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shyvioletcat · 1 year

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Set Up - Part 5

A/N: Sorry to disappoint but there’s no content warning for this one. Just some mild nudity and dumbass-ery from our favourite idiots.

~ Set Up Masterlist ~

~~~~~

Knocking woke Aelin up from her surprisingly heavy sleep. When she indulged in alcoholic beverages she usually had a fitful sleep with all that flowing through her system. She probably had the man next to her to thank for how out of it she had been. Rowan was still asleep, handsome features softened, still gloriously naked after their fun from the night before. His strong arm was a pleasant weight over the middle of her waist. It was hard not to get lost in moments like this, not to imagine what it might be like to wake up like this everyday. They were foolish fancies, Aelin would be gone in a matter of hours and their time together would once again come to an end. But it wouldn’t hurt to linger for just a few more moments. Aelin felt her own smile as she sunk further into Rowan’s embrace before a thudding disturbed her contentment.

Right, there was someone knocking on the door.

Aelin darted out of bed, the sudden jostling waking Rowan up. She was looking for something to put on so she didn’t answer the door as naked as he was, when he groaned, the movement of him rubbing his face catching her attention. If his frown was anything to go by he was not happy about being awake.

“What time is it?” He grumbled, voice low and rough enough that Aelin’s skin threatened to pebble.

“Um…” Another knock righted Aelin’s thoughts when they lingered too long on what she might be able to do if she went back to bed. “That should actually be my room service wake up. I’m meeting my parents for breakfast and I knew insistent coffee would be the only way to get me up. So, it’s seven thirty.”

Rowan just groaned and rolled over, face first into his pillow.

Aelin laughed softly, grabbing the hotel robe she had discarded on the floor at some point yesterday. She was rushing for the suite door when she tripped on something and picked it up without really registering what it was. Leaving the delivery person waiting was poor form and Aelin didn’t want to be that kind of guest.

When the knocking came again, this time sounding somewhat impatient, Aelin called out. “I’m coming!”

A few steps later she was swinging the door open and freezing in surprise. Her coffee was there, shiny white mug and saucer and all, but it was her cousin at the door.

“Aedion… what?” Aelin said, letting go of the door to tug her robe around a little tighter.

“Your parents asked me to breakfast too and I told them I’d pick you up,” Aedion explained, delicately taking a sip of the coffee he held, nose scrunching as he did. “That’s gross.”

Aedion didn’t wait for an invitation, he just waltzed right in. Aelin didn’t know what to do, she wanted to haul Aedion out by the collar but there were two problems. One, she was nearly naked and two, she was nowhere near strong enough to execute the move effectively.

“Aelin.” That one utterance was full of confusion. “Why are there pants on your fan?”

Her eyes darted up to the ceiling fan, and Aedion was right. Rowan’s jeans from the night before hanging there. Gods, she must have really thrown them last night.

“Ah…” it was hard to figure out exactly what to say.

“Hey, Aelin, have you seen my—’’

Aedion gasped, turning towards the sound. “Rowan!?”

It happened so quickly Aelin almost missed it. Rowan had appeared in the bedroom doorway, butt naked and undoubtedly looking for his clothes. He had yelped, covered himself, sworn viciously and slammed the bedroom door.

From the look of shock on his face, Aelin was surprised that Aedion was still holding the coffee cup. He just kept staring at the painted wood, like it would give him answers to whatever questions were piling up in his head. She couldn’t bear it, Aelin looked down to inspect the item she’d picked up after tripping on it for something else to focus on. It was Rowan’s underwear. Those she shoved in her pocket as if hiding them would incriminate her less.

Eventually, although it might have just been a few seconds that seemed to drag on forever, her cousin turned away from the door. “What did I just see? Well, I know what I just saw, but why did I see that here?”

Aelin just shrugged, not knowing how to play this. There was a reason they’d kept their arrangement quiet, and unless she could figure out a way to shut Aedion up it would only be a matter of minutes before the rest of their friend group knew too.

“You lucky bitch,” Aedion hissed. “That’s an image I might not be able to get out of my head for a while.”

“Don’t be gross,” Aelin shot back.

“Me? Me?” He put a hand to his chest. “You’re the one with a naked man in your bedroom and you accuse me of being gross?”

Aelin marched over to him, claiming her coffee. “You’re an idiot.”

“How long has this been a thing?” Aedion demanded. “I’ll leave the question about the pants on the fan because in retrospect I don’t want to know.”

“Just go.” A pointed finger led a clear path to the door. “And don’t tell a soul or I’ll hate you forever.”

Aedion glared at her, but he didn’t fight her request. “I’m looking forward to our alone time on the way to breakfast.”

With that, he left, leaving Aelin in a very quiet room. She should go see how Rowan was doing and to see if he hadn’t died from embarrassment already. Taking a bracing sip of her sweet coffee Aelin went to the bedroom and even gave him the courtesy of knocking. A groan was her answer and Aelin winced as she opened the door. Rowan was face down on the bed, the pillow surely suffocating him with how little she could see of his face.

“Rowan, it’s not that bad,” Aelin tried to reassure him. “Only Aedion knows. That’s one person who—’’

“Two.” The word was so muffled she barely caught it.

“Two what?”

Rowan rolled over. “Two people know. Last night at the bar Lorcan had a little chat with me and to let me know that he’d figured it out.”

“How?” Aelin was worried now.

“Something about how I’m less pissy when you’re in town,” Rowan gestured listlessly at the ceiling.

Aelin snorted. “Well, good sex will do that to a person.”

There was a ghost of a smile on Rowan’s lips. “He’s not a gossip, he won’t say anything.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Aelin patted Rowan’s sheet covered calf. He must have covered himself with the bedding for security or maybe he was concerned Aedion might come in demanding answers or even a duel. “Come on, I’ll talk to Aedion and it will be fine. I’ve got enough blackmail material that I can keep him silent. No one else will know.”

Some emotion flittered over Rowan’s face. It kind of looked like defeat. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m going to shower, care to join me?” Aelin offered, trying to offer some levity to the situation. And she wanted to wipe that expression off his face.

“Nah, I should go,” Rowan said with a shake of his head. “Aedion killed the mood.”

He was right, there was a tension between them now, almost awkward. Being caught in a compromising situation was probably to blame. But this morning they would say goodbye until one of them could manage another trip. Aelin would have liked to have spent a little more time with him, doing what they did best. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

“Until next time, then?” Aelin said, standing from the bed as Rowan sat up. “These are also yours.”

She dropped his underwear on the bed making Rowan let out a breathy chuckle. Before he could ask, Aelin explained.

“I tripped on them, I’m not one to keep a memento though.”

“I suppose not,” Rowan’s voice was full of mirth, at least she had accomplished one of her goals for the morning.

“Aedion is waiting for me so I really am going to jump in that shower,” Aelin explained when a small silence drew out between them.

Rowan went to his knees, Aelin watching his every moment like she wanted to linger in every second she had left in his presence. His words from last night came back to her as Rowan cupped her face, a thumb running along her cheek.

I’ll miss you.

Then he kissed her, and she felt the truth of those words in the caress of his lips. It was strange sharing such a soft moment with him, this kiss wasn’t meant to ignite the passion between them and lure her into bed. This kiss was… this kiss was for the hell of it, it seemed. Aelin’s hands went slack at her side, unsure of what they should do. In other circumstances they'd be twined in his hair, urging him closer, taking more. But this felt like it was for her, a gift of a kiss just because he wanted to.

Aelin’s heart was pounding in her chest when he pulled back, an unsteady rhythm that echoed in her ears. Rowan just smiled at her, his final sweet gesture was tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Until next time.”

Fleeing might have been an apt description for what Aelin did next. She managed a smile and a nod, recovering some of her bravado and dropped her robe just before she reached the bathroom door. Rowan’s laugh skittered across her skin and things began to feel normal again.

By the time Aelin finished in the shower Rowan was gone, all traces of him, including the tie that had ended up in the bedsheets after last night. Luckily, Aelin had packed just about everything yesterday before going out the bar, so all she had to do was throw in the last of her dirty clothes and her toiletries and she was good to go. She left her damp hair to air dry, twisting it in the hopes it would give it some shape. There was no point in putting any effort into her hair today. There was because Aedion was waiting for her and he’d start getting pissed if she made him wait unnecessarily. There was also the fact she’d be flying out later and any efforts made now would be ruined.

She did one last check over her suite for anything she might have missed and came up empty handed. The only thing left was her mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. She narrowed her eyes at it, blaming it for the whole disaster that this morning had become. Now it was time to face the music that came in the physical manifestation of her pushy cousin.

He was waiting for her in the lobby, staying in his seat while Aelin checked out and had the concierge mind her bags while she was out. She’d meet Dorian here later and they’d get a taxi to the airport together. It made her wonder what he had been doing with his down time, and maybe she should have invited him on her outings. Although, if Aelin knew anything about Dorian, he easily would have found his own fun.

Aedion was up and meeting Aelin on the way to the front doors. His lips were tight, like that was keeping his words in.

“Before we go any further you have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone, okay?” Aelin said, more than ready to beg and bribe if it came down to it.

“Fine,” he promised tersely.

“We driving, or?” Aelin asked once they were out on the street.

“I’m not stupid enough to drive in the city through morning peak hour. We’re walking,” Aedion replied tersely.

“Why are you pissy?” Aelin jogged a few steps to catch up with her cousin.

“Come on, Aelin. I’m pissed because you didn’t tell me,” Aedion said with a shake of his head. “You had Rowan, in your bedroom naked, it’s pretty obvious what was going on. And you never said a word. Here I was thinking we shared things, that we were besties. Looks like I found a relationship just in time.”

“I didn’t—’’Aelin was about to start defending herself when something clicked and she pulled on Aedion’s elbow to halt him. “You want to talk about relationship secrets? A relationship. Who?”

There was a flash of guilt across his face. “In my defence I was going to tell like right now, except there was a big diversion.”

Aelin fixed him with a grimace. “Are you making a dick joke right now?”

“I wasn’t, but I guess I am now,” Aedion shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets as his smile taunted her.

“I’m still waiting for my answer.” She refused to move until he answered her, breakfast be damned.

Her cousin sighed. “Me and Lys—“

“You and Lysandra?” Aelin nearly yelled. “How long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the exact same thing.” Aedion sighed as Aelin fixed him with a look. “Fine, a few months. I was waiting to tell you in person. We’ve kept it quiet because we actually wanted you to be the first person to know.”

“Oh,” Aelin said. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“Yeah, it is,” Aedion agreed. “And I’m rewarded with betrayal. He was my gods-damned hall pass and you didn’t tell me.”

“He’s your hall pass?” Aelin’s voice was incredulous, and something bitter twisted her gut. “He can’t be your hall pass because he—’’

She actually didn’t know how she was going to finish that sentence.

“Because he’s what, Aelin?” Aedion said with enough smugness that had Aelin’s eyes narrowing. “That idea got you feeling a little tense? I would even sound a little jealous.”

“Shut your face,” Aelin snapped, and then she was walking away as fast as she could. Aedion followed after her and she threw her next insult over her shoulder. “I am not jealous and you are a liar.”

It took seconds for Aedion to catch up, his low chuckle grating on her nerves. That laughter was all too easy to read, he thought she was a hypocrite. She was not at all impressed at what he was insinuating, what he might be alluding to. What she and Rowan had was between them and part of the reason they kept their arrangement to themselves was because they didn’t want input from others. It would just complicate things, the only thing that mattered was what they wanted it to be. They had fun, what else mattered?

The cafe they were meeting her parents at came into view and maybe it was petty, but Aelin made sure the door slammed in her cousin's face. She didn’t look back to see his reaction but the heavy and irritated footfalls behind her told her enough. A secret smile tilted the corner of her mouth up. The small victory brought her immense amounts of joy.

Aelin’s parents had already claimed a table in the back courtyard at a small four seat table. They looked pleased to see her, glancing up from their menus and smiling. Aelin went to take the seat next to her mother and then at the last second Aedion swooped in, yanking the chair to the side. If her reaction time had been any slower she would have fallen on her ass.

“Something’s brewing,” Rhoe said, already picking up on the tension between the bickering cousins.

“I just hope it doesn’t ruin breakfast,” Evalin added.

“Oh, Aedion knows plenty about ruining things,” Aelin’s tone was casual, conversational. Like was one of Aedion’s most known faults.

He just scoffed. “Well, lying seems to come naturally for some.”

“You little—’’

Evalin’s stern voice cut through the ensuing argument. “Hey. Cut it out.” Taken back to their teenage years the cousin’s had enough sense to look contrite. “This is our last family meal for gods know how long and I won’t let this little squabble ruin it. Got that?”

There were murmurs of yes Mum and yes Aunty and then they went back to their menus. They couldn’t let go just yet though, especially not Aelin. Antagonism wouldn’t be the smart course of action, but with that smug and arrogant look on her cousin’s face she couldn’t help it. Aelin shot a scathing look over her menu at him, and Aedion kicked the leg of her chair, she was about to reach for the sachets of sugar when they were pulled out of her reach.

“Out with it. Now,” Evalin fixed them both with a stare that told them they might not be eating until someone confessed.

The wooden sugar cup landed on the table with a thud, like a starter gun going off. It would be a race to see who could come out with the least amount of scolding. To save herself and the semblance of privacy that was quickly slipping her fingers, Aelin threw her cousin to the wolves.

“Aedion has a girlfriend!”

There was an audible gasp of outrage from beside her.

Not to be outdone, Aedion had his own shot to fire. “Aelin had a naked man in her room this morning.”

Aelin clutched her menu to her chest as his betrayal stung. “Aedion!”

“Well, that’s something,” Rhoe said, looking a little stunned. Evalin on the other hand appeared more than pleased.

“You said you wouldn’t say anything,” Aelin shot at her cousin.

“I don’t think I ever said that,” Aedion said, crossing his arms. “Oh, wait. Maybe that make me a liar.”

“I think you both have some explaining to do,” Evalin waved a hand at them. “I am very interested in these developments.”

Aelin gave Aedion a look that said he should most definitely go first, it would buy her some time to figure out what exactly she should tell her parents. She knew her mother at least had been harbouring hopes for her and Rowan. And to find out that he was the naked man in her room would be something she’d be all too pleased to hear about. Maybe Aelin could get away with not specifying who the naked man was if she worded it very carefully and avoided specifics.

“Lysandra and I have been dating for a couple of months,” Aedion said. “We thought it would be nice to tell everyone when my dear cousin was here so she could hear it in person. We’re considerate like that. We wouldn’t keep something like that secret for I don’t know… How long can you keep a secret like that from your most beloved family?”

Evalin’s eyes darted between the two of them. “That’s wonderful to hear Aedion and I expect more details, but why do I feel like that last little dig has something to do with the, uh, man in Aelin’s room?”

“I’m going to murder you,” Aelin hissed. “Slowly.”

Aedion just grinned like that was a compliment. “Go on, Aelin. Tell us about your boyfriend.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” Aelin immediately defended. “He’s just a friend.”

“What kind of friend is the question,” Aedion mused. “A buddy we could even say.”

Rhoe was shaking his head, with a mutter of, “Good gods.”

“Who is it?” Evalin asked, focusing her attention entirely on Aelin now. “Is this why you’ve been so sharp lately? And why have you ignored our efforts with Rowan?”

Aelin very literally hid behind her menu. The person she always found the hardest to lie to was her mother, and if direct eye contact was made, she might just figure it out.

“I think my private life should stay private,” Aelin said to the table.

“You can’t out me so spectacularly and not suffer the consequences,” Aedion whispered to her. “I might just mention the pants on the fan too, while I’m at it.”

“Don’t hold out on me now, Fireheart,” Evalin pleaded.

Aelin’s eyes shot to Aedion and she could tell that he was about to spill every grizzly detail if she didn’t fess up.

“Fine, it’s Rowan,” Aelin said, snapping her menu flat onto the table. “And before you go and get too excited, he is not my boyfriend and we are not dating. So save any grand ideas for the one in the actual relationship.”

There was a long pause where Evalin just looked and her daughter, turquoise eyes reading into the words that Aelin hadn’t said. It was hard to hide things from Evalin’s discerning gaze and Aelin hoped that she couldn’t read the confusion that had been steadily rising since this morning. All composure was hanging by a thread, but Evalin only held her gaze a short moment longer before she looked away.

“Okay then,” was her simple answer, along with a shrug, as she went back to deciding over the menu.

And then breakfast went on as if nothing had happened. Aedion freely handed over the details of his relationship now that the bickering had cleared up. Having had it out, all that Aelin felt now was happiness over the recent developments in Aedion’s life. She had watched her cousin and her friend flirt for years and it was wonderful to see that their efforts had paid off. They would be good together, and Aelin was sure she’d spend hours on the phone getting more details from Lysandra. She was nothing but happy for them, and more than relieved when everyone dropped the topic of Rowan and her. But the more she heard about the blossoming relationship the more Aelin’s mood sank, the more it left her feeling oddly hollow. It made no sense.

By the time Aelin was walking back to her hotel she still couldn’t figure out why she felt so disappointed.

