.

“What happened here?” he asked, sternly “Were you working all day like this?”

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, trying to pull your hands out of his firm but gentle grip, “just a little mishap from this morning. Don’t worry, though, I was able to work just fine.”

He let out of huff of frustration. “You think I’m worried about how many apples you picked? Jesus Christ, you must think I’m the biggest asshole around.”

“No,” you said quietly, still trying to calm down but also wanting to relieve the tension, “that title belonged to my husband. You,” you continued, ignoring the way his head snapped up to your face then back down to check your bare ring finger, “are just the biggest grump around and it’s intimidating.”

Frankie was silent again and watched his jaw tic as he digested this new information. He was still staring at your hands, cradled in his. The bright red hue of your skin must have jarred him from his thoughts because he quickly but carefully stood up, pulling you up with him, and ushered you towards the kitchen. As you sat on the counter with cold tap water flowing over your burning skin, Frankie flitted about searching for salves and gauze to protect the skin once it had been sufficiently cooled. You tried to reassure him that you would be fine but he wasn't hearing it.

He was talking now, hadn't stopped rambling, but of nothing consequential. You had a feeling there were a lot of secrets stored in his heart but knew you weren't in a position to be trusted with them. You found yourself wishing that you were. You hadn't realized you were nodding off, the strain of the past 24 hours finally catching up on you, until Frankie had called your name for the fourth time. He was, respectfully, keeping his distance not wanting to startle you again, but hovering close enough by to catch you if you slumped over in your doze.

"Come on," he murmured sleepily, "let me take you home. We're not getting any more work done here for a while so take a few days to rest."

"Oh Christ," you guffawed in a very unladylike manner, "how did I forget?"

"It looks worse in the light of day." Frankie chimed in, ruefully.

The two of you sat in the idling truck staring at the crumpled hood of your poor truck, which was inconveniently blocking your driveway.

"I'll call for a tow."

While he was on the phone he climbed out of the cab, assessing the damage and trying to figure out how much this was going to cost him. A few minutes later he made his way back into the warmth of his truck, "He won't be here till tomor-". Frankie let the sentence trail off once he noticed you'd fallen asleep, bundled up in the fleece jacket he had lent you. Sitting back in his seat, watching the sunrise dance across your face, Frank took a moment to think about everything that had transpired in such a short amount of time.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat, he figured he'd let you sleep for a few more minutes before making you wake and have to walk the rest of the way to your house.

"As I live and breath..."

Jacquie's jubilant voice woke the both of you with a start. It was evening and Frankie's truck had been idling in your driveway for nearly 8 hours with the two of you passed out cold in the cab. At some point, you had shifted and were resting against Frankie's chest, his body turned toward yours and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"Mark!" She continued to yell, "You owe me fifty bucks!"

PART FIVE 

[slashersins]

Ok so, one of the best dates (in my opinion) is going to build a bear and each getting a bear! Like picking em out together n doing the little heart ceremony (and also putting scents in I love the scentss) putting the hearts in each others bears bc love~ picking out their clothes together, naming em, then afterwards grabbing something to eat! (Taking a picture together n setting it as your lockscreen) its wonderful and you get a bear to remind you of your partner!! 10/10!! -Scooby

jason voorhees 

this boy will dead ass put on his best clothes , his gloves , a hat , a face mask , sunglasses , and come to build a bear with you . he may not speak but fuck he is so excited to do this with you , and you look so fucking happy and excited . he will without a doubt do everything with such dedication and seriousness during the heart ceremony that the bear builder is a bit nervous . he gets his build a bear soft , barely stuffed so that it falls over when it’s sitting . he picks out an outfit similar to his , a bit sad there is no mask or little machete . he’s having so much fun and you can tell . and oh god , there’s little kids who can’t quite reach things and he is helping them , and somehow there are now two kids sitting on either side of him helping him make his birth certificate for his new stuffed animal and jason is just so happy and enjoying himself despite the fact that the children’s mothers look slightly terrified . he ends up naming his bear mr fluffington due to the help of the children who decided jason was their new best friend . the cashier takes a picture of you on the polaroid and jason is very happy with it . he may or may not make a small machete for mr fluffington so he can gaurd the cabin . 

