#But ive fucked myself over thinking i wouldn’t get in so I haven’t looked at accommodation

[sizzleissues]

I got my portfolio results back

#sizzle rambles #Guys im going to animation school #But ive fucked myself over thinking i wouldn’t get in so I haven’t looked at accommodation #YAY

[lovebombs4life]

is it over now? - c.t.h.

a/n: hey guysssssss… i haven’t posted in a hot minute cause ive had a million and one things going on all at once, so writing and posting have been at the back of my mind.

cw: SMUT!!! angst and fighting between reader and luke, friends to lovers w/cal, soft dom!cal, fingering, oral (f), protected p in v, praising, fluffy cal (i tho m that’s all but if i missed anything feel free to lmk!)

wc: 4,049 (not proof read)

———

“i didn’t know what a break meant, y/n! for all i knew we were broke up!” luke raised his voice as he ran his hands through his hair, walking back and forth in the living room of my apartment. i scoffed at him, clenching my jaw.

“so you thought you could sleep with someone else?!” i snapped back. his eyes turned cold. he took a step closer to me.

“i was drunk! she didn’t mean a damn thing to me!” he moved his hands as he spoke. i laughed in disbelief. my hands gripped at the roots of my hair.

“god, you are unbelievable!” i turned away from him, my hands going to my cheeks. they were warm, and i guarantee bright red as i yelled.

“we were on a break! what did that mean to you?!” he yelled, sitting down at the table.

“it meant we needed time apart! not that you could go sleep with other women!” i cried in anger. i stood in the middle of the living room, looking at him with defeat.

“luke i think you should go.” i spoke, my voice quieter now. his eyes softened, beginning to water as he heard my words.

he stood from the table, walking towards me. “please, y/n, let’s fix this.” he grabbed my waist. i stood still, my eyes watering. he slid down, hugging my hips.

“there’s no fixing this, luke. it’s over.” i let tears slide down my cheeks. i felt my shirt damped as he sniffled, crying too.

“it’s not, it’s not over, y/n, please.” he choked, trying to hold onto me tighter. i shook my head, wiping my tears away.

“it’s over, luke. it was over when you slept with another woman.” i took a deep breath, trying to keep myself from breaking down. he pulled his head away from me, his grip loosening. i backed away from him, avoiding eye contact.

i grabbed for my keys in my pocket, taking the key to his apartment off my keychain. i held it out to him. he sat on his knees, his face becoming red and puffy from crying. his hand reached out for the key shakily.

he fished for his keys, taking off the key to my apartment, leaving it on the coffee table next to him. i closed my eyes and turned around, going to my room. i heard the front door shut with a thud.

that’s when it all came out. i fell to the floor, my heart feeling as if it were in my throat. i let out choked sobs, gasping for air. my nose stuffed up and became runny. my mascara ran down my face, staining my cheeks.

i weakly crawled up into my bed, screaming into my pillow. my heart was burning, and my body was shaking. i turned my head to the side so i could breathe. i patted around for my phone, texting calum once i found it.

y/n: he cheated on me. we just broke up. i feel like im dying.

not even thirty seconds later, calum was calling me. i slid the button to answer, putting him on speaker. i sniffled as he spoke to me. “y/n.. are you okay?”

i sat up slightly. “no. i’m dying. my heart is in my throat.” i spoke, my voice breaking.

i heard him sigh through the phone. “what a dick head. you deserve better, y/n.” i wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt before wiping my nose.

“funny he thought i was talking to someone else when i never did. he got such tunnel vision on it and wouldn’t believe me. i guess taking a break means that he can go sleep with other women. he didn’t even fucking tell me who it was. i think it’s better if i don’t know.” i spoke, calming down.

“i don’t wanna know either.” calum said.

i press the button on my phone to change it to a face time call. calum’s face soon popped up on my screen. he frowned when he saw the mascara stained on my cheeks. “go clean yourself up, get comfortable. i’ll stay on the phone with you for as long as you need.” he said. i nodded, bringing my phone into the bathroom with me.

i grabbed out my makeup wipes, scrubbing the makeup from my cheeks and eyes. i threw the wipe away, grabbing my brush afterwards, fixing my hair into a ponytail. i then decided to brush my teeth before finding pajamas to change into. cal did as he said he would, and stayed on the phone with me.

i grabbed out a sweater and threw it on, then grabbed a pair of shorts. i cuddled up into my bed, turning on my tv.

“there ya go, all comfy now. you’re already looking much better.” calum complimented. i smiled softly.

“you’re the best cal. thank you.” i looked at him. he was laying in bed too, watching me as i got comfortable.

before i knew it, i ended up falling asleep. when i woke in the morning, calum with still on the phone with me. it was close to ten in the morning. he was already awake, his phone was set up to show him sitting at his desk, playing his bass and writing. he had gone on mute so he wouldn’t wake me up.

i smiled at the small gesture, thinking it was sweet.

“didn’t think you’d stay on call through the whole night.” i giggled, grabbing my phone, showing my face. calum turned to face the camera, grabbing his phone to unmute himself.

“said i’d stay on the phone for as long as you needed. figured if you needed anything in the night then you’ve already got me on the phone.” he smiled. i jutted out my bottom lip as he spoke.

“that’s so sweet cal. you’re seriously the best.” he chuckled, nodding his head before looking down and smiling. my heart warmed at the sight.

i tried to push the feeling back. my mind just wants a rebound, right? i couldn’t do that, especially not to calum.

“how bout we hangout later? you can come hang here and we can watch a movie and you can play with duke?” he asked, hopefulness in his voice. i smiled, nodding.

“that would be nice. thank you again cal. i’m gonna go now. i’ll shower and get dress and then be on my way over.” i said. i waved goodbye as i hung up, getting up to shower.

i grabbed a different hoodie and a pair of leggings, heading into my bathroom. i took a few deep breaths as i stood under the warm water, letting last night wash away. he doesn't deserve my time. no matter how much it hurts.

i washed my hair, scrubbing at my scalp. i slathered the conditioner onto the ends of my hair, then grabbed my scrub, washing off my skin.

once done, i washed out my conditioner, and turned the water off. as i dried off my body, my mind went back to calum. the fact he stayed on call with me all night made my heart swell.

i finally got dressed, and grabbed my keys. i threw on my sandals and made my way downstairs to the parking lot.

as soon as i got to calum’s, i saw duke standing near the window by the door. i smiled and opened the door, immediately getting on my knees to pet duke.

“hi little puppy, you such a sweet boy? yes you are!” i baby talked, pulling the dog into my arms.

“good to see you too?” calum said, standing infront of me. i looked up at him from my spot on the floor, still holding duke. i smiled up at him.

“hey, i need puppy love right now, and you said i could play with duke while we’re hanging out.” i stated, sticking my tongue out at him.

calum tensed up slightly as i looked up at him through my lashes.

“i could give you puppy love.” he mumbled under his breath. i didn’t quite hear what he had said. i tilted my head while looking up at him still.

“what did you say?” i furrowed my brow. he shook his head and waved it off.

“nothing. let’s go get comfy and choose a movie, yeah?” asked, turning around and walking to the living room. i hummed in agreement, setting duke down on the floor. i followed behind calum, throwing myself down onto his large couch.

“any preference on what we watch?” he asked. i shook my head, grabbing a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. he sat down next to me, pulling some of the blanket onto his lap.

his arm snuck around my waist, pulling me into his side. my cheeks flushed the slightest, and i tried to rub my hands on my face to hide it. i rested my head on his shoulder, his head laying atop mine. i yawned as he chose a movie, not really paying any mind to it. i slumped over, resting my head in his lap. duke jumped up on the couch, curling up next to my legs. i smiled, letting my eyes rest.

———

i rubbed my eyes as i woke up, stretching after laying down. i sat up, looking around the room. calum had brought me up to his room, letting me sleep. duke had followed along and was curled up next to me on the bed. calum sat at his desk writing. “how long have i been sleeping?” i asked. calum spun around in his chair, smiling softly.

“bout two hours. you started crying when you were sleeping. you were thinking about luke, huh?”

i shrugged my shoulders. “hard not to. you would too if you were dating for a year and then he cheated on you.”

calum nodded, frowning slightly. i shook it off, not wanting to keep thinking about it. “i think im gonna head out, i’ll talk to you when im home?” i said as more of a question. he nodded, standing up to hug me.