~~~~~

Rowan didn’t know what to do with himself. After getting a quick breakfast from the hotel cafe he'd gone home with the disaster that was this morning still fresh in his mind. It haunted him just as much, even after he was showered and dressed. Aedion had been in the lobby but Rowan managed to avoid him while he was distracted on his phone. Hopefully he was not telling everyone what he’d discovered. One of the reasons Rowan could manage what was between him and Aelin was that no one knowing made it easier. There wasn’t any pressure from outside forces to be more than what they were, or people reading into things that weren’t there. Keeping it secret left no room for judgemental quips like he’d heard from Lorcan last night.

It seemed that their time was up. Rowan was more than a little disappointed.

He had no plans for today and he was feeling restless enough that sitting at home would drive him mad. Rowan decided he’d go see his parents, maybe mow the tiny front and back garden of their neat townhouse. It would give him something constructive to do and more importantly distract from the unease that had settled in his chest. This time Aelin’s leaving was doing something to him. All those times before he hadn’t liked it, but it was bearable. This time though…

He was going to miss her. Yes, he would miss the sex, but more importantly it was Aelin he would long for. This time he didn’t want her to go—not at all. If they had been given a different outcome for this morning he might have told her. That in itself was enough to make him uneasy. But it was hard to ignore the myriad of feelings that were becoming more prominent and distracting. Aelin would have laughed it off, made some joke about him not being able to survive without him, but instead they were left in a weird kind of limbo.

Rowan drove to the outskirts of the city to where his parents lived. Their place was quaint, a nice little semi-detached townhouse on the corner block with a tidy garden both his parents doted over. It was disappointing to see that their lawns were fine, if Rowan were to mow them any lower he’d cut down to the dirt. His plan was unravelling quicker than he could think of a recovery. Being here he might as well go inside, they’d probably noticed his car by now anyway. Delaying any longer would just lead to more questions.

Parking his car in the driveway, Rowan didn’t bother to knock before he went inside. Although this wasn’t the house he’d grown up in, it still felt like home. They’d moved from Doranelle to Orynth just before Rowan had started high school, but even from house to house over the years his parents had kept the same furniture and knick knacks. It was comforting to know some things never changed.

“Mam? Dad?” Rowan called as he toed off his shoes at the door.

“Kitchen!” His mother called from within.

Family photos lined the walls of the hallway and Rowan’s eyes caught on the one like they had been trained to do. It was a photo of him and Aelin on that fateful graduation day, their blue robes shining in the sun. Aelin looked stunning, her hair makeup perfect, her hair effortlessly styled, a euphoric smile on her face. He had remembered how the sight of her that day had made his heart flip in his chest. In retrospect, that might have been the beginning of the end for him.

Iris Whitethorn stood at the kitchen bench, her grey streaked auburn hair pulled back in a neat bun to keep it out of her face as rolled out some dough on the floured surface. She glanced up at Rowan, a too-knowing look in her eyes and a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“How are you, Rowan?” She asked, lifting a circular cutter and playfully pointing it at him.

“Fine,” he replied a little tersely, suddenly feeling like he was walking into a trap. “How are the scones?”

He’d recognised her technique now and had to wait for an answer while she cut out a few portions.

“My scones will be fantastic,” she said.

“Oh, son,” Rowan’s father had come in from the backyard, sliding the glass door closed behind him. “What brings you here?”

“I came to do your lawns, but,” Rowan said, shrugging instead on finishing the sentence needlessly.

“Yeah, one of the local kids was after some pocket money,” Evander explained. “We said yes but then had to go over it again anyway to touch it up. A journey wasted for you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Iris brought the scraps of dough together and rolled it out again. “Evalin just called me.”

Rowan froze, praying to whatever gods that were listening that they had just tried to formulate another set up.

“How did your pants get on the fan?”

All semblance of hope was shattered in that one question.

There was a choking sound and the clunk of glass hitting the counter as Evander lowered his drink. “Who’s fan?”

Rowan didn’t want to answer but his mother was all too eager. “Aelin Galathynius’ hotel room fan apparently.”

“Isn’t that the girl you’ve been trying to set him up with?” Evander asked.

“Apparently the effort was unnecessary,” Iris said in a way that could only be described as triumphant.

Rowan’s cheeks heated and he rubbed the back of his neck. Not only had he been discovered but now he would have to clarify. “We’re not dating.”

The scones were momentarily abandoned, Iris lent her hands on the counter to look at her son without distractions. “I see. Well, one way to fix that is to tell her you’re in love with her.”

“I’m not,” the words came out so fast that Rowan's mouth tripped over them. “I’m not in love with her.”

Iris sighed. “You were always such a terrible liar, so don’t lie to me son.”

The kitchen went silent as those words hung in the air. Iris went back to cutting her scones and Evander decided to make himself busy somewhere else in the house. It left Rowan to think, to contemplate what his mother accused him of.

“You two did a mighty fine job of hiding it the night we went out for dinner,” his mother said as she brushed milk over the circles she had lined up on a baking tray. “We had no idea you two were… doing what you were doing when we quite blatantly tried to set you up. But there was a reason we did that. Evalin and I hadn’t seen each other in years when we ran into each other in the city, and then we got talking and it was a completely serendipitous moment when we discovered that you would both be back in town.” Iris stopped to put her scones in the oven. “The two of you always got on like a house on fire, and you always get this look on your face when you talk about her. And yes, when we concocted our little scheme we assumed you were just friends. I always got the feeling that there could be something more.”

“Mam, that’s ridiculous,” Rowan said, that denial tasting bitter.

“Is it though?” When he nodded, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Then why are you miserable right now?”

This time any words contrary to his mother’s accusations never made it out of his mouth. He was miserable because he was gutted. The fact that he would miss Aelin had well and truly settled in him, and he didn’t want her to leave. Not being able to have her near him was enough to turn his mood sour. Rowan didn’t want that, he wanted to wake up next to her more often than not, he wanted to make her laugh, he wanted to be the one that she chose. Each time Rowan saw Aelin it felt like when the sun came out from behind a cloud. It filled him with warmth and joy, and then left him cold and lonely when she was gone.

He’d been running from it for too long. It was easy to make excuses and to accept whatever Aelin gave him. What he had compartmentalised, consoled and blinded himself with the fact that Aelin didn’t feel the same. Convinced himself that it was clear that she felt nothing more for him than friendship. Then again… if Rowan had been hiding these feelings there might be a chance that Aelin was as well.

“I have to—’’ Rowan didn’t know how to explain it. “I’ll miss out on the scones but I just have to go.”

“You go get her, boy.” Iris said, beaming at him. “I’ll save you some.”

On his rush to the door, Rowan called out a hasty goodbye to his father and then got into the car so fast he nearly jammed his leg in the door. He drove home, it would be easier to reach wherever Aelin was at his place, or maybe he could even convince her to come see him. Either way, the drive back to the city gave him time to think and for his determination to set. Barely out of the car he had dialled Aelin’s number and had his phone to his ear. He hadn’t got her flight details from her, but he was pretty sure she’d mentioned that her flight was leaving in the evening. It was barely past noon so, there would be time. He would drive to wherever she was, he would find her and tell her how he felt, consequences be damned. He wouldn’t lie to himself or her any more. Aelin was more than worth the risk.

When the phone rang out to her voicemail he swore and dialled again. When her lovely voice informed him to text instead Rowan took her advice.

>> Aelin, where are you? Can I see you before you go?

Minutes passed and there was no answer. It was long enough that he was about to send another when a text finally came through.

<< Hey. Already through security. Guess I’ll see you for the next round.

Rowan read the words and his chest deflated. All the courage he’d garnered was gone in seconds. He’s run out of time—he’d missed his chance. His brow furrowed as he read it again. Rowan thought that Aelin had told him that her flight wasn’t until the evening, he must have got the times wrong. It could be months before he got the chance to see her again and tell her how he felt. He pushed off his car, resigned to return to his apartment alone.