michael myers 

somehow you got michael maskless and dressed in normal people clothes and inside of a mall . he’s intimidating , hair pulled back into a messy bun , face full of stubble , blue eyes cutting into everything and everyone . he doesn’t seem to care , picking his build a bear after staring at them . his bear is completely over stuffed and hard as a rock . he doesn’t move . doesn’t sing . barely holds the heart before dropping it onto the back instead of stuffing it in and watching it fall to the floor . the bear builder tries to pick it up , but michael steps on it , basically telling them to sew the bear up without it . after wards he takes the heart and pockets it . he doesn’t care what the bear wears . the bear has a black shirt and some jeans and that’s it , the clothes barely fit , and it is almost impossible to put them on . when he names it , he just sits at the computer and stares . he names it “no” . later that night , you find “no” stabbed , half of it’s stuffing on the floor leaving a trail to his body . michael is on the floor sewing the heart back inside of it . 

brahms heelshire 

you have to get one of those do it at home yourself build a bear maker kits shipped to you , but you try and give brahms the full experience . it actually scratches an itch of indulge on a childish activity that he didn’t know he had . and the fact that the bear that comes in the kit is rather small , makes him happy . he gives his bear to doll brahms . making it was fun , you taking on the role of peppy bear builder . he thought it was cute . his bear is medium full , and he wanted it dressed in a suit . his name is bearington the third . when you asked if he wanted to help you make your bear he lit up , using his adult voice and treating you like a child . he made you do a million and one things during your heart ceremony and you couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he was . all in all it was a super cute fun time and now bearington and doll brahms are never apart . 

thomas hewit 

you can’t really bring him to build a bear as i don’t think they existed in the time period he lives in , buuuuut you can make him one . you have him pick out a fabric he likes , not giving him any clue as to why . you ask him how soft he likes things . he tells you like his pillow . a little on the firm side . you make a little heart and you have him do a little ceremony with it to put his love in it . he humors you but looks at you with a raised brow as if you’re the silliest person he’s ever met . you ask him what his favorite outfit is and make him pick out more fabrics to get a clothes set out . when you present him with the bear he is shocked . he tries not to tear up . tries not to cry , but he’s so so so happy . he keeps it on his dresser and when he gets out of bed before you , he will put it in your arms so you won’t miss him . 

jesse cromeans 

jesse walks in like he owns the place . the prettiest most expensive bear is his . only the most fancy suit ( he will later order a suit from some fancy designer for his bear ) . he does the heart ceremony , smiling at you the entire time and bumping your hip with his . he promises that he’ll get a chrome heart to put inside of the bear later . and you best bet that jesse gets everything . sun glasses , boots , socks , underwear , roller skates , back pack . his bear is spoiled to shit . you’re is too , and you almost wanna laugh at the look on the other customer’s faces when the price rings up . jesse was being so showoffy that he forgot to get a birth certificate or name his bear . 

bubba saywer 

much like with tommy you can’t really bring bubba to build a bear . but unlike tommy , you already know all of bubba’s favorites . you know he loves textures , so the body , each limb , the head , and the tail are all different fabrics . different sensations so he can have those little stimming moments . you know he likes things extra soft , so that’s how you fill it up . during the heart ceremony you have bubba do so many cute little things and he is more than happy to bounce around and babble . then you have him close his eyes and sew the heart in . when he opens them his eyes light up . and when he feels over the bear he is in utter heaven . it becomes his stress reliever and cuddle buddy . and you’re so happy he finds so much comfort in it . bubba will be giving you so many kisses as a thank you .

billy loomis & stu matcher 

it’s pure chaos . they’re messing with the kids , putting things out of their reach , debating on what animal or bear to get . but they are the most creative . billy gets a bear , stu gets a bunny . billy gets his stuffed medium full , stu barely makes his stuffed at all . stu over exaggerates every fucking heart thing , billy just smirks and makes everything filthy despite the gasps of mothers around you . billy dresses his bear up like a bad ass punk , stu give it a dress and tries to make a thong for it . billy names his bich fuker and stu names his fuking bich . you don’t know how you made it out of the store without being kicked out but somehow you do . later , at lunch , both of them disapear only to suddenly see the stuffed animals pop over the table as they give you a weird stuffed animal porno scene that you try not to die laughing over . 

vincet sinclair 

surprisingly , vincent will go into town with you for this venture . and even more surprising , he will go maskless . his long locks will cover the damaged half of his face , and he might look just a bit annoyed with how crowded it is in the store and how loud it is . he’s used to peace and quiet and metal music . he spends a long time deciding on a stuffed animal , even if he doesn’t think that he’ll put it up anywhere . he tries and does convince you to only get one to share . you’ll both build it together . he choses two and lets you get the choice in which one to get . he does the heart ceremony with you , giving a soft look to you , amused at how much fun you’re having , memorizing the way you look so he can sketch it later . you both decide to try and dress up in cozy clothes , a sweater and pants and socks . you name the bear vincent jr and vincent shakes his head , looking at you amused and presses a kiss to your temple . 