“call me if you need me, ‘kay?” he said, kissing the top of my head softly. i nodded into his chest before pulling away.

once home, i instantly went to my bed, flopping down face first. i checked my phone, seeing multiple messages and missed calls from luke throughout the day. i deleted his contact, and blocked it. i needed to cut him off otherwise i’d run back. i couldn’t do that to myself.

i smiled slightly as calum’s contact popped up.

cal: make it home okay?

y/n: yeah, sorry i didn’t text you, i totally forgot

cal: no worries :) sleep well y/n

y/n: how’d you know i was gonna sleep?

cal: im a genius that’s why

i giggled at his response. i plugged in my phone, setting it aside as i allowed my mind to wander before i fell asleep.

his lips danced over mine, his dark curls tangled between my fingers. my breathing picked up as his lips trailed down my neck, sucking dark spots upon my throat. i gasped at the feeling, his hands gripping my waist. “tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

i sat up quickly, gasping for air as if i’d just ran a marathon. i couldn’t be dreaming of him like that. we’re just friends. luke and i just broke up. i can’t use calum as a rebound. what if he’s not a rebound? you know you like him. my mind was screaming.

i checked the time on my phone. it was only ten pm. i slid my screen up, unlocking my phone. i clicked calum and i’s messages, sending him a text.

y/n: can you come over? and with a bottle of wine? or two?

cal: give me 10 minutes and i’ll be there. you alright?

y/n: yeah, need to get drunk. need to forget him

just as he promised, calum was here within ten minutes, holding two bottles of wine. i quickly snatched one of the bottles from him, popping it open and taking a swig of it. his eyes widened as he walked through the door, watching me drink from the bottle.

“a bottle for each of us then?” he laughed lightly. i nodded, walking to my living room. he followed behind me, sitting on the floor with me. i continued to drink from the bottle, calum doing the same with the other.

“he’s such a dick.” i muttered. calum chuckled, watching me slam down more wine.

“he doesn’t deserve you. i’m sure he’s sitting at home right now crying over you.” calum said. i looked at him, my face flushed from the alcohol.

“i hope so. i hope he feels miserable.” i smiled slightly. calum laughed again, drinking more.

within twenty minutes, we were both done with our bottles, and we were progressively getting drunker. i leaned my head back against the couch, watching calum as he played with the silver rings on his fingers. “you’re pretty.” i giggled, crawling over to him. he smiled as i ran my hand through his hair.

“you’re prettier.” he said, raising his hand to my cheek, caressing my skin. i nuzzled my face into his hand, kissing his palm.

his eyes flickers down my lips before meeting my gaze again. “wanna kiss you. can i kiss you?” i asked, admiring his features. he nodded, leaning in slowly.

my body tingled with excitement as his lips met mine. my mind was on fire from the alcohol, but all i could think of right now was calum. i whimpered into the kiss softly as calum pulled me into his lap. his large hands held onto my hips, moving them along his slightly.

his tongue glided along my bottom lip, asking for entrance. i parted my lips slightly, his tongue slipping into my mouth. he groaned as my hands ran through his hair, his hands still guiding my hips against his.

“want you, y/n.” he breathed out as he pulled away from our kiss. i kissed his cheek, going down to his neck.

“have me then, cal, ‘m yours.” i whispered against his skin. he held onto me as he stood up, brining us to my room.

he laid me back, kissing down my neck. “you sure you want this?” he asked, looking up at me. i nodded quickly.

“want this, want you, cal.” i whined. he chuckled at me, his hands grabbing the hem of my sweater. he looked up at me for consent. i nodded, lifting my arms as he pulled the clothing off. he groaned once he saw i wasn’t wearing a bra.

“so fuckin pretty. he’s missing out on this.” he praised, kissing my stomach, up to my chest. his tongue ran across my body, making me shiver.

“please cal, need you.” i whimpered. he smirked at me, his fingers pulling down my leggings, my panties going with them. he threw his head back as i spread my legs open for him, wanting more.

“should’ve been with me the whole time instead sweetheart, would’ve treated you so much better.” he said, kneeling down in front of me. i nodded, pathetic noises falling from my lips, hoping he would do something soon.

his warm breath against my heat made me shiver. he grasped my thighs, pulling my legs over his shoulders as he licked a stripe up my heat. i gasped, my hands quickly grabbing his hair. he smirked at my reaction, continuing to lick against me.

“taste so good princess, doing so good.” he praised as he slid two of his fingers inside of my pussy. i moaned as he curled them up inside me, continuing to lick at my clit.

i clenched my thighs around his head, my legs shaking. calum pulled his head away from me, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing quick circles on my electric spot. “that feel good sweet girl? wanna hear you, baby, tell me how you feel.”

i groaned, gripping at the bed sheets. “feels so fucking good cal, so good, don’t stop.” i cried, my thighs beginning to shake. he chuckled as i clenched around his fingers.

“cum for my sweetheart, i know you’re close baby.” he commanded, going back down to work me again with his tongue. he slid out his fingers, sucking at my clit, swirling his tongue around. i mewled as he held my hips down, my body shaking.

my eyes rolled back as i came on his tongue, feeling him lick me up. he pulled back, giving me a wide smile. “taste so fucking good sweetheart.” he said, kissing me. i tasted myself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth. i grabbed at his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

soon after i pulled off his sweatpants, then his boxers. i bit my lip as i saw his hardened cock spring out from the clothing. i’d be lying if i said i hadn’t thought about him like this before, but that was before luke.

“you have a condom, pretty girl?” he asked, stroking his length. i nodded, pointing to the side table next to us. he grabbed one out, quickly rolling it onto his dick.

calum teased my slit with his tip, slightly pushing in before pulling back again. “fuck me already cal, please.” i begged, my nails digging into his back lightly. he smirked, pushing in slowly. i gasped as he started stretching me out.

“doing so good sweetheart, need me to stop?” he asked, making sure i was okay. i shook my head quickly.

“don’t stop, i can take it.” i cried, my legs wrapping around his hips.

he pushed in further, holding onto my hips. “just a little more sweetheart, doing so good for me. look so pretty on my cock baby.” he praised. i whined as he finally sunk into me fully.

calum stopped his movement, kissing me softly, his lips dancing against mine before trailing down to my neck. “you can move now, cal, im okay.” i breathed out.

he sucked at the skin on my throat, leaving dark bruises as he slowly started to thrust into me. “shit, cal, faster, please baby.” i moaned, my nails running down his back. he groaned as i did so, picking his pace up.

“taking me so well sweetheart, you feel so good around my cock baby, making me feel so good.” he moaned, massaging one of my breasts in his hand.

i squeezed my eyes shut, trying to contain myself. i lifted my hand to my mouth, biting down, gasping hard.

“don’t hold back sweetheart, wanna know who’s making you feel this good baby.” he grabbed my hand away from my mouth, interlocking his fingers with mine.

“look at me baby, wanna see those eyes.” his hand squeezed mine, encouraging me to look at him. i struggled to pry my eyelids open, watching pleasure consume calum’s face.

i watched as his muscles flexed in his arms, his hips snapping against mine as he was buried deep inside me. my breathing became ragged as i felt the familiar fire growing in my stomach, my walls clenching around his cock.

calum’s hips faltered, groans falling from his lips. “you close baby? you’re doing so fucking good, you’re so fucking perfect, y/n.” he moaned, his hand trailing down my throat, caressing the bruises he sucked on my neck.

“won’t last much longer, cal, gonna cum.” i panted, my nails scratching down his back, making him buck his hips into me harder.

i cried at the feeling, digging my nails into his skin as my thighs began to shake. a few more thrusts from calum and i was done for, i was falling apart from his touch. my head swirled as calum slowed his movements down. everything was muffled, and moving slowly, my high washing over me so beautifully.

i’d never felt such a feeling as this, and i prayed it would never end. calum laid down on the bed next to me, pushing the hair out of my face. he kissed my cheek, speaking sweet nothings as i came back down.

i turned my head toward him, a lazy smile on my face. “should’ve been with you all along.” i giggled, my face a deep shade of pink. he chuckled, pulling me closer to him.

i soon fell asleep, and as i did, calum had gotten up and cleaned up my apartment a bit for me. eventually he climbed back into bed with me, pulling me back into his hips, kissing my head.

———

i woke up to the sound of knocking on the door. it must have been going on for the last five minutes, and i felt sorry for my neighbors. calum sat up, sliding into his sweatpants, walking out of the room.

i grabbed his shirt from off the floor, throwing it on over a pair of shorts. i walked to the door, calum blocking whoever it was. “who is it cal?” i asked, rubbing my eyes as i leaned into his side.

my stomach dropped as i saw the figure standing in front of me.

“why’s he here?” luke bit his lip nervously, looking at me up and down. he took in the fact that in was wearing calum’s shirt, and that calum was only in his sweatpants.

“why are you here luke?” i retorted, clenching my jaw, trying to keep my breathing steady. he ran his hand through his curls, pacing in front of the door.

“it doesn’t matter. you’ve moved on already with calum.” he huffed, pulling at his hair. i scoffed.

“you moved on from me before we were even over luke. you can’t even fucking talk to me about moving on.” i spat. he nodded, his face going pale.

“‘m sorry. for all of it. i’m sorry. i can’t even remember what i came here to say except for that im sorry.” he repeated, shaking his head, looking at me with sorrow in his eyes. i rolled my eyes, walking away.

“you should go, mate.” calum spoke. soon after, he closed the door, finding me standing in the kitchen. i had grabbed my phone from my room, scrolling through instagram.

as if seeing him at my door wasn’t enough, there had been a post about luke sneaking around with a girl. as i looked at the photos, my heart shattered, and i wanted to throw up. i dropped my phone on the counter, covering my mouth as my eyes teared up.