It wasn’t until he was enclosed in that apartment that he let the disappointment set in. He contemplated a rush to the airport, a big grand gesture that would sweep Aelin off her feet, before he literally did that himself. Rowan could see it so clearly, he knew every word he would say to her. What he was more unsure of was Aelin’s reaction. Doubt started to creep in, and he became more unsure if she would feel the same. So Rowan reconciled with himself that this was a sign to cool his heels, and until he could be sure of Aelin’s love he would hold back on the grand gestures. He’d waited this long for her, Rowan could wait a little longer.

~~~~~

Tags: @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @heroesofterrasen // @highladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @fanfictrash3000 // @blueeyes425 // @bamchickawowow // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda // @flora-and-fae // @thereaderandfangirl // @illyrian-bookworm // @chemicha // @meltalgel // @gay-book-nerd // @that-odd-puzzle-piece // @i-love-all-books // in-love-with-@caramel-macchiato // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @hizqueen4life // @the-third-me // @1islessthan3books // @bestmelle // @cursebreaker29 // @b00kworm // @superspiritfestival // @aesthetics-11 // @maastrash // @mynewdreamwasyou // @the-last-apprentice // @charincharge // @firestarsandseneschals // @scarznstars // @absolute-dissapointment // @thesurielships // @df3ndyr // @trinitybailey2003 // @gwynethhberdara // @booknerdproblems // @larisssss // @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves // @rolltide7 // @scandinavianromantic // @tillyrubes10 // @starwarsslytherin // @minaidss // @paytin77 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @anntheintrovert // @starbornvalkyrie // @loudphantomdragon // @woollycat22 // @claralady // @perseusannabeth // @fangirlprincess09 // @maddymelv // @sierrareads // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @jlinez // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @rowaelinismyotp // @pullnpeeltwizzlers // @anne-reads // @jadeaffliction // @gracie-rosee // @elriel4life // @rowaelinrambling // @tothestarswholistentodreamers // @thenerdandfandoms // @castielspelvis // @swankii-art-teacher // @grandma-noob-lord // @vanzetanze // @highlady-brittney // @story-scribbler // @linguine-panini // @pastasiren // @surielandiareendgame // @silentquartz // @live-the-fangirl-life // @whimsicallyreading // @goddess-aelin // @littleboxofthunder // @empress-ofbloodshed // @booksbqueen // @rowanwhitethornisbae // @charlizeed // @feysand-loml // @aelin-queen-of-terrasen // @alyx801 // @amandaswallowtail // @louiseleblancdiggory // @abookishfreak // @danibutterr // @thegreyj // @lizzyfirebringer // @endlessdaydream // @magnifique1807 // @s-uppertime

#set up #rowaelin fanfiction

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b1ueoff1ine · 1 year

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Captured - Part 1

Otto Octavius FanFiction

dark!villain!Otto x avenger!Reader

Summary: You get captured by the evil Doctor Octavius- but he captures your heart as well.

Warnings: Age Gap. Light cursing. Y/N being hurt. Otto hurting Y/N for his own pleasure. Enemies to Lovers. Otto's POV most of the fic. (Let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: I said villain!otto cuz in most of my fics he's a good guy, and I decided it was time for a change. Also I can actually imagine this happening.

Word Count: 1k

"Shit!" You exclaimed as a metal arm pierced the side of the ship.

You had decided to solo this mission, and you were trying to call for backup. You finally managed to send a request when your ship started to plummet to the ground.

"Oh, fuck-" You squeezed your eyes shut, praying somehow the ship would only crash and you would survive.

But you were yanked from your seat and out the side of the ship. You watched as your ship crashed into a building and started to blaze with fire. You looked around, and were caught by surprise as you saw who had 'saved' you.

Doctor Octavius was using his actuators to swing through the city, carrying you in his arms.

You squirmed, and he simply chuckled and continued through the city.

"Easy, princess. Dont want me to drop you just yet."

You ignored his warnings and continued to fight against his grasp.

Finally, he slowed and arrived at some strange building you had never seen before. He used one hand to cover your eyes as he used a pin code to unlock the door.

You took to memory the pitch each button made.

Another ship flew overhead- you recognized it as backup. You tried yelling for help, but Otto was faster and covered your mouth.

You bit his hand, but it was already too late. The ship was out of sight and the doors were closing behind you, locking you in.

You squirmed and struggled, but Doctor Octavius was stronger. He tightened his grip on you, making your ribs hurt.

You fought against him even more at this, but lost the battle. He smirked at you as he threw you into a cell.

You shouted at him to let you go, but nothing would change his mind.

Otto walked away from the cell, chuckling. He had finally caught an Avenger- and the one he had been after for so long. She was a beauty, and to know how strong she was made it easier to control her. She was very strong, Otto almost couldn't hold her for long.

He was lost in thought, almost running into a wall. All the workers in the area laughed, but one glare from him and they shut up.

For the next few days, Otto watched as she became more desperate for release. He laughed to himself a few times as she banged her fists on the door.

It was a one way door- he could see her but she couldn't see him.

A few times, she came very close to shattering the door. Each of those times, Otto visibly jumped, ready to spring on her if she escaped.

But Otto decided it was enough time. He had some of the workers take her from her cell to the training room.

Once they arrived, she knocked one out and the other fled. Otto watched from his spot in the corner, contemplating how to contain her if this session got out of hand.

She was already searching the unconscious worker for weapon, but she couldn't find any. That's when she looked up and saw Otto in the corner of the room.

Her strength made her fast, and in a second she was at his side, throwing a punch at him.

He quickly reacted, dodging and flipping her upside down with his actuators. He was able to get a few hits in, hitting her in the ribs, the arm, the gut, anywhere he could quickly reach without her hitting him back.

But that plan backfired when she grabbed his upper arm. Her grip tightened, and his arm was loosing circulation.

One of his actuators reached over quickly and hit her face, knocking her to the floor. Her hand let go to stop herself from hitting her head.

When she sat up, there was a gash on her brow, gushing blood and blinding her. There was also a gash on her lip, leaking blood.

Her arms trembled, her legs shook. She looked sick.

Otto leaned down, coming in close to her.

You winced as you felt your face and looked at your hands. There was blood heavily coming from your eyebrow and some from your lip, and your hands were covered in the red liquid.

You looked up, feeling ill. Doctor Octavius was inches from your face.

He reached his hand up, and his thumb pressed roughly to your lip. He smeared the blood across your lips and chin, smirking.

"Does this hurt, princess?" He dug his nail into the bleeding flesh.

He let go after a few minutes of agony, and you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing him to go away.

But he didn't. Instead, Doctor Octavius kissed you. He kissed you hard and rough, biting your lips as he did.

He seemed to enjoy hurting you, and you whimpered in pain, sinking to the floor and away from his touch.

Otto barely stopped his actuators from killing her, but considered leaving her there to suffer for a few hours, but decided against it.

She was just too pretty for him to let suffer for that long. Though he did like her in red.

Her originally white armor was soaked in blood, dyeing it permanently crimson.

But enough of that- he wanted to play a game with her and her crew.

Otto decided to let her go back to the Avengers. So he brought in some workers and they sent her to the crash sight, where surprisingly the other Avengers didn't find the ship.

It was partially broken in half, but otherwise the ship was intact. The workers strapped you in and left.

It was hours of pain and agony for you until an Avengers ship found it. They brought the whole thing back to the Avengers tower.

When Natasha was sent in to look at the damage, she found you strapped in, sitting there broken.

"Y/N? Y/N! Someone help me!"

To be continued...

Taglist:

@imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky

@invaderzim13

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readingforsanity · 2 years

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The Lovely Bones | Alice Sebold | Published 2002 *SPOILERS*

When we first meeet Susie Salmon, she is already in heaven. As she looks down from this strange new place, she tells us, in the fresh and spirited voice of a fourteen-year-old girl, a tale that is both haunting and full of hope.

In the weeks following her death, Susie watches life on Earth continuing without her - her school friends trading rumors about her disappearance, her family holding out hope that she’ll be found, her killer trying to cover his tracks. As months pass without leads, Susie sees her parents’ marriage being contorted by loss, her sister hardening herself in an effort to stay strong, and her little brother trying to grasp the meaning of the word gone.

And she explores the place called heaven. It looks a lot like her school playground, with the good kind of swing sets. There are counselors to help newcomers adjust and friends to room with. Everything she ever wanted appears as soon as she thinks of it - except the thing she most wants: to be back with the people she loved on Earth.

With compassion, longing and a growing understanding, Susie sees her loved ones pass through grief and begin to mend. Her father embarks on a risky quest to ensure her killer. Her sister undertakes a feat of remarkable daring. And the boy Susie cared for moves on, only to find himself at the center of a miraculous event.

The Lovely Bones is luminous and astonishing, a novel that builds out of grief the most hopeful of stories. In the hands of a brilliant new writer, this story of the worst thing a family can face is transformed into a suspenseful and even funny novel about love, memory, joy, heaven and healing.

Discussion Questions

1. In Susie’s Heaven, she is surrounded by things that bring her peace. What would your Heaven be like? Is it surprising that in Susie’s inward, personal version of the hereafter there is no God or larger being that presides? I would be surrounded by all the things I loved earthside, and the people who left this world before me. And I don’t find it surprising. They didn’t seem like very religious people, so it may not be something she thought about.

2. Why does Ruth becomes Susie’s main connection to Earth? Was it accidental that Susie touched Ruth on her way up to Heaven, or was Ruth actually chosen to be Susie’s emotional conduit? In the movie, they make Ruth appear to be somewhat of a psychic of sorts. She saw things that others didn’t. But, I think her and Susie shared a connection that was deeper than they let on.

3. Rape is one of the most alienating experiences imaginable. Susie’s rape ends in murder and changes her family and friends forever. Alienation is transferred, in a sense, to Susie’s parents and siblings. How do they each experience loneliness and soltitude after Susie’s death? Each one deals with Susie’s death differently. The only one who doesn’t really alienate themselves from anyone else is Buckley. He was too young to really understand what was going on initially when it happened. And this is normal. They don’t know how to deal with their new normal, so they essentially shut themselves off to the outside world.

4. Why does the author include details about Mr. Harvey’s childhood and his memories of his mother? By giving him a human side, does Sebold get us closer to understanding his motivation? Sebold explained in an interview about the novel that murderers “are not animals but men,” and that is what makes them so frightening. Do you agree? Absolutely not. Murderers are animals no matter how you look at it. However, understanding what his childhood was like could give an understanding of why he is the way he is as an adult. He allowed her childhood trauma to take over his life.

5. Discuss the way in which guilt manifests itself in the various characters - Jack, Abigail, Lindsay, Mr. Harvey, Len Fenerman. Jack felt guilty because he wasn’t able to protect his daughter, the one thing a father should be able to do. Abigail felt guilty because she was trying to miss a child she never wanted. Lindsay because she wondered why not her. Mr. Harvey, I don’t feel like he ever showed an ounce of guilt. Neither in the novel or the movie. Len because he slept with a married woman.

6. “Pushing on the inbetween” is how Susie describes her efforts to connect with thoose she has left behind on Earth. Have you ever felt as though someone was trying to communicate with you from the inbetween? Absolutely. I think about this quite often. I have several loved ones who have passed on, and I feel them and see their signs all the time.

7. Does Buckey really see Susie, or does he make up a version of his sister as a way of understanding, and not being too emotionally damaged by, her death? How do you explain tragedy to a child? Do you think Susie’s parents do a good job of helping Buckley comprehend the loss of his sister? Susie had mentioned that she never showed herself to Buckley because it could be confusing to him. So, I think he is making up a version of her that he only understands. And, in the beginning Susie’s parents tried to save him from the truth, when eventually he would have figured out she wasn’t coming back at all.

8. Susie is killed just as she was beginning to see her mother and father as real people, not just as parents. Watching her parents’ relationship change in the wake of her death, she begins to understand how they react to the world and to each other. How does this newfound understanding affect Susie? She understands that her mother was never meant to be a mother. We see this when she takes off and leaves her family to care for themselves while she went and did what she always wanted to do. Jack and Abbie weren’t meant to be together because he was meant to be a parent.

9. Can Abigail’s choice to learn her family be justified? Absolutely not. They were all grieving. She put her grief above the others.

10. Why does Abigail leave her dead daughter’s photo outside the Chicago Airport on her way back to her family? It was her way of moving on.

11. Susie observes that “The living deserve attention, too.” She watches her sister, Lindsay, being neglected as those around her focus all their attention on grieving for Susie. Jack refuses to allow Buckley to use Susie’s clothes in his garden. When is it time to let go? I don’t think there is a right time for this. Everyone grieves differently.

12. Susie’s Heaven seems to have different stages, and climbing to the next stage of Heaven requires her to remove herself from what happens on Earth. What is this process like for Susie? Much like the living, Susie has to learn to live and forget. Sometimes she has difficulty doing at first.

13. In The Lovely Bones, adult relationships are dysfunctional and troubled, whereas the young relationships all seem to have depth, maturity and potential. What is the author saying about young love? About the trials and tribulations of married life? That there is potential for young love.

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silversatoru · 3 years

Text

i made this instead of doing my stacks of homework ^

step bro!itadori yuuji x f!reader

synopsis: i don’t think i even have to say this but you get stuck in a dryer and your step-brother yuuji fucks the shit out of you

t/w: 18+!!!, aged-up yuuji, stepcest, noncon/dubcon, manipulation, filming without consent, mild impact play, creampie, mild overstimulation, mild dumbification (but also reader is just dumb), mention of masturbation

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: hey!!! i joined this super fun collab hosted by my new gf @suna-reversed (thank u for letting me be a part of it!!) so if you enjoy this i highly recommend checking out the rest of the talented writers in this collab :) the jujutsuhub masterlist is here !! also,, biggest thank u my lovely friend @brandmeyelena for helping me to plan and perfect this fic throughout the entire process <333

you were a good daughter, certainty not the sharpest or the most intelligent, but you were helpful and compliant and you always did your chores. and you truly didn’t mind helping out around the house either; sweeping the floors and doing the dishes was easy enough, but there was one task that plagued you a bit more than the rest — doing the laundry. the buttons were just so confusing, and there were so many of them! and on top of that, your short stature made it nearly impossible to empty the fresh clothing out of your top-loaded dryer.

you were struggling with that exact issue right now, pushing onto your tip-toes as you tried to reach that last pesky sock stuck at the bottom of the dryer. your finger tips brushed over the warm fabric, just an inch short of being able to snatch it into your hand.

you wiggled your hips a little further, your feet lifting off the floor and your weight shifting so you fell deeper into the dryer. you were finally able to grasp the sock, but you were unable to push yourself back out, feet swinging wildly as you tried to squirm your way out of the machine.

“hey, what are you doing?”

your face flushed at the sound of your step-brother’s voice coming from behind you, your senses becoming suddenly aware of how far your dress was riding up your thighs. a pitiful whimper of embarrassment slid past your lips as you realized you couldn’t even pull your dress down — you needed both hands to hold you up and prevent you from falling into the dryer.

“ah! yuuji! ...i got stuck,” you pouted shamefully, thankful that you couldn’t see his face right now.

“again? isn’t this like... the third time?” he asked it like a genuine question, but you still felt stupid for getting stuck in the same predicament multiple times.

“mhm, can you help? please?” you whined at him, still wiggling your hips in a poor attempt to free yourself.

this only made your dress slide higher, the underside of your ass cheeks becoming prominently visible against the edge of the fabric. yuuji couldn’t help himself, gabbing his phone and snapping a few secret pictures of your exposed back-side. he planned to save those for later, maybe jack off to them if he was bored, but then a different idea flooded his head — you were no position to stop him from doing whatever he wanted right now.

he propped his phone up on top of one of the various laundry baskets, starting a video recording without your knowledge. then he waltzed back over, sliding a single finger under the fabric of your dress and tracing his finger around your round ass cheek. the sensation of touch made you flinch, your mouth gaping open as you fumbled over your next word.

“y-yuuji?” you stammered, trying to move away which only caused your ass to jiggle and shake more than it already was.

“shh, i’m helping,” he murmured, stroking his finger all the way down to your thigh.

he moved his other hand over your pretty cunt, the fabric of your panties hugging perfectly against your folds. he brushed two of his fingers up your clothed slit, causing you to yelp and continue to wriggle around.