bo sinclair 

bo is annoyed as fuck to be there and is glaring at the kids , calling them brats and ankle bitters . he doesn’t act like he cares , and much like vincent just wants to get one . he isn’t made of fucking money . though he does get pissy when you don’t pick the bear with golden curl fur and you end up changing it with hitting his chest with a limp bear hand . he talks down to the bear builder because at first it’s too soft , then it’s too fucking hard , and then there’s too much stuffing taken out . you end up tipping the poor girl when his back is turned . he almost fucking faints when he sees how expensive everything is for clothes so you only get one white shirt . you then convince him to get a pair of socks because that’s what bo wears when he’s being lazy . he names it ankle bitter . a few days after you get the bear you can’t find it and you think it might have been thrown away , and then you see it in bo’s garage on a top shelf holding a wrench . 

lester sinclair 

lester has a lot of fun . once he makes it inside he gets pumped and asks if he can give his to jonesy . you both decide that your gonna get on each for her . lester gets her a bunny because of how much jonesy loves them . its absolutely adorable . the bear builder has and issue understanding lester’s slurred country talk , and it makes you want to laugh so hard because it’s obvious they’re from out of state . you end up just doing your best to translate and only laugh harder when lester starts laying it on thicker for a laugh . the bear ends up between limp and medium , a good fluff for a cuddle and chew toy . he dresses the bunny up as you , saying that it’s good for jonesy to have a little version of her daddy’s love . and you can’t help but think lester is fucking cute . he doesn’t name the bunny . later , after you decide to eat in the mall , lester says he’ll be back and goes to the bathroom . when he comes back he hands you a little bear that is dressed up like him and tells you that he wanted to make you something to hug on to when you missed him too much . 

jacob goodnight 

jacob is nervous , overwhelmed . you go during a school day in the morning so no one is really around . he doesn’t what to do or what to chose , but decides on one that has eyes that can be removed , you understand that he has a bit of an issue so you promise that you’ll put pretty patches over the eyes when you get home , he’s very relieved by this . now , your boy is usually pouty or neutral looking , but watch him light up and smile during the heart ceremony . he takes everything to heart and is so happy . his bear is medium fluff with most of the fluff in his tummy . he takes his time cleaning it , and picks out a very basic outfit . just a plain shirt and shorts . he names it jacob , after himself and wants you to hold it , thinking that you look so cute with two soft stuffed animals in your arms . later , he’ll try to make matching cross necklaces for both your bears . he also wants to come back and make a bear each for all his dogs . 

martin ( 1977 ) 

this shy boy is extremely excited and nervous at the same time . he’ll be quiet , glancing towards you and back at his bear , one that is pure white . he does the heart ceremony , shy as hell about it , whispering the words and such . but the further into the store the more he comes out of his shell . he smiles and stands close , looking at clothes and wanting your bears to match . they both end up looking cute and fancy , his a girl he names angel , and he tells you it reminds him of you . he keeps it in his room , often looking at it when he thinks and misses you . 

carrie white

this girl is excited , eyes bright and smile wide and sweet . she picks out something soft and pink and colorful . she doesn’t want her bear to be plain , no she wants her to be beautiful and stand out . you can’t help it . you put your own bear away so you can spend all the money spoiling this happy girl you have . she does everything with gusto , even doing it with some shy kids . she’s so lost in the moment that it’s wonderful , she really needed this . her bear is so soft , nearly limp , and dressed in a pretty yellow sundress with ribbons on her ears . she names it sunshine . 

[zombryz]

★ needy ★ a Frieza story

This is based on a request I got from an Anon - “ Do you think you can do a Frieza X Reader where Frieza feels more comfortable about being around the reader so much that he gets a bit clingy towards the reader?“

This will be a multi-part series. Oh how I do love Lord Frieza  ♡

TW - mentions of anxiety, kidnapping

“Yo!” You hear a familiar voice from behind you. You spin on your heel to find none other than the tall and hunky saiyan himself, Goku. 

“Hi Goku! How are you?” You smiled sweetly at him. He’s been your friend for quite some time now and you’ve gotten used to having him around. His face always lights up when he sees you, as you have a way with people, in this case saiyans. Both him and Vegeta had a soft spot for you and they never really understood why. They eventually just gave in and would do whatever you asked of them, being completely wrapped around your finger.