“there’s no fucking way.” i choked out, my knees becoming weak. calum quickly came up behind me, holding me.

“what happened?” he asked, his voice filled with worry. i fell back into him, sobbing into his chest. i shakily pointed at my phone sitting on the counter. he grabbed it, observing the photos. i felt his grip around me get tighter.

my knees trembled, making me slowly fall down. calum sunk down to the floor with me, holding me in his lap. “my fucking sister. are you fucking kidding me.” he whispered, stroking my head as i buried my face in his neck

“her and i used to be cool. she told me she was always into this other guy.” i cried, squeezing onto calum.

“this is so fucked.” he said, the anger in his voice rising. his hand moved down to my back, slow movements trying to calm me down.

i will admit, as he caressed my skin and i took deep breaths, i was already feeling better. he kissed the top of my head before i looked up at him, my face stained with tears, my eyes surely puffy.

he smiled softly, kissing my forehead. “thank you.” i whispered up at him, sniffling slightly.

“you’re welcome gorgeous.” he kissed my nose, making me giggle.

“they’re not worth it. they don’t deserve our time or hurt, or any emotions of any kind at all. we have each other, that’s what should matter.” he wiped the stray tears from my face with his thumbs. i nodded, nuzzling my face into his palm as he held my cheek.

how could it be possible that i was falling in love with him already?

#calum hood #calum hood smut #calum hood imagine #5sos #5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos #luke hemmings #luke 5sos #ashton irwin #michael clifford

[watery-melon-baller]

3, 7, and 40 for weekend and belos'

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

ooooh theres so many i would never touch. the first one that comes to mind is accidental pregnancy which like. i dont even write romance much. also hate student/teacher. uhh nonromance id go with. uh. i cannot think of anything rn lmao

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

ooooh id have to go with a snippet from a shera fic i did a while back. torn between two but ill go with the shorter one just because. not sure what counts as a snippet oops.

"Adora rolls her eyes, but stands up to join them. As she runs over, she knows that she’ll trip over her dress several times, and their clothes will all be covered in grass stains that will take forever to wash out. But Adora is here, in a future where there is no war to fight, where they can laugh freely and love and she doesn't feel selfish anymore for wanting a happy ending."

bad at explaining myself but like. its the potential of a happy ending, of not everything being perfect but it good, and thats worth living for. its a whole metaphor about feminity and wartime and accepting yourself. that its okay to be safe now, its okay to be soft and vulnerable and to start healing. apologies for being incoherent

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

ohohohohhohho you know whats funny. i actually did have an alternate ending planned where hunter just. slept through the rebelllion and just woke up after it was over and was like "what the fuck." anyways i sat down and wrote this in a night (ive been saving the ask until it was finished so thats why im answering it late sorry!) so enjoy 2k words of that under the cut. apologies for typos i tried my best to read this over lmao. you can also read this on ao3 now yipee

Hunter stared at his clock, and scowled. Shit. He had 20 minutes until the coven head meeting!

He stood up, quickly scrambling for his notes.  He wanted to try and get there early, so he could figure out somewhat of a plan.

Flapjack lifted their head up, disrupted from their slumber. What is boy doing?

His foot slipped on a piece of paper, and he barely managed to catch himself on the edge of his desk. “I have a meeting! I need to go talk to the other coven heads, and-”

Have time! Should rest!

He scowled. “Flapjack, I don’t have time to rest! I need to prepare my notes! I still haven’t figure out what I’m going to say to Terra, or Adrian, or how to deal with the recent riots-”

Nap time! Boy too tired to think!

“You always say it’s nap time.”

Because boy is always tired!

He sighed, flopping back on his bed and letting the stack of papers in his arms scatter onto the floor. Flapjack did have a bit of a point. He had been staying up later and later, getting less sleep in favor of trying to take care of… well, everything.

He could get ready in ten minutes. It wouldn’t take long to teleport. Just closing his eyes for a few minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. And he wouldn’t actually fall asleep. He would just lay here!

“Just ten minutes. Then I have to go.”

Flapjack chirped. Nap! Nap!

“Not a nap, Flap,” He mumbled. “M just resting my eyes.”

He didn’t even realize he was falling asleep.

___

He woke up to the smell of smoke.

He shot up out of bed, head swiveling as he took stock of the room. Everything seemed to be in order, except-

“FLAPJACK!”

The bird had at some point moved inside his shirt. They peeked their head out, looking adorable as always, but Hunter wasn’t fooled.

He glared at them. “I said ten minutes.”

Boy needed nap!

He pointed at the window. “IT’S DARK OUTSIDE NOW! IT’S NIGHTTIME!”

Not that late. Sun just set. More like evening!

He dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Flapjack. I missed the coven head meeting. The one thing I cannot, under any circumstances, miss.”

Flapjack did not look even remotely apologetic.

Hunter sighed, standing up and brushing back his hair. The smell of smoke was still lingering in the air, and he poked his head out the window, following the smell.

Ah. That might be a problem.

The area of the castle where Terra and Adrian had been fighting the other day looked even worse than before, mainly because it was on fire. Several scouts were running around in a panic, and if he listened closely, he could hear the faint sound of screaming.

Flapjack had moved to sit on his desk, and he slowly turned to glare at them. “Flapjack.”

They chirped.

“This is why we don’t skip coven head meetings! Look at what happened while I was asleep. The castle is on fire!” He sighed. 

Could be worse!

He flung his arms out, staring the bird down in frustration. “How could this be worse?!”

The Titan must have thought that was funny, because at that moment his door was slammed open with a war cry.

“GOLDEN GUARD!”

Something (someone?) charged through his door, and he screeched, barely avoiding their tackle. Whoever it was slammed into his wall, sending feathers flying everywhere. Why there were feathers, he didn’t know. Maybe they were because of the large wings that were almost smacking him in the face. 

Flapjack screeched, dive bombing the intruder, and Hunter quickly scrambled back, grabbing a heavy textbook detailing the criminal justice system and hurling it at their face. They shouted in pain, falling back onto the floor, and Hunter decided that was his cue to go.

He skidded out into the hallway, his slippers barely staying on his feet, while Flapjack circled nervously around his head. Behind him, he could hear the sound of the mystery attacker getting up, and he risked a glimpse behind him as Flapjack transformed into a staff.

“Golden Guard, kid, wait a second-”

Their voice sounded somewhat familiar, but he was too busy grabbing his staff. The last thing he saw before teleporting away into a haze of golden light was what looked to be some kind of harpy woman, heading straight for him.

He bounced across the castle, not having much of a destination in mind besides something that was away from the harpy lady. He materialized in a small room with dim lighting, and as he leaned against the brick walls he realized he was in the break room.

There were technically several break rooms scattered around the castle, but those were all empty storage closets scouts had converted into a break room in their free time with their own money. (Hunter may or may not have contributed to them with money from the castle treasury). This, however, was the official break room, the one all the coven heads used, and the one that the Emperor made somewhat of an attempt to maintain.

He hadn’t been here in a couple weeks, with the whole “accidentally killed my Uncle and now running the government from my bedroom” issue. Not much had changed since the last time he was here. The table was still stained, one of the chairs still had a wobbly leg, the sink was still dripping water because no one knew how to fix the leak, there were still a few spare coven cloaks lying in a pile on the floor, and the fridge still had several post-its about labeling your food properly and not letting it sit in the fridge for months and stink up the room.

The bulletin board, however, had a few changes. The ‘days since Kikimora tried to assassinate someone’ board had been reduced back to zero (last time he saw it it was at 11, which was a new record), and there were several notes stating that due to being understaffed, everyone would be getting extra shifts. Which was weird, because Hunter thought he was in charge of scheduling guard shifts, but he had handed off so many of his duties to Kikimora and random coven captains that he wasn’t sure anymore. Also, why had no one told him they were understaffed?

Someone had also brought in cookies, and there were still a few left. Yay! He grabbed one from the box, biting into it. 

“Want a piece? Its chocolate cricket flavor.” He broke off a small chunk, offering it to the palisman, who began gleefully pecking it. He finished eating the rest of the cookie, wandering over to the sink.

He smacked the faucet, hoping that maybe this time it would stop the leaking, but it did nothing. Like it did every time. He sighed, and turned towards the clawfee machine, turning it on. Next to the sink was a small collection of drying dishes, one of which included a mug that said ‘world’s best nephew’ in hot pink script.

“Hey Flapjack, I found my favorite mug!��� He picked it up, thankfully finding it clean. He had been searching for that mug for weeks! Although, it seemed a bit inaccurate, with the whole ‘killed my uncle’ and ‘being a grimwalker of his brother’ thing. Nope, that was a problem for another time.

He shrugged, watching as the clawfee pot came to a boil. Flapjack was hopping around the table, pecking the various crumbs that had been left behind. Hunter should probably be stopping them, but he figured if Flapjack had survived this long with such little self preservation, they would probably be fine.

Probably.