“step-brother? what are you doing?” you continued to question him, your voice light and laced with confusion.

“i’ll help you get unstuck, but you have to repay me somehow, little sister,” he clicked his tongue at you, an evil grin that you couldn’t see stretching his lips.

he continued to poke and prod at your soft, clothed pussy, his mouth salivating as he imagined the things he could do to you in this position. every brush of his fingers coaxed gasps and whimpers from your lips, your worries and protests falling on deaf ears.

“y-you’re my brother, yuuji! w-we can’t do this!” you continued to argue, but his gentle fingers were starting to feel really good — small streams of fluid flowing out of your cunt and seeping into your panties.

“it seems like you want me to,” he observed, poking his finger at the small wet spot that was forming now, “and mom and dad won’t be home until later. no one will find out”.

you felt his strong hands weave their way underneath the straps of your undergarments, swiftly pulling them down your thighs and letting them dangle from your ankles. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of your wet cunt being exposed to the cool air, shifting your hips and filling yuuji’s head with more sinful ideas.

you couldn’t see anything (with your head still being stuck in the dryer) but you heard your brother’s own pants fall to the floor, a loud clank of his belt buckle against the tiles confirming your suspicions. everything about this felt so wrong, but at the same time, you’d always been shamefully attracted to yuuji — eyes lingering on his chiseled chest for a little too long when he walked around the house shirtless.

your head was swirling with thoughts like: would it really be that wrong if the two of you indulged in each other while no one was around? it’s not like you were actually blood related or anything.

on the other hand, yuuji had a one-track mind, and he wasn’t having any of the doubts that you were — he had a tendency to listen to his dick instead of his brain. and right now your round, plump ass was staring him in the face and begging to get fucked. how could he not take advantage of this opportunity?

he lifted his hand and gave a firm slap to your right ass check, earning a gasped yelp from you which made his dick twitch and strain. he mumbled under his breath, something along the lines of ‘i’ve always wanted to do that’ but it was kind of hard to hear from the depths of the dryer.

he’d used a reasonable amount of force, a puffy handprint forming on the surface on your skin. he decided that the other cheek should match, delivering another firm strike to the other side and watching you squirm and whimper at the impact.

he grabbed his phone and pulled it over for a few close ups, showing off the swollen skin to the camera. he then placed a finger at the front of your entrance, the puffy, slick walls sucking it in as he delivered a few warm-up strokes with his hand. the camera picked up on all the grotesque squelching noises made by his finger in your cunt, as well as the embarrassed yelps and moans leaving your lips.

now that you had two matching, swollen hand prints, and your pussy had been properly prepped, he decided he was ready for the main course. yuuji returned his phone to its spot on the laundry basket before grabbing a low stool from the corner of the room and setting it in front of the dryer so he could stand on it for easier access. his cock was red and veiny, begging for entrance into your tight cunt as he wrapped one hand around it to position himself.

you’d always imagined your step-brother’s dick to be lengthy, and your assumptions were proven correct when your felt a tight pressure in your core. his girthy size pushed and stretched at your walls, pained mewls leaking from between your teeth as you clawed at the bottom of the dryer.

yuuji let out a groan that was almost animalistic, throwing his head back and placing a firm grip on either side of your hips. the way your pitiful form was positioned on the dryer gave him excellent access, the curve of his dick allowing him to stretch you deep, reaching all the way to the spongy patch of tissue that made you feel so good.

a jumble of grotesque noises filled the room, a chorus your sloppy moans, yuuji’s pleasured grunts, and the steady slap of his hips on your ass. he’d imagined what this would be like more times than he could count — fucking himself into his fleshlight and mumbling your name while he did so. but no matter how many times he’d dreamed of this moment, he never expected your walls to be so tight — so perfectly snug around his cock.

“yuuji!” you repeated his name a few times, head so dazed from the overwhelming bliss that you’d forgotten all about the initial guilt you’d felt.

“see, i knew you’d like this, little sister. your big brother would never steer you wrong, would he?” he knew his words were manipulative, but god, you were much too dumb to understand or grasp the concept of manipulation — you’d just agree with him like you always do.

“no! he would never!” you whined, letting your head dip lower into the dryer so he could fuck you at an even better angle.

your messy cunt squelched and squeezed a small stream of juices down your thigh as he picked up a deeper, faster pace, your moans becoming higher and more unsteady in response. he could feel your sloppy walls fluttering and constricting against him, his fingertips digging deeper into your hips as he let out a few breathy moans.

the tip of his cock slammed into your pleasure spot with every stroke, voiding your brain of any cohesive thoughts you might have had hiding in there. you moaned and whimpered over and over, whining yuuji’s name like a mantra as drool spilled from your lips.

yuuji could almost imagine your perfectly fucked-out face — your eyes rolling into your head and your mouth hanging open lazily. he grunted at the thought, deciding that the next time he fucked you it was gonna be somewhere that he could watch your face and really enjoy the show — because there was definitely going to be a next time.

there was a tight coil forming in your stomach, building up more and more the longer that your step-brother railed himself into you from behind. you hardly even noticed how sore your hips were getting or how numb and tingly your legs were from being bent over the dryer, yuuji’s dick filling you up so well that those things became an afterthought.

after a few more pounds to your oozing cunt that hit deep enough to graze your cervix, you felt a heightened wave of pleasure begin to crash over your body. surges of the most blissful sensation you’d ever felt racked through your systems, your whines becoming borderline screams as yuuji fucked you through your orgasm.

the way your warm, messy walls fluctuated and gripped around his cock pushed him close to his own climax, but he wasn’t quite ready to be done with you yet. he continued to provide heavy, forceful thrusts, abusing your now sensitive cunt and moaning loudly as your juices squelched out around the edges of your entrance. the disgusting sounds of your fluids squeezing out around his cock nearly sent him over the edge again, but he was determined to ride this out for as long as he could.

“it’s too much!” you wailed between heavy breaths, every stroke sending jolts of overstimulation through your clit.

you wiggled and whined, legs clenching together in defense and causing your pussy to wrap even tighter around yuuji’s dick. the added pressure and increased pleasure was something he could no longer surpass, succumbing to his own orgasm just moments later.

“fuck, feels- too- fucking- good- shit,” he grunted a long string of mostly profanity, emptying his hot release into your caverns as you continued to cry out and whimper underneath him.

yuuji had fucked you even stupider than you already were, your head way too dazed for you to even realize he was filling your insides with warm, sticky semen. he milked his orgasm all the way through and then some, his cock aching and twitching by the time he finally pulled it out of your white-stuffed cunt.

he wrapped his toned arms around your waist, finally pulling you out of the dryer and attempting to stand you up. but between the lack of blood flow to your legs from being stuck, and the good fuck yuuji had just given you, your lower extremities were in no shape to hold you up. you sunk right to the floor, your messy pussy spilling everywhere and leaving puddles of fluid and semen.

“thanks for helping me get un-stuck, big brother,” you looked up at him with admiration, blissfully unaware of how he was using your utter stupidity to his advantage.

“of course, you want me to carry you to bed?” he gave you a sympathetic look, squatting down with his back to you.

you hummed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing onto his muscular back. he carried you down the hall and into your room, laying you down and handing you an old towel for you to clean yourself up with. you were a pitiful site, hazy eyes and an ignorant smile resting on your face as yuuji admired your damaged little cunt for a few more moments before returning to the laundry room.

he grabbed his phone and ended the video, thankful that you were much to oblivious to notice that it was recording the entire time. he was definitely going to hold onto the recording for safe keeping and later use — and shit, maybe he’d even upload it to pornhub and make a quick buck too.

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

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!

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nineteenninety-six · 3 years

Text

A Little Bit of Sunshine

↳ Hector x Reader

↳ Word Count: 3.09k

↳ Requested by @shadechu

A/N: I have never written for Castlevania before but I really enjoyed writing this, it flowed so easily. Hector is probably OOC but who cares lol.

Anyway, enjoy :D

Hector had moved to a small town after everything had gone down with Lenore. After she died he realised how much damage she caused him, the lasting marks of her abuse and manipulation still scarred his body and mind and he could no longer stay in a place where they had lived and she had died.

The fact that he managed to escape the bond she had on him and that he was able to deceive her was only able to sustain him for a short while before everything fell apart and Hector was no longer able to act as if everything was okay, so he left and started anew.

The new town was on the smaller side but not small to the point where he would stand out. He easily blended into bustling crowds in the town centre and the residents treated him like any other local. For the first time in a long time, he felt normal, as working for Dracula was an experience that words couldn't explain.

He had his own little cabin in the woods where he could be at peace and the distance to the town centre was far but long enough for him to enjoy the sights as he walked past. All in all, he liked this new path of his life, it was almost completely different than it used to be and he expected to miss it but he enjoyed the calmness and serenity of this new path of his life.

On his usual weekly trip to town, someone called out to him, trying to catch his attention. it was a young woman, probably the same age as him and she was calling for his attention, waving him over to her stall.

"Sir! Sir!"

Hector looked up in surprise and as soon as the woman realised she had his attention a bright smile overtook over her face before she eagerly began to wave him over, swinging her arms back and forth over her head, gathering the attention of the other people around them.

Hector quickly shuffled over to them not wanting her to cause an even bigger scene and pull more attention their way.

"You're new aren't you?" Was the first thing out of her mouth.

Hector flinched in shock at her words, not expecting them. No one else knew he was new and that put him on edge.

"Oh don't look so surprised, I just know everyone that comes here."

Hector raises a brow at her words, " ... That's weird. You do realise that right?"

The woman shrugs, "Maybe but it makes for good business. People are more likely to buy something if I remember them from just previously meeting."

Hector realises that he's standing in front of a stall filled with baked goods, "You're a baker?"

"Family business," She clarifies, “I mostly do the selling due to my - "

"Charm?" Hector cuts in with a sarcastic tone.

"Actually, I was going to say my good looks but yes charm too." The woman grins.

Hector couldn't help but bark out a laugh, the woman never missed a beat.

"I'm (Y/N) in case you wanted to know" (Y/N) informed him with a wink.

Hector had to twist his lips so that the smile that so desperately wanted to escape, couldn't.

"Hector" He introduced himself.

"Well Hector, what can I get you? " (Y/N) asked, gesturing to the spread of baked goods in front of her.

Oh, she was smart. Catching his attention, making him come over to his stall and

converse with her in front of everyone and now he could surely not been seen walking away with nothing after taking up her time. While he didn't really care about the local’s opinions about him, he didn't want to be outcasted more than he already was.

"I'll have a loaf and a sweet pie please"

(Y/N) shoots him a bright smile and packs up his items, then collects his money.

"Thank you, Hector. I hope to see you again soon"

"I'll see you again" Hector responded

As he began to walk back home, Hector thought back on how easily (Y/N) made him feel at ease, how he brought a smile to his face and drew laughter from and he got scared.

This is how Lenore got her claws in him, she manipulated and lied to him before tricking him into servitude and he never wanted something like that to ever happen again.

He decided for the health of his mind, he would keep his distance from (Y/N). He couldn't find it in himself to completely ghost her and ignore her so he'll keep cordial. He'll be friendly but he couldn't let himself become close to her.

.•° ✿ °•.

His plan worked well, every time he went up to town he stopped by her stall and bought what ended up being his usual order of a loaf and a sweet pie, engaged in small talk with (Y/N) before leaving and it worked well for weeks until he had a dream about Lenore one night.

A mere dream had knocked him off-kilter. He had awoken a mess and fell out of his bed in his confused and frantic attempt to escape his blankets. He only managed to crawl a few paces before collapsing on the cold floor, his remaining energy only enough to let him roll onto his back. Hector blinked lazily up at the ceiling as everything he had locked away came rushing back. He relived the moment when he fell for her, the moment he realised that she had tricked him, the moment when she realised he betrayed her and then when she had died by her own will.

Everything that had occurred over the last few years played in front of his eyes and he hated every part of it. He could never forgive himself for being so naive and trusting yet he missed those traits of his.

When he 'awoke' again, the sun was moving low, signifying sunset wasn't far away. He pulled himself up and washed his face at the basin before he left his cabin, his feet taking him into town. The town centre was still busy despite the late hour and so was she, the woman who he came to see.

Despite the other stall owners who had either left or were in the process of doing so, her stall was still set up with what remaining items she had left. She was sitting on a stall with a book on her lap in a different world and Hector felt bad about disturbing her but he needed her.

He didn't even have to call her name, as soon as he was a few feet away, she looked up at him with a smile and closed her book shut, though when she got a proper look at him, her smile faltered.

"Hector?" She made her way over to him, brow furrowed in concern, "Is everything okay?"

He must look like a mess. He certainly felt it on the inside and he had been in a trance since he woke up, not paying any attention to his looks.

"I... um, I -" Hector stumbled over his words, his tongue suddenly heavy.

"Why don't you take a seat" (Y/N) guided Hector to her stall and offered him some water from the pouch at her side.

Seeing that he was in no position to talk about what happened, (Y/N) changed the topic slightly, "I thought you were not coming today. I got so used to seeing you, it would be a shame if I did not see you."

"But do not fret, I set aside your usual order for you," She said as she showed him a little wrapped up basket.

Hector nodded, the change in conversation took the pressure off his shoulders and he felt more at ease to speak.

"What do you do with the ones you do not sell? "He asked

"Today these are going to the homeless. I usually alternate between them, the orphanage and poor families"

"That is kind of you. Nobody did anything like that when I was young"

"I think the world is horrible enough with the wars and death and it costs nothing to do a little good within your own community" (Y/N) then looked up at the sky and noticed the changing colours, “Do you want to come with me as I give these out?”

Desperate for more of a distraction, Hector agrees and he helps her clear up her stan before they set off to a different part of town, him carrying the basket of baked goods for the homeless.

“Do you have any family, Hector?” (Y/N) asked.

Hector shook his head, his grey hair swishing around his chin as he did so, “Just me”

“Hm, well if you want any annoying younger siblings, I’ll eagerly give you all of mine”

“Surely they’re not that bad-”

(Y/N) lets out a laugh, “One day I’ll take you to meet them. You’ll regret your words!”

As they walked around, handing the food to the less fortunate, Hector noticed the strange way (Y/N) behaved. Her head constantly twitched one way to the other, as if someone was calling for her attention but she stopped herself before fully turning around to see and her eyes were flickering about like seeing things that weren’t there.

“(Y/N)? Is everything okay?” Hector asked

(Y/N) froze when he spoke, looking at him with wide eyes, she twisted her head around to make sure no one was nearby before she grabbed his hand and pulled him into a hidden alcove.

There was fear in her eyes as she gripped his hands tightly, “I am telling you this because I trust you but you cannot tell anyone or they will kill me.”

“(Y/N)...?”

(Y/N) casts one more precautionary look around her before speaking, “I can speak to animals”

Hector blinked in surprise, that was the last thing he expected.

“You...speak to animals?”

“Speak, understand, you know the whole thing”

“...The whole thing?” Hector repeated after her.

(Y/N)’s shoulder slumped in disappointment at his words, “You do not believe me. Of course, you don’t, I sound like a crazy woman.”

“No, no!” Hector was quick to reassure her, “I don’t think you’re crazy, of course not.”

(Y/N) gripped Hector’s hands tighter in relief and he suddenly realised that they had not stopped holding hands since she had dragged him. Her hands were soft but strong and steady and they fit perfectly in his, he never wanted to let go.

“I could do since I was a child and I told my parents but they thought I was a child with a large imagination so they ignored me,” (Y/N) began to elaborate on her talent, “And when I was ten there was a witch-burning in our old town, an older woman was accused of conjuring spirits and setting against the people of the village but in reality, she was just a sick old woman who needed help. After that, I knew I couldn’t let anyone know about you know what”

“Why did you tell me?” Hector asked.

“...I don’t know. There’s something about you, so understanding, empathetic, trustworthy. I know I can trust you.”