“I’m great! You ready to do this?” He smirked, making a hmph noise before cracking his knuckles and furrowing his eyebrows downward showing that he meant business. You had invited him over today because you were moving into capsule Corp. He was in charge of moving all your big, heavy furniture. Bulma requested you move in a few months ago but after the whole ‘Beerus almost destroying the world’ thing you decided it might be a good idea to go ahead and finally move in. That way you would always be kept in the loop. You were Bulma’s best friend and you were always babysitting the boys anyways so why not just move in? 

“Where do you want this?” Goku questioned holding your whole couch under one arm.

“Um, you can just put it in the loft! Thanks, Goku!” You replied with a kind smile causing his cheeks to turn rosy. You knew that he would do anything for you so you decided to return the favor by always being sweet to him. Everyone around here always called him an idiot and you didn’t feel that he was deserving of that. 

He had moved everything into your apartment so quickly without even breaking a sweat. Goku walked back down the stairs dusting off his hands as if it was the easiest task the saiyan has ever had to do. You were so thankful to have him in your life. 

“Gosh, thanks Goku. What would I do without you?” You reached up to ruffle his hair causing him to chuckle while he scratched the back of his neck.

“Don’t mention it! I’ll see you at dinner then?” He waved goodbye and took off using instant transmission. You were so excited to have a new place within Capsule Corp. Now if you needed Bulma, you could just walk down the hall instead of having to call her up. You sat on your couch and decided to get a nap in before dinner that evening. 

Later that evening, everyone gathered for dinner on the rooftop of Capsule Corp. It was honestly quite cute to have everyone sit together like a big family. You sat with Lord Beerus and Whis to your right and Trunks and Goten to your left. Lord Beerus also took a liking to you, which you figured it couldn’t hurt to have a destroyer on your side. He took the time to actually learn your name which didn’t seem to be a regular occurrence with him and mortals. After dinner you were playing hide and seek with Trunks and Goten, they always outsmarted you by flying or fusing together. You told them that if you were going to play, flying or fusing was against the rules. They weren't too excited about this but they would go along with it because they were always happy to just be playing with you. You were their favorite. 

After a tiresome game of hide and seek and finding the boys stuck in a tree you decided to head back to get some sleep. You yawned walking back inside Capsule Corp, that's when you ran into Bulma roaming the halls. She looked a teensy bit nervous and you felt the need to ask her what was wrong. 

“Everything ok Bulms?” You approached her slowly placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down a bit without spooking her.

“Oh! Hey, Y/N. Y-Yeah, I’ll be okay.” Her words came off a bit on edge and you couldn’t help but think she was trying to withhold information.

“You sure? You don’t seem okay, you seem a bit anxious..” 

“O-okay fine, you got me.” She shakily put her hands up in surrender and you finally let go of her shoulder to cross your arms together. You raised your brow curious to what she was going to say next. “Both Goku and Vegeta left. They went to train with Whis on Beerus' planet..” she paused. You felt as though there was something else she was leaving out. Your brow remained raised, unsure of where this was going. “….we have no way of staying in contact with them, I-I feel a little… unprotected I guess.” she shrugged as if saying it aloud sounded silly. Your eyes widened. A skip in your heart, earth’s greatest protectors - gone? What does this mean? Is there even a threat to earth? Is there going to be a threat? Your head spun a bit when you realized Bulma was still staring at you, she clearly needed comfort from her friend and not a freak out session. 

“Come here Bulms, it’s going to be okay” you grabbed one of her arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. “We still have Piccolo and Gohan with us. Oh! And the boys. We’ll be fine if anything happens we’ll just call up Tien and 18.” You unconfidently replied, breaking off the hug you held her shoulders in place so that she could see your trying sincere smile. Her anxiety seemed to knock down a few clicks as you helped calm her down.

“You’re right, It’s going to be okay.” She inhaled and exhaled loudly calming her nerves, “Thanks Y/N. Well, I guess I’ll try to get some sleep now. If you need anything please don’t hesitate to come get me, after all I’m only down the hall now!” She winked as she removed your hands from her shoulders and gave you a swift smile and wave before turning back down the hall towards her place. Finally, you can go back to your new apartment and relax. It had been a long day. 