He poured the clawfee into his mug, and moved to sit down in a chair. The good chair, not the one with the wobbly leg that made you rock back and forth every time you moved the slightest inch. 

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and stared vacantly at the wall. “So,” he said calmly. “I think there might be a rebellion going on right now.”

Flapjack chirped anxiously. Hunter stared at the bird. “You know, this is why we don’t skip coven head meetings.”

He sipped on his clawfee, savoring the bitter taste. Oh, sweet caffeine, how he missed it. Having energy was fantastic.

“I should probably go out there and deal with that.”

Or don’t! Don’t risk yourself!

“Flapjack, I don’t think that's an option.”

Run away to woods! Can hunt for worms!

“I can’t eat worms! You can hunt all you want, I’ll forage for berries.”

Good plan!

Hunter groaned. “Terrible plan.” It wasn't like he had any ideas. He had been slowly preparing a runaway bag, but he had hoped he would have a few more weeks before he had to use it. This was his punishment for procrastinating. 

He stood up, taking a long swig of the coffee. “Okay, my stuff is in my room. Let’s see if we can try to sneak back there, and if anyone is still alive.” He looked down at himself, grimacing at his lack of armor. He was still in his PJS! 

Hesitantly, he lifted one of the coven scout cloaks from the pile on the floor, checking it over. There didn’t appear to be any visible stains, so he shrugged, putting it on.

Flapjack chirped, and fluttered on top of his head. Hunter sighed, but said nothing, pulling up his hood to cover the bird. He opened the door and hesitantly peeked his head out. There didn’t seem to be anyone, so he stepped out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind him.

Picking a random direction, he began walking, the only sound being his bunny slippers slapping against the tile. He nervously clutched his cloak, suddenly beginning to regret every decision he had ever made that had led him to this situation.

He rounded a corner to see a hallway that looked very much destroyed. A section of the ceiling had collapsed, and plants and abomination goo was everywhere. Several coven scouts were lying unconscious on the floor.

Hunter bit his lip, and with a start realized he was still holding his mug. There was still a little bit of clawfee in it, so he could throw it at someone and run if he needed to. The perfect weapon. What a plan.

He froze at the sound of footsteps, frantically looking for a place to hide. He slid behind a pile of rubble, hoping that he would just be mistaken for an unconscious scout.

The sound of footsteps grew closer, and then stopped. “I could have sworn I heard something over here,” a familiar voice muttered. Oh shit.

Hunter involuntarily flinched, shifting the rubble he was hiding behind with his movement.

“Over there!” Oh, he recognized that voice too, although it was only marginally better than the first one. Maybe if he stayed very very still, they wouldn’t notice him?

He yelped as abomination goo wrapped around his legs, dragging him out into the open and pinning his arms to his side. He scowled at the awkward angle his arm was held at, the clawfee slowly dripping out of his mug and onto the floor.

Darius crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow at Hunter. “Ah, Little prince. You’re looking… unwell.”

Hunter, very maturely, stuck out his tongue, something that only caused Darius’s scowl to deepen.

Behind Darius, Luz cheerfully waved at him. “Hi Hunter! You kind of caught us at a bad time.” She turned down the hallway, cupping a hand to her mouth. “HEY GUYS, WE FOUND HUNTER! OVER HERE!” 

Darius winced at her yelling, rubbing his ears. Hunter wished he could do the same, because wow Luz could shout loud.

The two of them turned back to face him and he grimaced. “Uh, hi?” He said awkwardly. Maybe they would be nice and just kill him right away. Luz could probably convince them not to hurt Flapjack.

Luz shoved her hands in her pockets, grinning casually. “Hunter, my man! I’ve been looking for you! Sorry about the whole, uh, overthrowing the government thing.”

‘It’s fine,” He said, even though it was very much not fine. “It was already falling apart anyways.”

Darius stepped towards him, frowning. “About that, actually. We have quite a few questions to ask you, Golden Guard.”

Luz’s grin became just a bit more shaky. “Not bad questions! Just, uh, questions. It’ll be great!” She did not sound convinced of her own words. “It’s fine.”

Hunter sighed. He should have just stayed in bed. This was all Flapjack’s fault. He was never trusting that adorable little bird again, no matter how cute they were.

#fanfic #ask game #toh #weekend at belos's #lilac post #writing #can't believe none of you bothered to mention the numerous typos I had to go back and edit :(

[philzokman]

also guess who’s travelling and needs fic recs again 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

omgomgogm IM SO GLAD U ASKED :D i haven’t been reading much fanfic due to exams and illness and also bc i got Reallt into classical literature for a while shit is so hype but i have a few :D

purple - skk

pink - sskk

red - death note

1. the irreplaceable things by blowingyourmind

‘Dazai was introduced to two very important figures in his life that night, One being the dog he nearly ran over, and the other being the fiery redheaded veterinarian who coddled said dog’

THIS SHIT IS INSANE !!! INSANE I TELL U!!!!! au where dazai (pm boss) falls in love desperate hatred!!! for vet chuuya and it’s so ☹️☹️ like the main romance is adorable the side plots are fucking insane (there’s a dog ring ???????) (atsushi does stand up comedy for about three paragraphs KFHAKDHD) it’s genuinely a fucking ride. the authors also really good like even when there are the occasional mistakes it’s Very clear what they mean and i definitely wouldn’t say it removes anything from the story at all HIGHLY recommend KFHSJSHD

2. He’s got a dream by blowingyourmind

‘soukoku tangled au’

i…havent read this yet (a very common theme on this list KDHSH) BUT !!! it’s i think going to be the next fic i read :D it’s a tangled au. A TANGLED AU. SOBS. BREAKS DOWN. THEOWS MYSELF OFF A CLIFF !!!!!!! and it’s written by the same author as rec one who i already love sososo much it looks very cool KFHAKDHD

3. yokohama public high school - almost as crazy as their pep rallies by blowingyourmind (SIDE NOTE: i did not realise all of these were by the same person LFMAODJSH WHOOPSIES (ive been very out of the fanfic loop recently </3))

‘The story of how Chemistry teacher Dazai Osamu fell helplessly for coach Nakahara Chuuya, and the student body's many attempts to get them together.’

again i. haven’t actually read this BUT ITS A TEACHER X TEACHER AU. SOBS ONCE MORE. BREAKS DOWN ONCE MORE. THROWS MUSELF OFF A CLIFF ONCE MORE !!!!!!!!! i fucking love teacher x teacher aus they’re so hype oml KFHSJSH same author as the other two which i. didn’t realise. BUT. i mean it’s a good author what can i say LMFAOHDHSSH anywho it looks sick

4. would kira have gay sex? by itiaskia

no description needed KDHAKSH fun fact! this fic was the catalyst for me pursuing an english lit degree. take that in for a moment LFNAKDHDHSH it’s like 200 words long and idk i think most ppl have read it by now but it makes me giggle FJSHJDDH

5. collide by onizenmaru

‘All it takes is one chance meeting and Atsushi's life slowly becomes tangled up in Akutagawa Ryuunosuke's.

‘This has to be some kind of cosmic joke.’

i haven’t read this fic either😔 but it seems good !!!! it’s also on my reading list but it seems really really sick :D i’m pretty sure i’ve read some of the authors other works too but i might be wrong KDHSJSDH within the like two paragraphs of scanning i did i also saw an ‘oh. oh’ moment but idk what it was about LFMAODJSHDH but the writing seems really good from what i’ve seen :D

anywho!! hope u enjoy so sorry the list is predominantly fics i haven’t read + one crack fic that’s like 2 words long LMFAODJDH this is more of a ‘what am i reading now + what am i going to read!’ list rather than recs but i hope u enjoy them anyways :D if u read any please keep me updated omg i love talking about fics AND TALKING TO U :D KFJAKDHDH i’m going to sleep now (i’m not) BUT ENJOY :D

[attink]

ive had some weird dreams about my assaulter and his girlfriend recently. i think because april 30th of last year was the day i found out about everything, and my brain goes crazy about that sort of thing.

about a week ago i dreamt that i got a notification on my phone that said ***** ****** is coming to visit you! and i got extremely freaked out. my case didn’t go anywhere and there is no no-contact order, but he did visit my workplace on purpose after i found everything out, and had planned on transferring to my college at some point. after the police, though, he seems to be staying away from me, and only his girlfriend started showing up to my job (to walk around, buy nothing, look at me, and leave) I’m afraid of having no safe space. and i’m afraid that he’ll realize i can’t do much if he decides to come around where i work. sometimes, in a very fleeting way, im scared that he’ll want to come find me. the dream ended very shortly with me freaking out and looking out my windows for his car.