(Y/N) had revealed her deepest secret to him, made herself vulnerable yet he could not do the same to her, though the ability to communicate with animals was much different than being a forgemaster.

“You can trust me, I promise I will not tell anyone.”

(Y/N)’s shoulders relaxed and she gave him a brief smile, “Your belief in me means more than you know.”

“Now,” Hector lifted the basket up, “Should we finish what we started?”

It had progressively gotten darker, the sun only moments away from going down completely.

“Of course! We must finish before it gets too dark.” (Y/N) stepped out of the alcove and hurried down the street, dragging Hector behind her, still holding on to his hand.

It was dark by the time they began to walk home, Hector insisting on walking her home so that she wasn’t alone at night. She stopped in front of a little cabin, not unlike his, it also wasn’t that far away from his.

“You don’t live with your family?” Hector asked.

(Y/N) shook her head, “It is better for me this way. I love my family, truly but the chance of them finding out about me is something I can’t risk. I cannot truly say that they wouldn’t expose me… there are some things that are beyond even family ties.”

“Anyway,” (Y/N) spoke with a sigh, “It is late, I need to sleep. Thank you for today, Hector. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Hector waited until (Y/N) had reached her door and spoke again, “Can we...meet again soon?”

(Y/N) gave him a toothy smile, “Of course. In two days by the lake? I can bring a picnic for lunch.”

Hector nodded, “I’ll see you then.”

He waited until her door closed before he made his way home, his heart feeling happy. He had forgotten how he felt earlier that day and (Y/N) had completely turned his day around. He did feel guilt though, he went to for help, a distraction which she provided and then she revealed a deep secret of hers yet he couldn’t even tell her about his nor his past with Lenore or history with Dracula and being a forgemaster. The things he carried were heavy yet (Y/N) had already been so understanding and kink that he didn’t fear telling them to her, he knew she would understand.

In two days at the picnic, he would tell her.

.•° ✿ °•.

(Y/N) was already by the lake by the time he arrived, speaking out loud to someone he couldn’t see but when he heard the responding barks and yelps, he realised that she was talking to a dog. He hurried his pace to catch up to her, excited to see her communicate to animals in person.

“Is that a dog you’re speaking to?” He shouted as he jogged over to her.

(Y/N) spun around with a smile, “Yes! I’ll introduce you to him!”

She crouched down and took the dog into her arms before turning towards him after he finally reached her,

“Hector this is- Cezar”

“-Cezar”

Hector and (Y/N) spoke at the same time. Hector stared at the dog he had not seen since Carmilla had dragged him away after Dracula died and (Y/N) stared at Hector, surprised he knew the little mongrel dog.

Cezar eagerly barked at Hector, his tiny body wriggling in excitement as he tried to escape (Y/N)’s hold, so she let him down and watched as he raced over to Hector barking like mad and when Hector kneeled down, the door jumped into his arms and wiggled some more.

“...So I guess you know each other then?” (Y/N) asked.

“Cezar is my dog,” Hector explained, giving the small dog rubs and pats, “I got separated from him a while ago but how did you meet him?”

“We stumbled across each other last year and then we became close companions...but I’ve always been curious about something about him.”

“Is it that he looks like he should be dead?”

(Y/N) laughed, “Yes, Hector. Don’t get me wrong, I love the little dog but he looks a bit beyond his years.”

Hector put Cezar down and together they began walking towards the lake so they could set up their picnic.

He took a deep breath before he began to explain what he could do, “I’m a forgemaster.”

“Forgemaster? What’s that?”

Of course, she wouldn’t know what that was, her world was not the same as his.

“I can bring back animals and humans from the dead and call demons from hell.”

“Wow...that’s uh...wow”

“I’m sorry for dumping this on you, I know it’s quite heavy stuff.”

“I did not know that was possible”

“Many don’t. It’s beyond comprehension.”

“If I wasn’t looking at proof right now” (Y/N) pointed towards Cezar who was trotting ahead of them, “I wouldn’t believe it either.”

“Is that what caused you such distress the other day?” (Y/N) asked as they found a place to sit down.

“No, no, that was about Lenore.”

(Y/N) kept quiet allowing Hector to speak at his own pace.

“I was taken captive, stuck in a cell and Lenore gained my trust, pretending that she was someone that I could trust only to betray me and me her slave to her and her sisters. I was under their or more specifically her control for over a year until I managed to trick her and end the ‘bond’.”

“Where’s she now?”

“Dead. She was a vampire and decided it was her time to go.”

“Did you love her?” (Y/N) asked

“No, I don’t think I did. After I realised what she had done to me any feelings that I may have had disappeared, they were not formed authentically. I still feel incredibly stupid about the whole thing, I was foolish to believe someone who was involved in sisterhood with the person who captured me would genuinely care for me.”

“You were not foolish, you were human Hector '' (Y/N) comforted him, “You were vulnerable and she took advantage of that, you should not feel ashamed. You are strong that’s why you’re here with me right now and Lenore is no longer alive. You will never be proud of yourself if you keep on diminishing what you’ve achieved so far. You’ll never be happy and I want you to be happy”

Hector takes her hand in his, “I want to be happy.”

(Y/N) smiles at him, “You will be, I know you will.”

“I want to be happy with you”

“Oh-” (Y/N) smile changes into a softer one that tickles Hector’s heart, “I want to be happy with you too.”

“Imagine it,” Hector falls onto his back and tugs (Y/N) down with him, “You, me, Cezar in a cabin in the woods and all the animals you wish to speak to”

(Y/N) laughs, “You wouldn’t believe how chatting animals are, I’m fine with just being me you and Cezar for the moment.”

Cezar jumps up on Hector’s chest with a bark before settling down with a huff.

“Sounds like he agrees”

#Hector #hector castlevania #Castlevania #castlevania imagines #hector x reader #imagines #castlevania imagine #imagine #x reader #castlevania fanfiction

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ramzawrites · 3 years

Note

Hello! May i suggest a drabble?

Philza teaching y/n how to fly/ use their wings; Just thought i'd be a funny enough idea picturing these massive wings on a child and having dadza teaching them. 🌿

-Much love, anon.

Reader and Philza - Flying Lessons

Pairings: none

Characters included: Philza, Tommyinnit, Tubbo

Warnings: cursing

Series: a request from a nice anon :D

Summary: Philza caught Y/N once again in trouble with Tommy and Tubbo and after breaking that little dispute up Y/N surprised him with the question “Can you teach me how to fly?” They sure are lucky that Philza has a weakspot for the fellow winged hybrid.

Words count: 2040

Authors Note: I love Dadza so much and I love writing for him so thank you so much for the request :D

There was a crash followed by a loud scream and curses. All accompanied by laughter from multiple people.

Now, the SMP was chaotic and Phil was slowly getting used to it but this commotion somehow piqued his interest enough that he was curious to see what had happened. He dropped the equipment he was working on in a random chest and ran towards his front door.

The crash and the voices sounded pretty loud so it didn’t surprise him at all when he found a group of people in the middle of the town.

He found Tommy, Y/N and Tubbo. The usual troublemakers.

Tommy was laying on the ground, flat on his back. His hand outstretched and pointing at Y/N who was giggling to themself as Tommy cursed them out, calling them a “brat” and the like which Philza found quite ironic.

Tubbo stood close by, clutching his stomach as he continued laughing. Gasping for air whenever he had the chance. Tears brimming in his eyes. Honestly he looked close to collapse. Hard to imagine that he was the president of this place.

Y/N on the other hand had their arms smugly in front of their chest. Their wings half closed but still sporting an impressive wingspan for their young age by the looks of it.

As Tommy finally decided to stand up, Philza made his way towards them as well “What happened?” He was already halfway to chuckling himself alone from Tubbo’s laughing, Tommy’s screaming and Y/N’s puffed up body language.

Exasperated Tommy turned to the winged man “It’s Y/N! I was talking to Tubbo, you know state secrets and all, and they just ambushed me!”

Philza couldn’t help but to raise one of his eyebrows at him “Ambushed? What do you mean ambushed?”

“They just-“ Tubbo begun talking, he was still laughing but he managed to calm down somewhat “They were just suddenly there! I was talking to Tommy and then I saw them gliding down in the corner of my eye and they straight up kicked him down. It was so funny, Philza!”

Tommy scoffed “They did that on purpose!”

At this exclamation Y/N ran around behind Philza and hid behind his legs. Standing between Phil’s body and his wings. Grabbing onto his shirt and peeking their head out at the blonde “Actually it was a mistake! I didn’t mean to!”

Almost instinctively Philza opened up his wing so they could fit in and put his hand on their head “What happened, Y/N?”

It took a moment before they answered “I wanted to learn how to fly…”

They pulled their gaze back up from the ground and instead threw an angry expression towards Tommy “So, it really wasn’t my fault! You were just in my way!”

“Oh you little-“ Tommy begun but Philza interrupted him.

“Hey, drop it. They said they didn’t mean to, so they didn’t mean to. Besides aren’t you too busy as Vice President to argue with a child? Weren’t you telling me that you were talking about state secrets with Tubbo there?”

Tubbo nodded “Yeah come on big man! They did apologize right after so let’s just get going.”

“Alright, you are lucky Philza is here or- or- I don’t know but something would have happened!” Tommy grumbled.

He then turned around and continued walking along. Tubbo waved Philza and Y/N goodbye only to follow his best friend.

Once they were out of ear shot Philza let out a sigh. Tommy was a troublesome, troublesome person. It wasn’t the first time he had come to Y/N’s aid like this. In fact whenever problems arose Y/N would run over to Philza and ask for help.

Philza took his hand off of Y/N and took a step back so he could look at them. Their wings now hugging their back like usual and instead of their self-assured expression they looked a bit sad.

“What’s wrong?”

“You were able to fly before L’Manburg blew up, right?”

He was a bit surprised by that question “Uh, yeah. My wings are too damaged now for me to be able to fly though.”

While Y/N still looked worried, a bit of determination broke through “Could you teach me? Teach me how to fly? There is no one else here who could!”

Y/N was right. Sure, they could probably learn how to fly on their own over time but it didn’t surprise him that they would approach him for it. He himself had to learn how to fly alone and would have really appreciated someone else to help him.

“Well before I can say anything, can you open up your wings for me? Show me exactly how big they are.”

This seemed to brighten up Y/N’s mood and they happily obliged. Their wings swinging open and showing off how huge they actually have gotten. It took Phil a long while until his wings were big and strong enough to carry his weight but for Y/N it seemed to be different.

They were pretty young but their wings were already so big that it took him aback for a moment.

He nodded “Oh wow, okay. Honestly I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to fly with these. They look strong enough to hold you.”

Y/N’s eyes grew wide “You think so? You will help me?”

“Yeah, I will you little gremlin. Let’s get somewhere else with more space and preferably high up.”

There he was. Agreeing to help Y/N without even really thinking about it. They were seriously lucky that Philza had grown to have a bit of a soft spot for them. So much so that the joke was going around that Philza has adopted another child once again since he just can’t help himself.

Which was very much warranted seeing how they basically have moved in with Phil at this point. He didn’t feel comfortable with the though that this young child lived on their own.

Said kid was now happily skipping towards a clearing on a low mountain. It was semi easy accessible but a good place for them to practice without anyone else causing problem on purpose.

Honestly Phil wasn’t really sure how he felt about all this. Sure he was happy with how happy Y/N was but it also made him miss his own wings. His ability to just take off and fly to wherever he wanted to go.

Shoving these thoughts away Phil decided to pull his attention back to Y/N. Making sure they wouldn’t suddenly fall down the mountain somehow.

Once they arrived Phil fell down onto one of his knees and put his hands on Y/N’s shoulders “Before we start, you know how to glide and have done it before, correct? I saw you do it multiple times but I want to still ask you.”

They eagerly nodded, their mouth in a huge grin accompanied by a blush from the excitement.

“Okay good. That makes it easier. You see that rock formation over there? You think you could get up on there? When you are up there try jumping off. If you are too scared you can just glide down to me but try flapping your wings a bit. It should come natural. It did for me at least.”

He stood back up and opened up his own destroyed black wings. They still hurt a bit but it was bearable.

Y/N still seemed to be amazed though.

Phil begun moving his wings. Moving them in a way he was used to.

“You see how I move them? Can you do that too?”

The young kid didn’t wait long to do so. Opening up their wings to show off their full wingspan once again. Swinging their wings back and forth which created way more wind that pushed against Philza than he first imagined.

He laughed “Okay, I see you have no problems doing so. You think you can do what I asked you? You feel up for it? I’m gonna wait down here for you.”

“Yes!” they cheered and ran towards the stone formation. It looked like a ton of huge boulders that fell down the actual mountain, forming this pile.

Y/N closed their wings and climbed up the rocks unexpectantly fast.

While Philza barked orders at them in order to teach them in truth he had no real idea what he was doing. His best method on how to learn to fly was just to jump off somewhere and hope. That’s how he learned and that’s pretty much how he handled raising Wilbur now that he really thought about it.

“Hey! Hey! Make sure you look, okay? I want you to look, Dadza!”

Dadza? That was a first from them. Not that he minded it.

“I’m looking! I’m looking! Don’t worry!”

Y/N stood still and bowed down a little bit. Opening up their wings but they didn’t move. They just stood there, hands balled up into fists close to their chest. Y/N looked like they could move and jump any second but they just didn’t. Their feet where the only thing shuffling around.

“Y/N?”

“I can- I can do it but- but- I am scared!”

That was something he should have expected. They were about ten feet up in the air so it really was a normal reaction even though he was sure that Y/ N has been jumping off higher places to glide off.

But still this was kind of a different situation.

Philza thought for a moment “I will catch you?” He sounded unsure himself. Of course he would catch them in case anything happens but he wasn’t sure it would make them feel reassured. It was still high up. If he could he would probably stand next to them and fly off first to show them but alas this was not an option.

“Okay!” It somehow seemed to work.

Y/N was putting a lot of trust into Phil.

To support his claim Phil opened up his arms and put them in front of him. Nodding to Y/N as a sign that he was ready. He then moved his wings away from his body once again. Moving them just like when he demonstrated to Y/N how to move them beforehand.

With a deep breath Y/N followed his example. Beginning to move their own and once they felt like they had the rhythm down enough, they jumped.

Phil saw for a split second how panic spread across their face but they didn’t crash down. They stayed in the air. A bit unsteady but they effectively flew in the air.

“Dad look!” Y/N cheered only to drop a good feet down which made Phil jump in trying to run beneath them in hopes of catching them in case they do fall down but Y/N managed to stabilize themself again.

He let out a hearty laugh “I see! You are doing it!” Phil wasn’t sure if they noticed how they defaulted to calling him Dad or Dadza now. There was no need to correct them though. At least that’s how he felt about it.

Y/N begun flying in circles around him. Their expression showing off their glee only to suddenly grow pale “How- How do I land?”

“Shit I knew I forgot something. Just try to glide down for now like how you usually do!”

Y/N immediately angled their wings and stopped moving them. Now gliding down still in circles but Phill soon noticed that they still had quite the speed on them. So when they got down enough Phil sprinted in their way and tried catching them.

The end result of that was Y/N just crashing into Phil’s chest and pulling him off his feet. Both landing safely on the ground. Phil’s arms wrapped around their small body, protecting them from sustaining any wounds that they could get from grazing the ground.

While Phil’s heart was still pumping hard from fear, Y/N used the chance to also wrap their small arms around him “Thank you! I was flying! I was flying!”

Tired Phil nodded, mostly just glad Y/N seemed to be alright “Yeah, though you better practice. You weren’t even up there for a whole minute. I can’t always catch you like this. I’m too old for this, you little shit.”

#mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x Y/N #dream smp reader insert #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp x Y/N #dsmp reader insert #dsmp fanfiction #Philza reaeder insert #philza x reader #dadza x reader #ramza writes #anon request

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n0bamak1s · 3 years

Text

your type - maki zenin x reader

request: “hi! would you be able to write fluff for maki and a female reader during/after the baseball game?” - @hvnnxh

summary: when todo makes a realization about the readers type, he takes it upon himself to set her up with maki during their exchange event (genre: fluff, kinda rivals to lovers ig)

warnings: a couple swear words, maki might be slightly ooc??

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is slightly off from the prompt but hopefully it’s alright! i left their relationship a little up in the air in the end just bc i didn’t want it to be too rushed but i hope u like it!

if there was one regret you had after becoming a jujutsu sorcerer, it wouldn’t be a failed exorcism or hours spent in the infirmary from various injuries, no. your biggest regret would be telling aoi todo your type.

though, to be fair it’s not like you’d known that the exact type of girl you had described as your type happened to go to your sister school in tokyo. it’s not like you’d known that your classmates would constantly give you sneaky glances on the drive to your exchange event. even the famously stoic noritoshi found himself rolling his eyes when you tried to act indifferent at the mention of maki zenin’s name.