You unlocked the door to your apartment and your living room was pitch black, the only light was emitting from your loft porch. Humming to yourself you walk around your dark room looking for the light switch, it was your first night in your new place and you cursed yourself for not knowing the layout of the room before it had gotten dark. You shuffled around reaching both arms out to feel around the walls for the light switch. At this point you were becoming annoyed, “Ugh” you grunted out loud. You pause for a moment to take a breather and that's when you see them. A pair of what looked like glowing red eyes in the far corner of your living room, they were locked on you and looked like they were coming from behind a lamp that Goku had placed there earlier in the day. You hesitate to scream, figuring maybe it was just an outlet or maybe the boys playing a prank on you. They started to move as if whomever they belonged to began standing up at their full height. That's when you started shaking and you could feel your palms becoming clammy with fear. Whatever it was was charging a ball of energy, the color matching their terrifying eyes. Now would be a good time to scream you thought to yourself, but you were frozen like a deer in headlights. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Finally, you let out a gut wrenching scream hoping Goku or Vegeta would barge in and save you from whoever let themselves in your apartment. The being disappears from in front of you, in a frenzy you panic and look around not sure where it went. 

“Ah, ah, ah puny earthling.” The unknown creature was now behind you and clapped its large scaly hand over your mouth forcing no more noise out of you. “We don’t want the big bad monkey’s to know that I am here.” It tsked. You were stuck. Trying to calm your breathing you gave in, there was no way you could fight it off. Okay, what now? Still shaking you bring your arms down to your sides not realizing you grasped the hand that was placed tightly over your mouth. “Try that again and I will not hesitate to eliminate you right where you stand, under any normal circumstances you would already be dead at my hands, but unfortunately for the both of us,” a pause, almost as if it was annoyed to say the next part, “I need you to stay alive… for now.”

An understanding, you nodded your head in acceptance and it freed your mouth. All of a sudden the lights came on, blinding you. You covered your eyes trying to get the burn to go away when you finally opened them and saw it, well him? For a lizard man, he was oddly beautiful. He stood taller than you and had ivory skin with amethyst like crystal domes on his head, shoulders, and chest. His figure was rather slender but muscular. Flicking behind him was a long, ivory tail to match. It appeared to be made of pure muscle. He stood with one foot in front of the other showing off his three toed limbs. Wow. You had seen alien creatures before but never one quite like this. 

“Okay, what do you need me to do?” you cleared your throat and pulled at your shirt, fixing your appearance unconsciously.

“Rather compliant aren’t we?” he questioned while letting his head hang low, twisting his mouth to form a menacing and twisted smirk. “I will spare you the mechanics of my grand plan,” He raised his head to look you in the eyes while he spoke, “I have been watching you for quite some time, human.” This caused you to raise your brow in curiosity. Why was he watching you? “The monkeys left, and you see.. That will just not do, will it?” he started playing with his nails as if this conversation was boring him. 

You decided it was best for you not speak unless he asked you to and so he continued on.

“For now, you will be my hostage. My pawn, if you will. I need those infuriating baboons to come back to earth, I will not continue chasing them around the galaxy just to get my revenge.” He clutched his hand into a fist, anger seething through his teeth.

It finally clicked, standing only a few feet away was the ruthless and power hungry emperor, Lord Frieza. You swallowed your fear, not sure how you got here or why but you weren’t going to fight back in any way risking him to deem you no longer worthy to be in his presence. Goku and Vegeta have told you war stories about him. How did he come back? A single tear began rolling down your cheek causing you to sniffle quietly. Frieza must’ve noticed because he reached out and grabbed your face almost crushing your jaw with the action.

“Oh, do not grow worried little one. I will not hurt you…” a beat. “Today.” He chuckled evilly releasing your face. Great, you remembered Bulma telling you that there would be no contact with Goku or Vegeta. How long would you be Frieza’s prisoner? A panic sweeping over you, your head spinning and just like that your world went dark. You were knocked unconscious, Frieza had forced you to sleep. 

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

“Mom! Mom, wake up!” 

Bulma wiped the sleep away from her eyes. She sat up, yawning not sure if what was happening was a dream or not. Finally, fully awake, her eyes focus on Trunks who is hovering over her in a panic.

“It’s Y/N! I heard her scream, I went to check on her and her door was cracked open and there was no sign of her!” The worry in his voice caused Bulma to jump out of bed. 

“Trunks, I need you to go get Piccolo and the others. I am afraid something bad is happening.” Bulma tried her best to hide the worry in her voice.

Trunks left and Bulma started pacing her dark room, she had an itch of who might be involved. “Frieza.” she said to herself sternly, slamming her fist into her other hand. She thought to herself, how the hell am I going to get a hold of Goku and Vegeta?