I can explain myself more with this next dream. Later, i dreamt that I was looking through my easter photos, only they weren’t mine, they were my assaulter’s girlfriend’s photos. I kept looking, scared that i would see his face in them, but i didn’t. Weird, right? This is the girl that my assaulter was with before me, and after me, (and truthfully i’m not sure if they’re still together but frankly i don’t care). In our own relationship he assaulted me several times. After the breakup, she asked me if he had r*ped me. I told her what happened to me (none of which i truly consider r*pe) and she told me the reason why she asked. for months i minimized my pain because she had gone through worse. in literally every way he treated me wrong, she got it worse. I felt sorry for her, i didnt hate her, and i compared my own pain to hers. Eventually, while i still had a case, i had to explain why i didn’t go to the cops immediately for mine. (i hoped it was an accident. him being a repeat assaulter changed my view)… then i got the “hate mail”, as i put it. it was from her, telling me how disgusting i was for butting into their lives, and how i should mind my business and move on. how i was petty, pathetic, delusional, and she pitied anybody who ever had the misfortune of coming into my life (her words, my friends and i would later laugh over this). So essentially this girl defended our assaulter to me after i tried to get some justice/at least make sure there was a record so he wouldn’t try to do that again. for months she came to my workplace (the word “stalk” has been used and that freaks me out) but luckily i haven’t seen him in almost a year and her in half.

and then.. last nights dream. I was sitting in some sort of class or church and lo and behold, this girl is sitting next to me. I ignore her, she ignores me, perfect. then somehow we’re away from everyone having a verbal argument. I don’t remember what she said, i just remember saying “you know what? its okay that you didn’t tell anyone or get help. I didn’t. Not until i knew what happened to you. im just trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again to anyone else, not even you. It’s like we said on the phone, whoever ends up with him will have to deal with this for the rest of their life.”

and then.. she was crying. In a perfect world, she’d get away from this guy and find someone decent. see that he’s not worth it. But as far as i know, there’s a girl out there still dating her assaulter and feeling fine that she told his other victim to fuck right off. I don’t think about it much, because its none of my business what two bad people are doing together, but i am frequently glad that im the one who’s not in the picture anymore.

there is no real point to this post besides reflecting on this stuff and reminding myself why i might be dreaming about my assaulter and some girl. i feel like if i didn’t, my brain would convince me that dreaming about people who hurt me isn’t natural

#sa survivor #tw sa

[walleeli]

Today on Blue Nuzlocke:

Not one but TWO gym battles today. Kunigami soloed Milo and the gang. We make for route 5 and my first encounter is a fucking Applin 💀 named him Kurona to try and soften the blow and make him grow on me. Its not working. That thing sucks so bad. To the boxes with ye. Get to Hulbury and I am acutely aware that we are not fucking ready to face Nessa. So I’m scrambling trying to figure out where and how I can get more guys. Preferably with advantage over water types.

Now. Folks. This is the part where it gets embarrassing for me… yall I do not know pokemon type strengths and weaknesses. So my first move. Was to find an ice type. And I did. We now have a little baby Snorunt named Rin. And then I googled water type weaknesses. And then I debated blowing up. So at this point I’m like shit and also damb. Where do I find a pikachu. But I don’t look up where to find pikachu I just start walking around in a location I haven’t encountered anything yet. And I am flabberghasted by a Stunky. Ok. Whatever. Catch it. My son now. His name is Karasu. And he gets boxed cuz he cannot help me right now.

So its been hours and I’m still just as unprepared for Nessa as when I started but I’m such an “oh well” and “lets get it over with” girlie im like hey. If Kunigami (vulpix) can pull it off so can Aryu (budew). And then I stall for a minute to go fish in Hulbury because OBVIOUSLY im gonna need a water type on hand for the next gym. Which I will surely be reaching. We go. I get a chewtle. Ok cool. Looks like Tokimitsu. Rock on. Boxes for now. Nessa time.

Aryu is fucking schooling the water gym. I’m like thank fuck. And when he starts getting low I throw Gagamaru (meowth) in there and he finishes it up with his metal claws or whatever the fuck its called. I do their silly little puzzle and I’m ready to die I mean live. Nessa fight is going all according to keikaku until she pulls out Drednaw. Who has Aryu on the ropes from the word go. Like to the point where I cannot risk even switching him out because my other troops are wounded. (I took Kurona in as our third to try and give him leveling opportunity. Not a good move. He was useless.) But I’m not going to let her kill me after everything I’ve been through. So what ends up happening is the worst quality tv you’ve ever seen. Just 25 minutes of me spamming potion in response to her nonstop Headbutts and waiting for Aryu’s poisoning to drain Drednaws stupid life away. It was boring. It was excruciating. I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone. But we survived. Nessa made some comment about my character having the ‘will to take on the champion’ or something’ and I wish their was a way to convey to her that I was sat in bed debating killing myself from about her third exact same move. Guys I don’t think Nuzlocke is fun. Oh my god.

Anyways <3 Two down however many to go. We make for Galar mines no. 2. Bede kills Kunigami. Fucking unreal. But its chill because he has wildcard privileges. The king WILL return if I have anything to say about it. Um. Then some random trainer kills Tokimitsu. Im like well. Ok. And now I’m in the mines fishing because I still need a water type for OH THAT RIGHT. Ok so I went back to Motostoke to fish somewhere between somewhere cuz again. Need water type. And I get a fucking. Magikarp. So you know I had to name it Igurashi. Its lvl 8. Genuinely I don’t even think its worth dealing with it. Ugh.

So anyways back to the mine. I’m fishing. Guess what? Its a fucking chewtle again. At this point me and those fucking things have BEEF ive been trying to level my dudes and they have been non fucking STOP they are EVERYWHERE every patch of grass every fishing spot every dynamax hole in the ground ITS BEEN MADDENING. And technically the set of rules I’m playing on says I can get another go if I run into something I’ve already got but. I decided its funnier this way. And also Tokimitsu died so technically I DON’T got. So this bastard is coming home with me. Fine. Named him Kaiser. My enemy’s name for my enemy. Thats cute and fun. I hope he dies soon. Team Yell grunts beat the shit out of me and Hop. I almost lost Aryu and Gagamaru both. Kaiser pulled his weight but I’m not gonna give him flowers about it.

Exit the mines. Close my eyes and run into the first tall grass field. Encounter a scraggy (pokemon I love dearly) im like yayayy!! Finally a nice thing for the specialest girl in the world! Acquired it. Named it Bachira. When he dies the run dies I don’t care. My special little guy. And thats what you missed on Glee.

#blue nuzlocke #forgot to say aryu evolved into the very glam roselia right before we went to face off with Nessa #very on brand of him

[onethousandandone]

a tribute to teenage love

Throughout my life I have experienced many new emotions. Some of them I often hope are a one time- never do again type of emotion, but some are so euphoric I chase them like a drug addict that will do anything for their next hit. My drug is love, or the feeling of being wanted to be more precise. The feeling of pure content. The last time I remember being completely at peace was my junior year of high school- dating my first boyfriend (I was absolutely convinced we were going to be together forever; I haven’t spoken to him in over 2 years now), I had good grades, and okay friends. Before that was all I needed. Everything is just so much more complicated now. I hate it. I wish I could say “Ugh, I just wish I could be a little kid again”, but I don’t want to ever be a little kid again. My childhood was arguably worse then my current C+ at best young adulthood. I keep waiting for my life to turn some kind of new leaf, and to change and somehow become more manageable but I don’t think it ever will. I recently came to the realization that I am simply unlucky. Strange coincidences of people in my life dying on the same day, meeting my “dream” guy two months before I moved away to college, literally everything has a fucking catch. I wonder what its like for things to go your way, as obnoxious as it sounds. Sometimes I wish I had a different life, that I was born into a different family, or in a different city or just that anything could possibly changed in my life that would make living a little bit easier. But of course not, it’s just not for me, the easy life. I was born and bred to deal with the hardest shit someone possibly could, and just to learn to somehow suppress it to such an extent that even I myself forget some of the things Ive experienced. Easier that way I think; even if everyone says its unhealthy: if I pretend nothing happened, maybe it will magically disappear or I will just start forgetting the worst bits and pieces until someone will just have to remind me it happened in the first place. Being unlucky is maybe a good thing, because at this point, what is there left for me to be disappointed about? Ive seen it all, Ive felt it all. I wonder if I will ever feel my favorite feeling again. Love. So silly, so cheesy, but I get it now. 

I have been in love 1 and half times.  I say half because I started to feel that familiar feeling recently, but it was ripped away by the worst factor of all: time. I ran out of it, I had to move away, move on with my life. And now I must pretend that 0.5 of love never happened. That maybe I had just imagined him, his hair and the tattoos and the music and the sex. It was just a very detailed dream, and maybe i’ll start to forget it soon, but just not yet. I just woke up and I remember it vividly; remembering is tiring, maybe i’ll fall asleep and dream of something else soon. Now the majority of the love I remember was years ago, a dream I had that stuck with me. All consuming and crazy and toxic and aggressive and insane and : so in love. Him I forget now, I forget what he looked like and how he spoke and just everything about him. I think everything about me changed after Him. It was too much at 16, and I could never let myself do that again. Feel that way, let myself completely dissolve into someone. I almost let it happen the second time around, but I always knew in the back of my mind that I never could again. Another cliche, but I just truly wouldn’t survive it. I think losing myself in someone else again would strip away whatever sense of the pure and soft humanity I have left. 