they had always noticed how your eyes tended to wander in her direction when the tokyo students would come over to train with you guys. the only problem was the fact that you barely manage to speak to her, always feeling intimidated by her confidence. though, that didn’t stop your classmates from egging you on to realize your crush on the girl.

it’s not like they were wrong in assuming that you’d be into mai’s twin sister. the problem was how insistent they seemed to be on trying to get the two of you together, which seemed to always end in you being humiliated.

when you met todo when both of you were first years and he hit you with his signature “what’s your type?” question, you answered rather honestly, in fear that he may get angry if you told a lie, or worse you told a lie AND it was a boring one.

“i guess if i had to describe my dream woman, i’d say a girl who’s confident in herself, one who doesn’t take shit from others.” you started as todo sized you up while mai looked at the ground, seeming disinterested. “and not that looks are everything, but tall girls and dark hair are pretty attractive as well.”

you heard a sniffle and looked up to make eye contact with todo, who was tearing up?

“wow y/n, i was worried you’d be a boring one, but it’s clear that you’re confident in what you like. i think you and i will get along well.” he gave you a wide grin and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you in for a hug while you just smiled awkwardly, just wanting to go to class.

now todo was right that the two of you got along well usually, but that didn’t really apply when he used his booming voice to announce that “that maki chick from tokyo is totally your type that you told me when we first met!” immediately following the first part of your exchange event. at the sound of her name, the green haired girl turned to see you glaring at todo while trying to hide your embarrassment as the rest of your friends stifled laughs at the scene he’d created.

after their teasing died down, you turned forward again to make eye contact with maki, hoping to apologize for how embarrassing your classmates were. but unlike the irritated expression you expected her to wear, she instead just gave you a soft smirk before turning back to her underclassmen, who instantly sent her whispers that you could only imagine were asking what the hell just happened.

but surely you wouldn’t see much of her during the second part of the event, it would probably just be a relay race or something where you barely had to interact, right?

wrong.

your next competition would be a baseball game, where you would spend over an hour around the tokyo students, which would inevitably lead to more of your classmates poking fun at you. unknown to you, however, the same thing was happening to maki with her teammates.

“why is your face all red? do you need to rest?” itadori had said as he inspected her face following todo announcing to everyone that she was your type. in response, she just knocked him on the head with her staff and kept walking ahead while nobara and itadori grinned at each other, apparently their strong willed second year had a soft spot for you.

“you know, girls totally have a thing for baseball uniforms.” todo said to you matter of factly as you tied up your cleats.

“and you’re telling me this because…?” you replied, hoping to come across as nonchalant.

he grinned at you with a mischievous look in his eyes as he rested his elbow atop your head for support. “who knows, maybe maki is one of those girls. plus, in the event that takada somehow sees this game, i think she’ll be pretty into this look!” he said confidently. you looked away and muttered some bullshit about how you didn’t care about what she thought about how you looked before you were interrupted by the locker room door swinging open to reveal miwa.

“come on guys! we start in a few minutes, and i’m sure you guys would hate to disappoint the other team.” she finished her sentence by turning to you with an almost catlike smile. you tilted your head back and groaned. her too?

the kyoto team would be batting first, giving you some time to relax in the dugout before you went up to bat. just as you were practicing your swing for batting next, your zoning out was cut off by the sound of a ball hitting todo square in the jaw. your hand flew to cover your mouth, not from concern, but to stop yourself from laughing. maki’s mock concern for todo was put on hold for a moment when you stopped trying to hide your amusement and letting your loud laugh reach the ears of your peers. she paused for a moment, not bothering to hide the smile that crept across her face at the combination of your adorable laughter, and the fact that she had been the cause of it.

“nice hit maki!” you looked up at her with a grin, while todo gave you a look of betrayal. though his glare didn’t last long when he noticed the exchange between the two of you. in his mind he was probably crediting himself for egging you on to realize your small crush on the girl, as if he was some kind of matchmaker.

the game went on pretty steadily from there, a few stolen glances between you and maki contrasted by how you cheered for momo whenever she managed to catch a ball hit by her.

the game ended with the tokyo team just managing to get by with a one point lead. you all watched them celebrate their win, before you turned back to your team, complimenting them on their hard work in hopes of lifting their spirits.

you turned back to the other team to see them loudly announcing how maki should go get them some food from the vending machine, every so often glancing to you to gage your reaction. you jumped at the feeling of todo shaking your shoulder from behind, announcing that you should get some food for the kyoto team. these guys really were the worst at being subtle, weren’t they?

instead of protesting though, you just shrugged his hand off your shoulder and made your way to the vending machines, wherever the hell those were.

after a couple minutes of making your way around seemingly every path surrounding the tokyo school, you saw maki, whose arms were hugging bags of chips close to her, and waved to her to call her over for help.

“hey, i’m kinda lost, do you think you could help me find the vending machines?” you gave a sheepish grin as you asked.

“yeah, why not?” she shrugged and smiled.

you guys walked in comfortable silence, considering your destination was pretty much just around the corner. when you realized this, you groaned from embarrassment.

“thanks for that, sorry, i should’ve known it was close by.” you chuckled awkwardly.

“no worries.” she smiled, pulling off her cap to fan her face.

god, what business did she have to look that good when covered in sweat and dirt?

“our school is pretty confusing to get around. you know if you wanted to come around again sometime, i’d be happy to show you around the place.” she leaned her head down slightly, still maintaining eye contact with you. you just nodded in response, trying to keep your composure with the close proximity between the two of you.

“you know,” she continued, “i was pretty glad to hear i was your type.” she leaned down just a little further, so your noses were practically touching.

“because you’re my type too.” she smirked.

unfortunately for the both of you, your little moment was interrupted by itadori turning the corner, it seemed like he had gone searching for the two of you.

“hey i was just looking for you-“ he cut himself off when he saw what he could only assume was the two of you seconds away from a kiss.

“sorry!” he rushed away, feeling embarrassed at the thought that he had somehow invaded your privacy.

you sighed annoyedly, knowing that you would inevitably have to deal with a million questions from your classmates about whatever it was itadori would tell them.

“aw come on, let them believe what they wanna believe.” maki smiled widely about how easily you became flustered. “they’ll leave us be as long as we bring them back some good food.” she lazily swung an arm around your shoulders as you slipped money into the machine.

maybe you’d actually have to thank todo for making you tell him your type after all.

#maki zenin x reader #maki zenin #maki zenin x you #zenin maki x reader #zenin maki #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons

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slightlymore · 3 years

Text

green (aka ‘red’ part 2)

slytherin doyoung x ravenclaw fem reader

genre: hogwarts au but all different, romance, smut, established relationship (read ‘red’ if you’re into enemies to lovers), fluff

warnings: sexy times (69, bodies connected by slytherin magic idk, little rough, mention of saliva and all that jazz, mention of overstimulation, swallowing, use of magic during sexy times, solo m, solo f, fingering, raw, phone sex, spanking, short istance of subby dy, light bondage dy receiving, dry humping, mention of safe word, borderline sexy times in public), mention of natural events such as thunder, lightning, fire, water, rocks etc lmao, swearing, teasing

words: 9k

huge thanks to @spookyhyuck and @sunflowerforhaechan for helping me out with this fic!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

____________

Previously, in Red

“It’s just– it’s unfair. So I– also want to know.”

“You want to own my cock?” he chuckled in the crook of your neck.

“Why do you really have to use such words?!”

“You can do it. You just need to go down on me too.”

“Even if I’m not a slytherin?”

“If you’re in love with your slytherin partner, you don’t need to be one to be tied to them like that.”

“Pants off then. Now.”

Doyoung inhaled once, eyes darting from your face to your hands already trying to unbuckle his belt.

"Are you-- are you sure about this?"

Your eyes lit up with mischief, causing the young man to bite his lower lip. "Are you perhaps stuttering now, Kim Doyoung?"

"I just--you'll legit feel it every time I'll-"

"So what? Does that make you nervous?"

You leaned down and cupped his cheek. He let his head fall on the mattress at your gentle push and he closed his eyes when he felt your lips gently kissing his neck. Your fingers started to draw patterns on his collar bones; while the other hand slipped past the restriction of his trousers, touch gentle above his boxers.

Doyoung's breath stopped for a moment before he released it, his cock twitching under your fingertips, so eager to be touched without the layer of fabric of his underwear.

"I'd love to be able to feel it every time you fucked your fists," you whispered into his open lips, “bet it would make me so wet."

You dragged the last word out while your hand palmed him and you loved to see him strain his neck to the side, his pulsing artery inviting you to just bite into it.

And you were about to do it; if Doyoung hadn't of grabbed your wrists and smiled wickedly all of sudden.

“Alright. But turn around,” he instructed. His fingers intertwined with yours and for a moment it felt fuzzy and warm. But the dying sun and its shadows made him look dangerous instead of aethereal.

“Huh?” you tried to move away but his grip was iron.

“Turn around? Oh,” You blinked, finally making a sense of his words.

He smirked again and let go of your arms, sliding his warm hands under your shirt instead until reaching your breasts. Your breath quivered and you straightened your back, letting your head fall as he cupped them, squeezing their softness harshly until you gasped.

And then he became the one to rise and connect his teeth to your neck after discarding your upper garment with an aggressive pull.

You closed your eyes - mind imagining just how badly your Ravenclaw bed was going to creak in a moment when the two of you made contact with the ancient bedframe - Doyoung reaching the swell of your breasts with the tip of his tongue.

You felt your bra slowly descending off your torso as well. Doyoung grabbed it roughly and threw it somewhere in the room as if unable to wait a single moment. Just as roughly, he pulled you down on top of him and pushed your pyjama bottoms off your ass in one fatal swoop.

"Come here," he murmured, tongue slightly poking out of his mouth; the thought of you sitting on top of that making shivers travel all across your body. Your chest was pressed on his but the fabric of his shirt bothered you too much, so hungry to feel his skin instead.

So you leaned down and took his tongue inside your mouth, dancing with it and making him taste yours whilst your fingers gathered his top until feeling his abdomen and pecs defined, beneath the shirt. Then you forced it off, ruffling his fluffy dark hair playfully, before finally biting into his neck just as you had been dying to do. He chuckled, his throat moving accordingly to the vibrations of his deep voice but it soon transformed into an airy panting as you moved the biting down across his collarbones; placing wet kisses all across his chest, flicking his nipples and biting on the soft skin of his abs. Doyoung gulped when you reached the most prominent veins of his navel and you smiled, tracing one with the tip of your tongue until reaching the waistband of his boxers.

"Ah shit, just-," he choked. You froze; keeping your hot breath close to his twitching cock just to make him gasp.

You didn't go any further though and just smiled, putting on a short show for him, namely taking off your bottoms and underwear before sitting on top of his legs again.

He admired you from underneath his hooded eyelids, but before you could tease him as you intended to, he flicked his wrist and your body moved the other way accompanied by your high pitched yelp.

"Doyoung!" You leaned forward to steady yourself, as your ass was already being kneaded by his impatient hands.

He chuckled once and pulled you by the waist until you could feel his breath between your legs.

"Be a good girl," he murmured and dove in, the movement of his tongue around your clit making you moan too loudly for the university campus.

"We need--to soundproof--the room-" you tried to speak with a broken voice as Doyoung spread you out with his hands, fingers pressed into the softness of your ass.

"You can be silent with my cock inside that mouth."

Mind clouded as you moved your hips to ride his tongue, you almost forgot about Doyoung's painfully hard cock poking out of his boxers.

So you leaned down, trying to keep your moans as silent as possible and watched it spring out of the underwear on the lower stomach. Doyoung's hiss didn't go unnoticed by your ears as you pumped it, so you eagerly licked a strip up on it and felt his slight shudder. The you let out a trail of saliva past your lips and you watched it coat his tip.

"Shit," he breathed on your clit as you pursed your lips on it and when you actually took it inside your wet mouth, hand working the base, his fingers pulled you even lower on his face.

You moaned as his tongue fucked inside of you quickly, the vibrations of your throat causing him to get even more eager. With your cheeks sucked in to take as much as you could and one hand held steady to work the rest, you bobbed your head quickly, matching his pace. Then you finally took it all in until you felt it inside your throat, making him groan as he moved his hips upwards for more. You gasped for air as you let his cock slide out, glistening with your saliva, and you pumped it with your fist, moaning a second time when you felt Doyoung's fingers stretching you out.

It was already too much. Your mind was hazy and your muscles aching. And when you felt another finger being added, making you squeeze your thighs together and curl your toes, your own fingers never letting his cock go, you moaned loudly.

"Shh," He warned you, amused at you getting louder and louder as your orgasm approached. So you leaned down again, forehead resting on his thigh for a moment before starting to resume sucking on his cock again.

Doyoung's legs twitched imperceptibly at your sudden touch and the movement of his tongue, back on your clit, got too erratic, showing you how close he was himself.

"Babe, ah--fuck," he mumbled with broken breaths, his fingers digging into your sides, until he thrust inside your mouth a few times uncontrollaby and then went limp moments before you could feel his seed shoot on your tongue. You kept still as much as you could before letting it out, slowly working the length as it sprouted a few times on your breasts as well, descending on your nipples and his abdomen.

Doyoung groaned a few more times and right after you finished swallowing you arched your back, his mouth sucking on you so needily as if he was still trying to reach his own high.

Your nails dug into his thighs and your hips started to move on their own on his face, riding his tongue and trying to keep as quiet as possible.

"Cumming!" you mumbled, mind hazy and muscles aching.

Doyoung hummed pleased and didn't stop even when you started to uncontrollably shake in his hold, fucking you through your orgasm until you had to beg him to stop.

__________

“What were you doing when this happened?”

The man stated in a monotone voice, in full concentration as he was staring at his device connected to Doyoung’s room. He was standing in the middle of it, the only spot without any burnt patches or open flames.

The latter's mind went to last night, the feeling of his cock inside his desperate palm as the image of your mouth roamed his imagination; so he let out a short “heh” before clearing his throat.

“So I was in bed.”

“With someone?” The man mumbled.

“Alone.” Doyoung replied.

And it wasn’t a lie. He came inside your mouth that day and when he got to his room again all he could think of was cumming inside of it again.

The man didn't reply for a moment.

“And you said that it was as if an explosion happened that made your whole room catch fire?”

“Yep.” Doyoung slid his hands in the sweatpants pockets, fighting the urge to swing back and forth on his heels.

“Well, the room is not malfunctioning or anything. I just think your emotions were too strong."

The man raised his eyes to stare at Doyoung’s face. “Whatever they were," he added.

The lack of emotions on the dude’s face was making things even more awkward.

“Uhm yeah, I think I was having a nightmare or something…” Doyoung scratched the back of his head.

The man hummed and with one last click, he sighed and twisted his wrist once. Doyoung inhaled relieved to see his burnt walls turn to their original state. He had never experienced a rub so good it made his room burn like hell itself before.

“Thank you, sir," Doyoung addressed the man that was already walking towards the door.

“Next time this happens-” The stiff man said, turning around once, feet in the corridor, “-just imagine water or something.”

“And what if my room gets flooded?”

The man straightened his jacket with a short tug. “Well, just don’t jack off then.”

With a little smile, Doyoung was ready to see him off and hide under the covers.

__________

“What do you mean by an explosion?”

You leaned closer to Doyoung, who was sitting across the table from you in the study room, to hear his whispers better.

“Like a real ka-boom?” A curious voice asked as well.

Doyoung and you both turned your heads towards Haechan, standing and resting with his elbows on the desk as close to you as possible.

“This is a private conversation!” You gently whisper-yelled, pushing Haechan back.

"I'm just curious to know more about the rooms!” He whined, straightening his back.

“Well, didn’t you feel it?” Doyoung’s words were directed towards you and you gulped, remembering the sensation you felt the previous night.

It did feel like an explosion inside your whole body. If that was what your connection was going to feel like in the future, you were surely going to lose your mind with each orgasm.

“Of course I did! But my room didn’t catch fire.”

Doyoung’s adam apple travelled up and down in his throat. “Lee. Can you please just fuck off for a second?”

Haechan, face almost touching Doyoung’s one, opened his palms and took a few steps back again.

“I think,” you waited a moment, eyes darting around as if trying to gather more courage, “it happened because I was doing it too.”

Doyoung’s jaw fell open and Haechan whistled.

“Well, shit. If I blow up my room while I think of my cute girlfriend then what’s going to happen when I actually fuck my cute girlfriend?”

You bit your lower lip, trying to not giggle at his words but it was impossible.

Doyoung's gaze caressed your face and his expression relaxed into a smile.

“You like that? Me calling you my girlfriend?” He touched your hand and you intertwined your fingers soon after.

“Uhm, guys, I think you should take this to the bedroom now...” Haechan trailed off, seeing you imperceptibly lean into each other.

“Maybe we should just not masturbate at the same time,” you whispered.

“Maybe we should just blow up the entire university.” Doyoung whispered back, before your lips inevitably clashed together making Haechan groan and a few other nosey people in the vicinity look away too.

__________

It was a sunny day and the grass outside never felt softer as you sat down crossed legged. Doyoung’s hand was still intertwined with yours and you giggled when instead of letting it go as you tugged away, he just pulled you towards himself.

“I just can’t get enough of you,” his breath caressed your lips. The kiss was slow and soft and you melted in his arms.

You hummed teasingly then watched as Doyoung indicated towards you and a sandwich gently breezed inside your hand from the basket he carried.

“Stop boasting your object moving skills,” you smiled before taking a bite. Your knees touched as he sat down as well and he smirked seeing your uniform skirt slide up your thigh a bit.

“My room still reflects my mood even when I’m outside of it,” he continued as you munched on the food. “Perhaps I should keep the distance.”

“Can’t you just turn it off?”

Doyoung snickered. “Yeah. I’m on my way to ask the principal to turn off my room because I want to have mad sex and I end up destroying it.”

You tilted your head to the side as if thinking for a moment. Then you noticed Doyoung’s gaze.

“What?”

“That turned you on just now,” he smiled.

You gulped. “No.”

He sighed knowingly. “Yes.”

You exchanged a look.

“Can you feel it?”

“Can you not?”

“I thought it was just my feeling. Is this you being horny right now?”

“I think it’s both mixed.”

“You said that I would only know when you orgasm.”

“Well, that’s what I thought too.”

You both stared at each other for a moment as if doomed.

Then Doyoung’s eyes twinkled and the heat inside of your gut intensified.

“Doyoung! Stop it.”

“Hmm, can you resist this though?” he leaned in like a snake trying to catch your lips.

“We’re outside,” you whispered, placing your hands on his chest.

“We’re hidden. No one’s looking.”

The burning sensation inside your gut intensified even more and when you felt completely wet Doyoung exhaled.

"Oh, I know," he whispered on your lips when you tried to tell him. "I think--," he licked his lower lip, looking at you twitching in front of him. "I can make you cum with only my words."

You whined closing your eyes and trying to calm your quick breath whilst your hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt.

"Please, this is torture."

You squeezed your legs together and Doyoung was quick to slide one hand between them just enough to keep them apart, kneading the soft flesh in the meantime.

His lips brushed yours and you let go, diving in desperately, sucking on his tongue as if only that alone could make you go over the edge. His hums were deep and rough and you wondered how he managed to keep it together.

"Hold tight," he ordered and you gasped, unable to breathe for a moment before blinking hard and seeing new trees adorning Doyoung's figure.

"Wait," you furrowed your eyebrows. He smiled hovering on top of you. The breeze felt different and there were no more screaming students in the background.

Then you realized.

"Is this your room?" you tried to look around above his shoulder.

The green moss under your back was soft to the touch and the campus surely didn't have any waterfalls like the one shining under the setting sun.

"Doyoung, did you really just transport us in your room as if it was nothing?"

"Perks of being a Prefect," his soft breath caressed your ear as he outlined it with his lips.

"I’m a Prefect too but I can't do this!"

"Then, perks of being a horny Slytherin," he chuckled and you felt his tongue gently drawing patterns on your neck. The breath you took in was sharky and you tightened your hold around his torso, pulling him towards you even more with your legs.

"Just fuck me already," you whined and Doyoung was quick to unzip his pants, pupils so big that you could see your own reflection in his eyes.

"I think this is going to be very quick," he grunted, pushing your panties to the side and pressing his tip into your clit.

You threw your head back and opened your mouth in a soundless moan, choking when he pushed inside slowly.

"I don't need much either," you managed to speak before you both started to pant in unison. Your fingers got tangled in his luscious hair, wrapping his neck with your arms and lungs filled with his scent. Your mouths were open against each other as if starved and you wondered why it took you so long to fuck again.

The moans were quick to invade the room and when your body started to shift back and forth under his weight, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them down around your head.

Doyoung kissed you once and bit on your lower lip, stretching it out as his hips slowed down, making you feel every inch so very well.

“I can feel the way you like it when I’m like this,” he murmured amused.

You inhaled deeply as he hit it hard a few times then slowed down again. The waterfall burst in sync and you felt a few drops of water on your skin.

“And I guess you can also feel the way you’re torturing me right now,” you breathed out, clenching around him as if begging for release.

“Yeah,” he outlined your lips with the tip of his tongue, “and it’s so fun.”

Your hips moved upwards, needing more and he chuckled once, lifting himself on the knees and lifting one of your legs to his shoulder.

“I think I need some magical words now, baby.”

You tried to roll your eyes to the side and move your arms but he clicked his tongue and you realized the amount of control he had on you.

“I can’t believe you’re balls deep inside of me and still have the strength to keep my wrists down with magic.”

“Oh, you want me to lose control?”

You looked around the room, or better, the dark green forest, and imagined it on fire but your lucid thoughts lost any meaning the moment Doyoung started to move again, the sound of his hips hitting the underside of your thighs becoming too overwhelming. Your spinning head got you whining and moaning his name, again and again, each time louder until he actually lost control and your fingers were free for you to dig them into his chest, palming his stomach and going up to reach his face. He kissed your fingertips leaning down again as you started to twitch in his hold.

“Shit,” he cursed through his teeth, your approaching orgasm making him unable to distinguish between his one and yours.

You gasped, lips forming the words and he grunted. “I know, baby, I know.”

And when it came crashing down on you, it felt so right yet so terrifying that you thought you were about to pass out.

The waterfall moved its course right above you and you screamed while Doyoung laughed loudly, his hair getting all wet and dripping above you.

You tried to open your eyes, passing your hands on your face.

“We’re all wet now!”

“You were wet way before this,” he chuckled, his cool skin so smooth to the touch that you pulled him down until he was able to rest his face on your chest.

He wrapped your torso with his arms, caging you under his weight and you sighed relieved, still dizzy from the mind-blowing experience.

"I can't believe this just happened."

You looked up at the calm waterfall and its pink water that reflected the sunset. A few birds you didn't notice before were chirping.

“Can you get rid of my clothes without touching me?” you wondered.

Doyoung chuckled and his breath warmed your bosom.

“Yes.”

You gasped. “Who have you been practising with?”

He lifted his head to rest his chin on you. “It’s second-year magic.”

“They don’t teach us to undress people.”

“They teach us to move stuff. I can move it from your body to the floor. Same thing.”

“Then do it. Wet clothes feel aw-” you tried to complete the sentence but didn’t manage to as you suddenly felt his wet body on yours instead of the fabric.

“What are we? Like Adam and Eve?” you laughed at the image of you both naked and lying on a patch of moss.

He kissed your lips slowly. “Perhaps we were. Like in a past life or something.”

You hummed, pushing his dripping hair back. “So the room it’s better flooded than burnt?”

“The soil will absorb everything so when I'll turn it back, abracadabra, no water left.”

“Why are you so smart?” you smiled.

“Actually, I dropped out of the top 10.”

Your smile died.

“What?”

“You too.”

“What?!”

__________

“Oh shit.”

You were standing in the corridor, one hand on your mouth and eyes wide looking at that month’s academic ranking sheet.

“How is this possible?” you asked Doyoung who sighed near you.

"I thought you were aware."

“Well, when was the last time you folks handed in homework?” Haechan stopped by, head shaking like a disappointed parent. You both turned your heads towards him.

“We’ve been-” you started to speak but drifted off, unsure on how to continue.

“Busy,” Doyoung concluded with a nod.

“Oh yeah,” Haechan eyed Doyoung’s bright hickey on the side of the neck. “I can see that. Keep up the good work then,” he patted both of your shoulders. "Also, you have leaves in your hair."

It was your turn to sigh. Doyoung reached the top of your head and retrieved a small leaf.

“I think we need to schedule our meetings-” you started but Doyoung interrupted you, alarmed.

“What? No way!”

You crossed your arms on your chest and faced your boyfriend.

“We’re not going to graduate if we keep fucking all day.”

And Kim Doyoung actually pouted. “I don’t care.”

“You’ve been fighting for first place all of this time!”

“It’s because I was trying to win over you. Now it’s not important, is it? Because you're mine."

You had to close your eyes to gather your shit.

“Doyoung, our future-”

“My future is you.”

“Oh my God, stop being cringy for a second."

He hummed amused and pulled you towards his chest. You reluctantly let him do it and wrapped his torso. He smelled like forest and well - like Doyoung.

“We can study and fuck,” he murmured in the crook of your neck.

“What are you? A bunny?”

“We can study together,” he looked at you as you lifted your gaze on his face.

“You already know how bad of an idea that is, Doyoung.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Okay. Knowing you, there's already a plan."

You let him go and lifted one finger as you started to announce the rules. “We can meet once a day.”

“Oh my God," he rubbed his forehead.

“When we meet, we can fuck only if we’ve already finished our assignments,” you added a second finger.

Doyoung passed one hand through his hair annoyed. “Alright.”

“Three. If you try some weird shit while I’m busy, I’ll beat your ass.”

He smirked.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes. You’ll beat my ass. Understood.”

“You don’t want that,” you warned him.

“I absolutely do not want that,” he kissed your lips once.

__________

Doyoung turned around and around.

His bed felt cold and uncomfortable that night and everything he desired was having you warm it up. He thought he loved studying but while working on his homework he realized that he has been in love with you instead all of that time.

The wall clock ticked slowly until Doyoung groaned and broke it with a twist of his wrist. Then he hated the way it looked on his wall so he sent it flying out of the window.

With a grunt, he rolled over and tried to find his phone.

From DY: you up?

From You: yes, studying. as you should

From DY: hmmm

You sighed looking up at the screen for a second more before putting it away.

Then you suddenly froze, hand in the air and your panties absolutely soaked.

“Kim Doyoung. I swear I’ll-,” you’ve never called someone as quickly as him at that moment and you hated the way you squeezed your thighs together at the sound of his sleepy voice.

“Yes?”

“Doyoung.”

“Yeah.”

You exhaled. “I’m mad at you.”

“Hot,” he chuckled.

“Stop whatever you’re doing right now.”

“Hmm, can’t,” he gulped and his shifting on the bed synced with the feeling inside of your stomach.

“I have a test tomorrow!”

“I can teach you if you come over,” he murmured.

“I can teach myself very well if-”

“If you didn’t have your mind so clouded right now?”

You started to pant lightly and you closed your eyes.

“I’m just minding my own business,” he teased you. “Turn off the phone.”

The grip on your desk went unnoticed to you until you started to lightly shake, the wet sound of his fist working himself paired with his deep and lazy voice too tempting for you to actually put the phone away.

“Doyoung. We talked about it. Rule number three. I’ll beat your ass.”

“Come over and do it then.”

You sighed annoyed and let the silence fill the space for a while.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “Just a moment. Touch yourself.”

“You’re going to burn the room,” you tried to joke, ignoring the way your hand slowly descended between your legs. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice.

But he sighed once and his breath got louder. “Good girl,” he praised you.

You closed your eyes and bit your lower lip, listening to Doyoung’s sounds and adding some whines of your own to the orchestra.

“Can’t you really come over? This is driving me insane,” he groaned.

“If I come over, you’ll keep me occupied all night.”

Doyoung chuckled once then swore silently as you slid a finger inside of yourself, pumping quickly until the wet sounds reached his ears.

“I bet it doesn’t feel as good as my fingers.”

The chair you were sat on fell to the ground with a loud bang as you stood up and leaned on the desk. Your arm was trembling so you bent it, resting on your forearm instead, forehead pressed hard on it as your fingers were indeed too short to give you the pleasure you were seeking.

“Oh babe, you’re doing such a mess over there,” he had the audacity to snicker but then his voice died in a choke as you started to moan his name like a mantra, over and over. He surely could feel the way the heat growing inside your limbs were making you curl your toes and bite on your own skin.

“Are you going to cum with me?” you mewled and Doyoung just about lost his mind. His panting filled the phone speaker and as you reached your orgasm, lulled by his swearing, his moans got engulfed by loud thuds.

“Doyoung?” you tried to reach the phone with a trembling hand but the beep replaced his voice.

__________

“This is very embarrassing,” he whispered to himself.

You were both standing in his room, arms crossed on the respective chests and eyes trying to make sense of what you were looking at.

You ran as quickly as lightning towards the Slytherin rooms, worried out of your own mind, just to see Doyoung sat on a gigantic rock instead of his bed.

“What happened?” you walked towards him before tripping on the unstable floor.

“Oh, careful!” he slid down and caught you in his arms before you could get yourself a free rhinoplasty.

“Are you okay?” you asked him and his red cheeks told you that he was absolutely fine and actually still high as fuck from the mindblowing rub.

He chuckled. “We’re in a cave!”

You rolled your eyes and pushed his chest away. “You scared the shit out of me. Rocks started to fall down? What the hell happened?"

He sighed, looking around. “The walls and ceiling started to disintegrate.”

“This makes absolutely no sense. I don’t believe there’s no other Slytherin with your problems. One can not have control over this. This is so much responsibility. How is this safe for school? I will go and ask-”

“Hey, hey, Y/N, shh,” he cupped your face and smiled. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not! You burn then you get hit with rocks. And for what? Because you’re horny. I’m worried but I’m also mad!” you replied but him squishing your cheeks didn’t make your discourse aggressive at all. Doyoung smiled again and gave you a peck on your duck lips.

“At least you’re in my room now.”

“I’m not! I’m in a cave.”

“I learned the spell,” he announced and took a step back like one of those muggle magicians with hats full of bunnies. “What bedding colour do we want tonight, Miss?”

“We? I’m going back to my normal room to study.”

Doyoung pouted. “Ah, come on. Just sleep with me. What if scary wolves start appearing from the walls this time? Or a tornado? Even worse, your father to beat my ass?”

“You’re insufferable. Also you wouldn’t want my father to see me sleeping with you, would you?”

He chuckled delightedly as a child and with both wrists and a little wince of effort he turned his room back to normal.

You inhaled and exhaled deeply as he let himself fall on the bed, patting the side of it for you to join him.

“I’ve never been as empty as now. That nut almost killed me so I just want to sleep. Please.”

You sighed again and moved towards him. “Okay. But this is the last time.”

_________

It wasn’t the last time.

You tried to avoid Doyoung as much as possible for your own sanity and your academic well-being. And his actual survival. But it was impossibile to not bump into his firm chest at every corner.

“Doyoung! Leave me alone!” you would announce from far away as he would walk down the corridor. “I know you have a test in ten minutes. We don’t have time for this.”

“Just a single kiss,” he gave you The Eyes.

Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin Prefect? Scary, intimidating, domineering.

Kim Doyoung, your boyfriend? Clingy, soft, a complete fool.

And you adored him.

His friend laughed and walked away, leaving Doyoung behind to bother you further.

“A hug?” he tried again as you shook your head.

“Okay, okay. A handshake,” he smiled and you rolled your eyes amused, extending your hand.

Doyoung grabbed it and kissed your knuckles slowly, then gently kissed one of your fingertips, his dark eyes not letting your figure go for a moment. Your pupils shook as he would kiss another fingertip, then another, and before you could realize you were in his arms, mouths on each other, his body pressing into yours and pushing you towards the first classroom available.

“Doyoung. Rule number 2,” your voice was a tiny choked breath.

“I don’t care.”

“What if someone’s going to see?” you whispered alarmed as he lifted you with a thud on the professor’s desk.

“Let them watch. Are you up to give them a hot show?”

“Stop joking! We can be expelled!”

“You won’t care about that in a second,” he announced, falling on his knees and pushing your panties to the side.

You inhaled sharply and slid your fingers into his hair, mouth open in a silent moan as Doyoung’s tongue actually made you forget whatever concern you had.

“Doyoung, I said, you have a test,” you mumbled, fingers gripping his hair and pulling.

He stood up, hands placed on each side of you and his gaze made you immediately regret your tone.

“Is this how you talk to me?” he lifted one eyebrow.

“Is your little Slytherin ego hurt?” you tried to imitate him but failed as he pulled you down from the desk and turned you around.

“I see that you miss our fights,” he growled inside your ear before bending you over.

The first slap to your ass made you bite your lower lip. The second made you moan and the third got your panties even wetter than before.

“If you’re going to whine so much about it then you just deserve to not cum at all.”