“I am nothing if not an incredibly soft woman“ 

[fatouseckcreates]

Artists have a lot of feelings.

So I wanted to talk about my feelings for a bit. Ive been going to therapy (inconsistently) but the volume I need I just dont have the funds to afford it lol. SO I decided to come on here and ramble for a minute. Ive been having a bad couple of weeks, a bad few months, the last few years haven’t been too great either, if we’re being honest. Thats not to say that I haven’t received some amazing blessings throughout that time. I absolutely have. But I’ve been going through such a dramatic growth period some parts of this journey have felt overwhelming. 

Thinking about freedom, personal choices, self acceptance, what is objectively right? Does that matter, when people are not meant to live objective lives? Life is subjective by nature we are meant to have very different experiences. So I wanna talk to yall and encourage myself to be a bit more free and more accepting of myself.

Pandemic aside, so many of us have been going through traumas, huge endings, beginnings, while still trying to remain present in the world. After all the changes I went through I had to look at myself and say wow, you have changed. And part of this change is exactly what you asked for. Exactly what you prayed for. But it doesn’t look the way you thought it would so now you feel like its a punishment. Right?

I had a talk with myself, because I was in a situation recently where I felt like I was done so wrong, and I lashed out. And later regretted it because I felt like even though my feelings were justified I should not have responded in a hurtful way if I wanted to be received and just continue having a conversation that ends in changed behavior or some kind of resolution. No matter who anybody else is, I should always remember my principles and treat people how I want to be treated. If I am the one causing the confusion or the pain and someone is telling me their experience I dont want to shouted at bombarded etc so give people what you expect from them, right? Even if I dont get it back all the time thats the standard I try to hold for myself because I want to be someone who treats people with integrity.

And as I replayed this last conversation over and over in my mind and how I wish I would’ve spoken differently I start to take it even further back. What was the root of my anger? Why did I go off like that in THIS particular moment, when all up til now I had been able to contain my anger in a way that was not an attack. So I took it back even further. Waaaay back. To last year back. And I started to look at things from the other person’s perspective. WHYYY did they think this was ok? Why did they move like that?

In the midst of my outburst I told this person dont act like a victim. Which is essentially what I was doing. And because the basis of me and this person’s friendship was literally that we have so much of the same experiences, so much of the same heartbreak and so many of the same trauma responses, I  had to look again. I obsessively replayed the conversation in my head. I listened to their voice their words and I knew that I fucked up. 

Me, I’m the one who cries anytime I have to talk about my feelings. I wasn’t always like this. IN fact, I wouldn’t know what I was like before because I never spoke about my feelings. All of this was new for me. But I appreciated this person because they wouldn’t let me go without speaking my mind. So I forced myself to get comfortable telling my truth. But yeah, so now I am a giant cry baby. I have accepted it. Its my new thing, as a result of all the bullshit I been holding in. All the things Ive been trying to deal with on my own that have not amounted to any sufficient healing, just a little bandaid here and there. Maybe I will always have those scars? Maybe one day they won’t creep up on me when im trying to speak on something else. Hurt is not logical, pain is not logical, but it is mathematical. It adds up, multiplies itself.  The more you pile on top of it, the more you try to suffocate it ,it will turn around and swallow you up. It will totally consume you during conversations that have very little to do with it. 

Here I was, feeling that I had been done wrong after wrong after wrong because I wasn’t getting my way. Because I couldn’t manipulate the situation. Because I couldn’t deny the situation. What I wanted was essentially to live in my own world where I get to be happy because I get what I want. Because I felt like there’s nooo way im going through 3 straight years of bullshit and then I STILL end up with a shitty ending there just no way God would do me like that? Me, your homegirl?? Your beloved daughter? 

I put myself in their shoes. From the very beginning of this misunderstanding. Last year. I replayed all our old conversations. What went right. What I was thinking, what they were thinking. What I wasn’t saying, what they weren’t saying. What they did say that I wasn’t listening to. And I remembered being in a state of denial. Not wanting to make a final decision. Feeling caught in between 2 difficult choices where I felt like I was betraying people who were loyal to me, potentially fucking up life long relationships, to take a chance on something that felt right in the moment. I was frozen. I was prepared to wait it out until a decision just kind of made itself. Because I was afraid of making the wrong choice. Afraid of being ostracized. Afraid of people gossiping about me. Afraid of being messed up to someone who was there for me when I felt alone. I was afraid to break a promise. I froze. And while I was frozen pretending that I had all the time in the world, they were waiting on me to make a choice. And when I wouldn’t, they decided for themself. As most self respecting people would. But for me, this was a huge betrayal. And another layer to add to my drawer of L’s. While I was enjoying their company using it as an escape from the unhappiness and the grief that was swallowing me up, they were feeling like I would never make a decision. Like they would be caught in the wind waiting forever. When they brought it to my attention. I froze, again. Didn’t know what to say. I was leaning towards a decision, but again, wanted to be super super sure so I didn’t say much. I didn’t say what I should’ve. And because I decided to hold back, to be intentionally unclear,  they decided their best course of action was to move forward without me. 

While this was being communicated to me I did not understand that they were telling me “I am moving on from this because it is painful and I no longer wish to be in pain. I am avoiding any more hurt. I am giving up on you because you cannot make a definitive choice about me.” I thought once again I could sweep the conversation under the rug until I was ready to speak. Me, I need time to formulate my thoughts. Especially where feelings are concerned. Off the top of my head I DO NOT KNOW. I have to put them together. I have to make them make sense I have to break every single thing down because I am so afraid of being wrong. And I was still wrong lol. 

This was the beginning of sooooo much pain for me. And the heaviness sat right on top of my chest, and wound itself up in the pit my stomach, and took all the other fucked up feelings and made this poisonous cocktail of insecurity, betrayal, confusion, regret, anger, toxicity. And this person, being who they were, believing that they were doing a noble, kind thing by helping me through my hurt, wanted to take responsibility for my feelings. To continue “fixing” me. (Maybe their lesson was that you can’t fix people?) Now, mind you, this whole time I had been receiving messages to let this situation go. Almost daily. But!! I refused. Because how tf was I gonna let go the only person in my life who was consistently providing me a safe space to be EXACTLY who I am. I was not willing to let that go because in my mind I would never feel this safe again. I would never feel this free again. Me who has perfected so well the art of compartmentalizing my life so that no one person knows every thing about me. I was felt comfortable to show up as myself, warts and all. And it felt GOOOD. To be seen, heard, understood. It felt amazing and I held on so fucking tight believing that THEY were the reason I had some relief from feeling fucked up all the time. When the wholesome this freedom was a choice I could have been making all along. But thats for another day. 

And I took this hurt and rationalized it and told myself that I would still be able to have the ending I wanted, the one I came up with in my mind. And so I held on to that. As they were moving further from our shared history I was holding tighter. And as I clenched tighter the hurt multiplied. The WHY ME’S? What did I do wrong? Without actually believing I had done anything wrong. Without truly understanding that just because I had certain intentions doesn’t mean that everyone will go along with your plan, even if they are your friend and they like you. I thought how can someone who cares about me treat me this way? How can this person know exactly what the fuck I been through and continue treating ME this way? He wasn’t treating me anyway, he was moving forward from a potentially painful situation. I felt like I was supposed to fight. Fight to earn this love. Fight to earn this friendship, fight to keep them around because losing them felt scarrrrrry. And every time this person moved on with THEIR reality I took it personally, it felt like a shot straight to my heart. And I kept explaining myself explaining myself because thats what I didn’t do before right? So maybe if I explain myself now I can talk my way out of this. Maybe I can get my way. I gave up on having my way after a while. It was becoming too toxic. They, wanted to remain friends. Because how could this person live with themselves believing they caused me so much pain. That was their bandaid. I thought I could fix things by explaining my feelings. They thought they could fix it all by offering ”friendship”. Friendship at this point was an insult because how dare you love me so intensely and then take it away, and go on parading your new happy life in my face as if im supposed to congratulate you. Alhough this concept of going BACK to being “friends” was not something I wanted to do, for me to be the one to cut everything off and have them now heartbroken and upset didn’t sit right with me. So I stayed around.  And I never took the time to look at the situation from any standpoint where I was not the victim. 

I knew they were hurt, but no one was hurt more than me. No one had suffered more than me. No one had given more than me. No one was willing to sacrifice more than me. And I wore that as a badge of honor but thinking back, it was too little too late. It was hurt I caused myself. I sacrificed myself, and to what avail? No one asked me to. I was afraid of going back to crippling loneliness, feeling boxed in from other ppls expectations. They were afraid of the same. We went about it in two different ways and this is the truth I have to accept. He was not wrong. He was so afraid to hurt me anymore that he just played along hoping one day I would be better, while he continued to live his life. And I was MADDDD that he could try to live his life separate from me. 

The moral of the story is, your feelings are valid. Your hurt, anger pain is valid. But sometimes the villain of the story is not them. Sometimes you are your own villain. Sometimes you cause your own mess and that still doesn’t make you a bad person. 