“You are not leaving me here like this now,” you warned him, hearing him fumbling behind you.

“Hmm, and if I do?”

“I will edge myself until you burst yourself.”

“Let’s see,” he took a step back and dusted his jacket, ready to leave.

You let out a whine of protest.

"What?"

You wiggled your butt. "Come on."

Doyoung raked your skirt up again slowly.

"Come on, what?"

It was a long and cruel battle and you secretly enjoyed every bit of it. He waited for you to talk again, running his fingers all over your ass as if bored but his thoughts were not hidden to your gut.

You tried to turn around but his palms pinned you down again with a soft thud.

You turned your wrists and he let out a surprised chuckle, quick to shield it.

"Is this a Defense against the dark arts class?"

You smiled. "Yes. You're the dark arts."

He hummed and got closer until you felt the fabric of his pants brush against the underside of your nude thighs. And when he raked his hand through your hair you moaned, letting him open your lips with his tongue as you arched your back.

It was a slow and sinful kiss, and you melted into it as he fucked your mouth with his.

You were both panting when he broke it off and turned you around. Quick to hook your legs around his waist, you kissed again as if for the first time.

You pushed his hair back and he tugged at your lower lip with his teeth. He ran his tongue along with it and you dove in again, sucking on it. Nails digging and palms pressing on the desk loudly, you begged him without words as he breathed heavily into your neck.

Shifting and rocking together, murmuring incoherently, you set his room on fire for the second time.

__________

“I’m calm today. It’s fine,” Doyoung looked at you with wide innocent eyes.

You were both sitting on his room’s fluffy rug (“Do you like the green? I made it appear only for you”), your books all scattered around you and your nerves thin, expecting your boyfriend to jump on you anytime now.

The lighting in his room as he was rearranging your guts just days before attracted half of the Slytherin people to the door. Doyoung had some explaining to do as soon as he got back, shirt out of his pants and swollen lips.

"Are you perhaps going through a rough time?" the gentle Nurse that came to assist eventual injuries asked, timidly entering the smoky room. "You know you can talk to me whenever. Your father and I-,"

"Oh no, Ma'am. I'm doing well actually," Doyoung was quick to interrupt her after dismissing all kids polluting the corridor.

"This happens when one's mad though."

He chuckled once. "I am definitely not mad. I'm--happy actually," Doyoung explained and coughed a few times, hand swatting around his face. It would take him more than a few wrists turns to make his room look decent again.

"Doyoung-,"

"Ma'am, I have a girlfriend."

She blinked at him then suddenly blushed.

"Oh!" she then smiled. "Oh. Well," she took a napkin out of her coat and gently patted her neck. "I know married couples that never managed to change the colour of the lights. Imagine turning it on fire," she laughed slowly and Doyoung hummed, hand resting on the debris of his bed, waiting for her to finally leave.

"I'll send your father a letter to congratulate myself for the nice couple-,”

"Oh no no no no" he sprinted in front of her, hands on both of her shoulders. "My father would surely appreciate it but he's-uh- currently- hm- out of the country."

Her eyes twinkled with malice. "Then you'll have to be cute with your girlfriend for a while and keep your room intact."

“I swear. I’m cute. Just a calm studying date. Promise,” he actually lifted his pinky and you smiled, wrapping it with yours and touching thumbs.

Then you sighed turning your computer on.

“I’m glad. I missed our fluffy moments and I can’t believe the actual Nurse threatened you- Doyoung!” you interrupted yourself as you eyed his hand on your ankle.

“I’m not doing anything,” he blinked at you. You hummed as a warning.

“Come on. You would have felt it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and resumed your fumbling. He didn't look away though and you could actually see his movements in your peripheral vision.

"Doyoung."

"What? I'm just getting comfortable."

"Leaning towards me?"

"Oh, come on. I missed you," he got as close as to touch shoulders with you and place a hand on your thigh.

"Had no idea Slytherins were so cuddly," you looked at it, worried.

"Hm? Is this-," he squeezed your leg, "making you feel some type of way?"

You pursed your lips. "Not at all."

"Not at all you say?" his voice was getting dangerously lower as he started to play with the hem.

"Doyoung, the studying-," you tried to speak but he placed a single kiss on your jaw, interrupting you.

"The what?" he murmured.

You gulped. "We-,"

"Go on," he kissed your neck, stealing a real moan from your chest.

He chuckled. "So easy."

“Okay, you know what? That’s it. You deserve to be punished,” you announced, grabbing his green Slytherin tie and pulling it towards you. Doyoung exhaled and almost lost his balance, his eyes wide open at your actions.

“What are you doing?” he stared at your hand.

You ignored him. “Hmm, let’s see. What safeword should we use?” you wondered, deep in thoughts.

“Eh? Safeword?”

“What about ‘green’?”

“What about it?”

“Say it when it’s too much, honey,” you explained and got up, starting to walk and dragging your boyfriend by the tie. He followed you quickly towards the bed, almost tripping on his feet, and he let you push him roughly on it.

It’s not that he didn’t have any strength, but he was so shocked that he couldn’t move a single limb.

“You know what Ravenclaws are good at?”

He shook his head.

“Wit, originality and winning,” you recited, lifting his chin with your nail.

“You’re also good at sucking cock,” he murmured, the little smile blooming on his lips showing his senses coming back to his body.

You tsked and slid his tie off his shirt making his hiss at the harsh movement. Then you touched each button on that shirt and they fell to his lap, slowly exposing his collarbones and chest.

Doyoung kept his eyes on you like two dark fires and you knew he was waiting for you to hesitate for a single moment so he could attack instead.

“Can I play too or is this a one-sided fight?” he wondered, leaning down on his elbows, his tongue slowly wetting his lips. His bed was a dark green velvet this time and his figure on it made your mouth water.

“Go ahead,” you replied.

He hummed lazily and looked at you as if unsure of what to do first.

Then your buttons popped too.

All of them and at the same time.

You closed your eyes briefly at the sound and breathed out shakily.

“Really? Copying me?”

Doyoung shrugged and indicated to you that it was your turn.

So you put on a brave smirk and walked towards him slowly, letting your uniform shirt fall on the ground at his feet. T

hen you climbed on his lap.

He followed your movements and you were pleased to see the little breaths coming out of his open lips as you leaned down as if to kiss him but twisted your wrists instead.

His arms moved towards you and unsupported, his back hit the mattress.

Doyoung chuckled once but the smile disappeared as his tie slowly wrapped his hands like a snake.

“Babe?”

“I’ve been honing my skills too,” you explained and got off him right at the same moment his body slid quickly on the sheets until meeting the bed board with a soft thud.

He groaned once, trying to move his arms but they didn’t budge, tightly secured above his head.

You giggled and straddled his thighs again, palming his nude stomach in the meantime.

“Hmm, what should I do with you now?” you wondered.

Doyoung bit his lower lip and whispered a spell. Your bra slid down your arms and you pouted.

“Poor baby. With your wrists tied like that you can’t do mental spells? This is all you can do now?” you discarded the item of clothing to the side. "Hmm, not even horny Slytherins can perform magic with tied arms, can they?”

He let his head fall down on the pillow, the annoyed smile adorning his pretty face making you weak in the knees.

“I don’t need magic to get you begging,” he retorted, his dark gaze adding to the discourse.

“Alright,” you gave it to him with a shrug. “But what are you going to do when I do this-” you slid your fingers between your legs, “and you can only watch?” you finished right when your fingertips touched your wet clit.

You inhaled at the sensation and Doyoung swore silently, his arms tugging at the restraints. The moans escaping your lips were little and soft as you went gently on yourself and you didn’t need any Slytherin connection to know what the view of you half-naked on top of Doyoung did to him.

“Take your skirt off too,” he murmured, eyes trained on your hand hidden by the fabric.

“Mmm, I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders now,” you replied but did as he suggested, slowly unzipping the skirt on your hip. Then you moved to the side and slid it off your legs. When you tried to get your panties off too, you huffed feeling them move on your thighs by themselves.

“You’re going to lose all of your strength with your little tricks,” you turned your head to face him.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? To have me all weak for you to play with me?”

The dying lights in his room were flickering on his skin and with his black strands of hair on the white pillows and his open shirt, he looked like some sort of powerful count.

No, he didn’t look weak to you at all.

“Okay, stop playing along now,” you returned on his thighs and sat on his hard cock.

He bit his lower lip at the sensation and lifted his hip a few times to make you bounce on it.

“I am not,” he turned his head to the side, teasingly, like a little bird.

“You’re enjoying yourself right now," you whispered.

Doyoung took in the sight of you slowly grinding on his pants and breathed out. “Damn right I am. You wanted me to suffer?”

“Yes.”

Your fingers softly pressed on his chest as you moved on top of him, his dress pants luscious on your skin.

"I'm going to cum all over you then leave you like this. What do you think?"

"Oh, so this is all about revenge."

You didn't reply and closed your eyes, losing yourself in the sensation. Doyoung's abs kept twitching under your fingertips as you tried to reach your high and edging him at the same time.

You really wondered how long he would last without begging and just imagining his pretty lips forming those pleas just added to the overwhelming sensation inside of you.

"There's no risk of you destroying this room again and it's also an opportunity for you to learn a lesson," you tried to sound coherent but his dark smirk made you stutter.

"Yeah," his voice was husky and you gulped. "You look so pretty like this, desperately riding my cock." His eyes danced on your bouncing breasts and for a moment you realized that you were not winning at all.

You were losing so badly that you didn't have enough strength to keep his hands tied anymore. You fell onto his chest, so close to climax that your head got full of static. Dizzy and whimpering, mouth open on his, breathing his air and rolling your hips, you cried out, legs shaking and muscles twitching, loving the way defeat tasted like.

__________

Doyoung was sitting in front of you during the Debate class both of your houses shared. It has been weeks since you didn’t actually debate with him and the hours went on very boringly.

“Since you’ve both been, you know,” Haechan did an obscene gesture with his hands so you lightly slapped them down from the professor’s eyes, “the class lost its spark. Not gonna lie.”

You smiled a bit and resumed your previous position, chin on the palm of your hand and eyes on Doyoung’s shoulders.

“He’s saying smart things lately. Nothing to add to it.”

“He was saying smart things before as well. You were just blinded by hatred. And now you’re blinded by love.”

You sighed, watching the way the warm rays of sun danced on your boyfriend’s skin.

Then you straightened your back.

Haechan blinked at your sudden reaction and waited for you to say something.

“I have an idea on how to make the class funny again.” Your eyes twinkled with malice and Haechan made a face.

“Hmm. Sounds like a bad idea.”

You ignored him and bit your lower lip, eyes piercing Doyoung’s back, not moving even when Haechan waved his hand in front of your face.

“Are you trying to bewitch him or something?”

“Or something,” you murmured.

And to Haechan’s surprise Doyoung actually jolted in his seat. It went unnoticed to others but it was obvious to whom stared.

And you were staring.

“What did you do?” Haechan inquiried, eyes darting from you to him and back to you.

You hummed amused and waited a few more moments.

Doyoung leaned back in his seat and exhaled.

“What’s going on?” Haechan whispered again.

“I’m thinking of him eating me out.”

“What??” Your friend asked too loudly, making a few people turn around.

Doyoung also turned and his gaze could have made you get up and run away if you weren’t in class.

Careful, it was saying but unfortunately it just added to the sensation in both of your bodies, making him close his eyes for a second.

Then you gasped as well.

Haechan got the gist of it and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Yall nasty.”

_________

"Where do you think you're going?"

Doyoung pressed his palm on the wall behind you, caging you with his arms soon after.

"Hey, boo," you smiled nonchalantly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, the hand near your face moving to trace your cheekbone then jaw. It stopped on your lower lip, his thumb dragging it a bit, slowly touching your skin.

"So you want war," he murmured. “Refusing me, then fucking yourself on me. Now, thinking who knows what dirty things in class just to get me all worked up. What’s up with the rules you made?”

Your throat twitched as you gulped, his palm now hovering over the softness of it.

The little whine that came out of your lips made Doyoung smirk, but then he straightened his back and took a few steps back.

Touch me touch me touch me touch me

"Let there be war," he loosened up his tie and turned around, the sound of his shoes clicking on the shiny corridor pavement poignant as your heartbeat.

__________

It was late and the night was darker than usual.

You came back from your last exam of the semester and you were fuming. Dizzy and unable to concentrate on the paper, you could only think of Doyoung’s long and slender fingers slowly pumping inside of you.

Fuck.

You could almost see his annoying smirk, somewhere on campus, getting himself horny just to get you horny too. And when you thought he’d let you rest for the day while untying the knot of your robe, ready to slip under the covers, you felt a weird sensation vibrating through your body.

Looking down, you noticed your pyjama move as if an invisible wind haunted your room. It gently nudged you towards the door and you tried to resist for a second. Then the sudden burst of heat inside your core made you inhale sharply.

“Fuck,” you mumbled and grabbed your robe, trying to wear it again to not show the entire campus your thin nightgown.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you whispered to no one, feeling your feet being dragged on the pavement. Like a Russian ballet dancer, you slid across the corridors and hoped no one would see you as you secretly exited the Ravenclaw chambers.

“Just--a moment!” you whispered again, hands grabbing the side of the door to see if the outside corridor was empty.

The pull stopped for a second but then it got impatient and you rolled your eyes, letting it move you around the university like a ghost.

When you noticed the open Slytherin doors you sighed, the sensation inside your guts growing at an alarming speed, almost as quickly as the pull Doyoung applied to your body.

And when you entered his room, the lecturing you wanted to give your horny boyfriend died in your throat.

“Woah, Doyoung,” you looked around.

The young man was resting on the bed, one hand to support his head. “Hi, baby.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, the moss under your feet caressing your skin as the dark, angry sky, illuminated by lightning, danced on your figure. “But are you perhaps mad?”

At the same moment, a loud thunder made you close your eyes and Doyoung pulled you on the bed. You yelped as you landed on it and he wrapped your body with his arms.

“I just want you on top of me, let's test this fucking room to its fullest capacity,” he whispered. His voice was low and it made your hairs rise.

“Are you sure you’re not mad?” you tried to ask but he shut you up with his mouth in a deep kiss. You whined and placed your hands on the pillow around his head, tugging lightly at his hair spread on it. Doyoung gathered your silky nightgown on your thighs until reaching the hot skin underneath it and when he slapped your ass you bit his lower lip.

"Of course I'm mad. I'm so mad at you that I might use that cute idea of the safe word of yours."

“You’re mad? I should be mad! I barely got the exam right while you were probably rubbing one out!”

He hummed, pleased. “So we’re both mad. What should we do with all of this energy?”

You wanted to roll your eyes but he spoke again. “Oh. I think I have an idea.”

“You could have called. I was floating through the campus almost naked.” Doyoung looked down at the way your nipples poked through your thin nightgown and in a second you were on your side, Doyoung’s hair tickling your neck as his lips kissed your chest. He places warm and soft kissed all over it until reaching the hard nubs. You whined silently and wrapped his head with your arms, fingers slowly gripping his firm shoulders. He was about to slide his hand on your stomach too, dancing on your inner thigh when you opened your eyes and gasped loudly.

He chuckled.

"Look up," he whispered.

At the same moment, new lights burst in the room and the walls disappeared.

You were on a hill, tall grass gently waved as you stood on your feet. Above you, the moon looked huge and the stars flickered like a symphony. The horizon was infinite and you felt grounded yet as if about to fall.

"What is this?" you giggled.

Doyoung reached behind his back and you noticed that he was sitting on a white blanket in the middle of the field instead of the bed. A few light brown rabbits hopped around and he gave them a cracker.

"A date," he replied.

You laughed again and got closer, slowly descending on your knees in front of him.

"A date,” you repeated. “I might even kiss you."

"Bet you will do even more after a glass of this," he finally retrieved the bottle of wine he was looking for.

"Oh?" you tried to read the label.

He looked at it too. "Haechan said a dear friend of his made it."

"Haechan has a friend that makes wine?"

Doyoung thought about it for a moment. "Yeah. He said she has a winery."

"That's so cool. I'd love to have a winery too,” you rested your head on the knees, wrapping them with your arms and watching your boyfriend pour it in two tall chalices. "In my next life."

"Cheers to that."

"You will have a boring desk job,” you sipped on your wine slowly after he handed you the glass.

"I can just be hot in my next life and bother you."

"You're already doing it in this life-,”

Doyoung ventured on top of you in a deathly hug and your glasses were thrown on the side.

“I remind you that we’re mad at each other and I still need to do something with that energy,” he chuckled in the crook of your neck. You wanted to reply but his hands reached your sides in a deathly tickling session.

The echoes of your laughter slowly descended the valley as the moonlight kept you company.

#doyoung #doyoung smut #nct-writers #neosmutcollective #nct #nct smut #doyoung hogwarts au #nct hogwarts au #slytherin doyoung

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