Everybody has skeletons. No one is perfect. No one is above being judged. But that doesn’t mean you have to stop living your life for fear other ppl will not understand your motivation. Life is for the living.

[kashimos-hajime]

the colour yellow | jjk

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

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

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

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

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

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

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

Cruel. That was the word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He opens the door. 

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

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

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

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

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

So, why can’t you stop this?

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

After Suguru…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren’t even doing that bad. 

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

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

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

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“I’d never do that.”

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

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

“Do it, then.”

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

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

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

“Yes, I do!”

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

“He was nine.”

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

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death. 

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

“Satoru,” you say softly.

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

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour. 

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

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

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

“We all die.”

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

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

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

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

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

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

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

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple. 

Colour theory. 

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

.

He sits on the bench on campus. 

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

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

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

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

“She’s not going to die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

HANAHAKI DISEASE

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

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

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

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

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

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

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

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

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

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

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

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive 

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

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

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

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

  [Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

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

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

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

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

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

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol 

remember how i can teleport 

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine 

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worse?”

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

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

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

He frowned. “Why?”

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

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

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.” 

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me, too.”

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

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

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

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

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

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

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

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what are those triggers?”

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

“That’s reassuring.”

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

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

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it here?” you ask. 

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

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

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tuna mayo.”

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

He wonders…

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

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

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

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

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

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

“Nanami,” he greets.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

Hopefully, it never does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First day knowing Shoko?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

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

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom. 

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

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly. 

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

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

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

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

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

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

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

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

.

You get worse and worse with every visit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did that hurt?”

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

“Does anything?”

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

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

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

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

He said no every time.

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

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

“Do you want my help?”

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

“Hospital bonus.”

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

“Isn’t that a relief?” 

It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him. 

You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.

Not much to miss, to be honest. 

“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”

“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”

“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.” 

It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare. 

“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.

“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”

You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you. 

When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.

“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.

The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.

“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”

“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”

He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”

You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.

.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?

Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.

It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to. 

The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.

He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.

He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.

Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after. 

“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”

“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless. 

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.

“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.” 

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”

You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”

Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”

“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?” 

Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.

“Right.”

“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”

“Yes.”

“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”

“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“

You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.” 

“…thank you.”

Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.

So terribly heartbroken.

And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it? 

He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be. 

I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.

I’m the Strongest.

The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.

Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.

.

At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.

“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.

“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”

You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.

Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”

“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.

You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…” 

“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. “What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”

“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?”

“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”

“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”

“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”

You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”

He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.

A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.

You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.

In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.

Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt? 

Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?  

Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again? 

Because if so, Satoru understands. 

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…

But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.

Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone. 

He glances at the clock. 

How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away. 

He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.

He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.

He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.

Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.

“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.

It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”

“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”

“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around. 

The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.

“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.” 

Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.

Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you. 

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”

“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.

His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.

“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.

Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.

“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”

“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.

“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”

“I can’t eat, though.”

“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.

You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin. 

You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.

Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.

You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.

Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you. 

“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.

“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”

“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”

“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer. 

This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.

“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”

Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.

“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.

Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth. 

“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.

“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”  

He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself. 

“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”

“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”

The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.

“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.

He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…

His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”

“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.” 

Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters. 

Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.

“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”

The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying. 

“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.” 

.

Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“

“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”

“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”

“We should do one of both of us.”

“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“

“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.

When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.

The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.

.

Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.

The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them. 

Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.

He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing. 

Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.

It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…

“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”

You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”

You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.

It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.

“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”

That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.

No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.

You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.

“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”

“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.

“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another. 

Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach. 

It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.

In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.

His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.

Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”

Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.

Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.

.

You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.

His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.

“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.

“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”

“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”

Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.

“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”

“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”

“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.

He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re… going to miss me… more.” 

Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break. 

Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.

“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.

“Anything.”

“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”

Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”

.

“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.

“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”

He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more. 

Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.

.

Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.

Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…

It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.

You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out. 

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”

Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.

Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid. 

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat. 

Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.

Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him. 

Click. Hiss. 

The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed. 

Click. Hiss.

Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.

He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.

Another blink, slower this time.

He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.

“Alright, give it your best shot.” 

Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.

ANGRY?

“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again. 

Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory. 

Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.

Click. Hiss.

He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face. 

“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”

He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient. 

HERE

“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”

YOU AND ME

“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”

Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.

“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours. 

He knows you’re exhausted. 

Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”

Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.

“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”

Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator. 

It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist

It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.

.

At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.

Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.

Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.

She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.

The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.

Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.

Hours pass by in torturous years. 

Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand. 

His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds. 

There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. 

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here. 

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare. 

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do. 

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead. 

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head. 

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

.

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend. 

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest. 

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free. 

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps. 

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass. 

So he did. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can. 

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too. 

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time. 

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.” 

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you. 

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall. 

 Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls. 

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

 “They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use. 

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival. 

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant. 

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up. 

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm. 

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink. 

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world. 

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world. 

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless. 

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping. 

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page. 

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday. 

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this? 

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die? 

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay? 

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love. 

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough. 

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either. 

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more. 

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same. 

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

.

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.” 

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.” 

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away. 

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love. 

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

#fic: the colour yellow #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojou x reader #gojou x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk writing #jujutsu kaisen writing #jujutsu kaisen gojo #my writing

[deluluass]

all yours; all mine

71 and 58 with Atsumu pleaseeese. I just love this man and I would appreciate it if you wrote something with him. Youre so talented!💕 — anon

sidenote: anon, i hope u know that u have a very special place in my heart for being the first ask ive ever received. i hope u are well & having a gr8 day ;U;

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; daddy kink; mild angst; implied post-breakup depression; toxic relationship/s

Breakups are a messy business. A lot of crying, begging, screaming (if it's that type of a breakup). Whatever it is, breakups generally inspire intense— so-intense-it-could-get-you-kicked-out-if-you're-in-a-public-place, high-strung, and the most unpleasant kind of emotions. 

It’s understandable, considering you’re losing the person you love. 

But he doesn't even look upset.

"Aah," Atsumu sing-songed, twirling the plastic stirrer between his fingers. "Ya wanna call it off?"

The heat from the mug bit your skin as you gripped it. 

"What?" you choked, shaking your head. "I didn't say that, Atsumu. I only-"

He scoffed. "Fuckin'- ya just did."

You finally looked up at him, porcelain clinking as you placed your drink back on the saucer. Ball cap on,  muscles filling up and straining his hoodie and jeans; even in an outfit that almost concealed him he never fails to take your breath away. 

Only, it's for a different reason this time.

"I said that I-" you cleared your throat. "I want- I want you to-"

"I get it, I get it." Atsumu sighed, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Let's break up, then."

He was already standing up and he didn't even deign to meet your eyes. You didn't expect much when you'd travelled all the way to Tokyo just to have a talk with him. After all, the last conversation you had was over the phone. (And that, too, did not go well). 

Though, is it too much to expect he'd at least listen to what you have to say?

"Tsumu-kun! Wait!" 

Some customers were already staring, urging you to hide, hop on the next train, and run back home; away from the cold scrutiny of strangers. 

But not now. Not when what you have with him is hanging on a balance.

"Please, sit down and- and let's talk," you huffed, voice and hand trembling as you held onto his.

Breakups are a messy business, you heard.

A lot of crying. A lot of begging. A lot of screaming. Whichever kind it is, don't breakups usually inspire only the most intense emotions?

But he doesn't even look upset, doesn't even look like he feels anything other than a passing irritation, as if you were a fly buzzing in his ear, when he told you, "I know this is ya first rodeo, but yer gonna find someone new eventually, hm?"

It's been a long time coming, Atsumu thinks. He'd known for quite a while now that his relationship with you would end, actually, ever since you'd wanted to include "feelings" and "trust" and "opening up" into the mix. 

"Why?" he'd laughed at your face once. "What? Ya ain't happy? That it? We got somethin' good goin' on don't we?"

He didn't get it, at first. You'd always been your cheerful, bubbly self; never failing to be that one sunny spot when his day gets too pesky and such a pain in the ass. You were happy.

Until you weren't. 

"You don't.. tell me things," you muttered, fiddling with your hands on the kitchen table. "Which is fine! I'm not- go at your pace, but- but know that I'd listen to you. Always. I'm here, 'Tsumu."

And it wasn't as if he didn't try. It's just that Atsumu realized, a few months later, that he wasn't any good at it. 

Every time he'd lay it all out in front of you⁠— every tiny and pathetic and gritty part of him, you would eventually take him in your arms. So much smaller, weaker than his and yet Atsumu did not mind if it could be his entire world. 

Then, a thought would creep in, like a thief that'd stab him in his sleep. In the safety of those tender arms, with those guileless eyes peering at him, Atsumu would think that he'd rather stay there forever, cling onto you until he bites the dust.  

It disgusted him. 

Atsumu couldn't stand it. Because if he could be anything in this short life, he'd choose to be perfect. And that- that wasn't it. 

So he avoided it when the occasion arose. Diverting the subject to mundane stuff was easy, at first. The weather, the new show you're binging, your slacker of a boss, what happened back in the game. When that didn't work⁠— well, there were other ways. 

(His favorite was sticking his tongue in your wet cunt, to prod at the soft walls with the tip, and to lap and suck at the clit until you're begging for the stretch of his fat cock.)

The break up was understandable. When you'd greeted him in the café as if you'd spent the entire time you were apart crying, Atsumu knew it was over. 

You just repeated what you'd always said. It's okay to be vulnerable. If he needs some time to work out the right words then you'd always wait because I love you, 'Tsumu. 

(But there was that feeling again. Like he could die on the spot if you would so much as leave his sight.)

(Ending it was the only way out. When poison seeps itself into the bloodstream, you're left with no choice but to cut off a part of you.)

Unlike others, he can say that it was a clean parting. You wanted something and he was bad at it. And because he hated fucking up, Atsumu decided to leave. Easy. 

Really, the only people who didn't understand were his teammates.

"That's strange," Hinata spat, rice bursting to his chin when he suddenly faced Atsumu. "I don't think I've seen her for weeks now."

He could hear barely suppressed groans  behind him, no doubt from Bokuto and the others, before their spiker blurted out a confused, "What?"

Because, of course, Hinata could only mean one "her.” (There had only ever been one that Atsumu Miya allowed inside the team's gymnasium; inside his circle of friends; inside his life.)

Apparently, except for Hinata Shoyo, everyone had caught on that the both of you had thrown in the towel, so to speak. (And here they thought the guy's finally in it for real.)

"Nah, it's fine," Atsumu smirked, addressing it to everyone gathered around Samu's onigiri stand.  

"We broke up." 

He clicked his tongue. "It's not like there ain't no other fish in the sea."

The remark, casually said in between sips of cold coffee, was met with a gaping silence. 

That turned out to be right, like everything else that he'd predicted. 

A hole is a hole is a hole is a hole. No disrespect meant to you. But before you there had been many others who'd helped warm his bed. It just so happened that you got to stay for far longer. 

(Because waking up next to you meant waking up to that dreamy look, as if whoever's in charge up there has finally given you everything you've ever wanted.)

(And when he greets you with a hoarse good morning you say it back with eyes that tell him he's worth it, simply for being there.)

Anyway, going back to that old routine hadn't been difficult. 

(Except when he finally does it with someone new, for some reason he keeps searching for a different touch, expecting that endearing combination of inexperience and enthusiasm.)

(And when they cum he can't help but put a hand on their mouth, around their throat, because he's hearing the wrong voice, seeing the wrong face.) 

It's obvious, looking at him. Everyone can see that life's going pretty well for Atsumu. He can only hope that the same goes for you.

"You're miserable."

Peeling your attention away from the mother braiding her young daughter's hair, you hurriedly brought it back to the two women sitting in front of you.

"See?" Aya swung her hand in your direction. "Not even listening."

"No, no," you giggled sheepishly. Kaori was already pursing her lips.

"No, seriously. I am."

You sat upright, setting the chopsticks on your bento box. 

"Then what was it she said?" Kaori pressed. She folded her arms and you knew you were in trouble. 

"Uh..huh." You nodded. "Right. So. Um...."

"You didn't catch it," said Kaori.

"I didn't catch it," you winced.

Both girls sighed. 

The first three buttons of their blouses were open, the heat of the afternoon getting to them. And as they leaned back against the wooden bench, you had a feeling that they were about to give you the Conversation that's been waiting to happen for two long months.

That's why you'd decided to start it before they could. Just so it won't linger anymore painfully so.

“I know what you're going to say."

They only raised their brows, a mere "okay, go on" than an actual expression of surprise. 

"I've been sad. I haven't been..fine. That is true," you inhaled, preparing yourself for the agonizing part. Then, you released your breath.

"Ever since..'Tsu-" you gulped. "Ever since breaking up with Atsumu I haven't been feeling like myself but nowadays I'm getting back on my feet and I'm still working see so really there's no need to worry okay? Okay."

Aya grinned, but it didn't hold her usual devil-may-care humor to it. 

"You say that," she started, "but we’ll probably always be if you keep at that- at that⁠—"

"You're rarely in the moment," Kaori supplied, to which Aya replied with a harsh thank you. "You're distracted. And we know you're trying your best to be okay on your own. We've given you space, but remember that you have us."

Something was lodged in your chest and you found it hard to breathe. You'd missed them. You hadn't realized it, but you missed your friends. 

So much.

"Thank you," you whispered, forcing back  tears. "I- I wouldn't know what to do if it not for you two-"

"Hold it." Aya raised a palm. "Before you get corny again. Can I just say, I know he's your first dick-"

"Aya," Kaori murmured.

"And we all know it was good-"

"Aya," you hissed.

Your face burned as you searched from left to right, making sure no innocent being heard her.

"But can I just say," she slapped a palm on the surface of the table. "I don't care what you or the TV or his fans say about him! But the man's a walking red flag since day one!"

Kaori rolled her eyes. And despite yourself you couldn't keep a chuckle from bubbling. 

"Here we go again."

Aya almost rose from her seat. "When he sent that poor dude from accounting to the ER for just, I don't know, breathing your way, I knew something was up!"

You felt your smile die. 

That had been the first time it happened. You'd asked him what's wrong, after you'd rushed to the hospital, and all he gave you was silence. A whole day of it. He hadn't spoken a word about it, only that he'd warned you not to talk to that bastard again, or else.

(You'd learned, much, much later, that he doesn't do well with people that annoy him. That's what he said. You wanted to know more, but he suddenly decided that he had to make it up to you between the sheets.)

Kaori touched your hand. "Talk to us," she whispered.

You hummed as you shook your head. "I just remembered him," you said, only half of the truth.

If they knew it, they didn't let on. But Aya did say, "Tell you what. Company outing's upon us. So you know what that means?"

"Oh, I don't know," you mumbled apologetically. "I might sit this one out."

"No," Kaori gritted. 

Aya held your face with both hands as she  stared you down.

"You will buy yourself a new swimsuit. You will enjoy that cheap beach resort." 

The heaviness was lifting, bit by bit, as you felt your stomach ache with laughter. And with each silly word uttered by your friends, you could almost see the gray clouds overhead disappearing. Even for a little while.

"And you, you beautiful person you," Aya beamed. "Will finally, finally get laid."

Having best friends who are dead set on helping you get over an ex is a fearsome thing to behold, indeed. 

You couldn't even get a word in edgewise as they took you in a whirlwind of spas, salons, mani-pedis, and shopping bags. 

"Calm down. You rarely spend for yourself," Kaori told you when she'd caught you peeking forlornly at the frightening bill you'd amassed. 

But, try as you might to miss owning a fat wallet, you couldn't deny that you have no regrets wasting your money away. Not even for a single cent. Because you did feel amazing.

And when the day arrived, you couldn't help at the giddiness of having compliment after compliment thrown your way. 

"Is that really you?" said a co-worker when you'd boarded the bus. "You're glowing!"

During the games, as well, you'd often hear "Love the new look!" and "Have I ever told you before that you're so pretty? Because you are." And you'd preen with a soft-spoken thank you, having been taught by Kaori that denying a compliment makes one look stupid.  

It was so silly, honestly. Though not the part where, after a lovely comment, you'd be emboldened to strike an actual conversation. Learning that a coworker has a new baby now, or that so and so has recently moved up the corporate ladder; learning that, during your period of grief and self-pity (and even during the blissful time you’d spent with Atsumu), there were so many things you hadn't noticed.

You basked in it: the shower of pleasantries and anecdotes that had you feeling soft and fuzzy inside. The same way you lazed on the sandbar, clutching tiny conch shells in your hand, as you watched the sun tinge the sparkling waves with warm light.   

"Hey."

You jolted, turning towards the person who'd called your name. It was him. "Poor dude from accounting" as Aya dubbed him.

"Sano-san," you gasped, reaching for the towel beside you to cover up. "How- how are you?" 

Of all the people in your office, he was the last one you wanted to see. Solely for the reason that things have been awkward between you ever since that incident. A working relationship characterized by the literal turning of the other cheek whenever you two bumped into each other.

"Oh, pardon me," he scratched the back of his head. "Do you..want me to go?"

Yes. 

"No..!" you blurted out. "I think-"

The sun was almost setting. You wrapped the towel around you as you took in the balmy sea breeze. 

"I think I'm done hiding," you whispered, meeting his gaze for the first time in a long while, head on and baring the tiniest hint of shame, like how you did with your friends and other coworkers.

He didn't say anything, allowing you to continue. "I- It's nice. Talking to people again," you giggled. "Look, Sano-san. About before, I'm really sor-"

"Actually," he smiled. "That's why I'm here. Well, my partner pushed me but-"

You grinned at the blush that rose to his cheeks. 

"But I wanted to tell you: No hard feelings."

Sano-san extended a hand. You stared at it for a few seconds. His hand, then his face. Back to his hand, then his face again. And when you'd finally accepted it, it felt like witnessing the cage that’s imprisoned you for centuries finally open.

"By the way," he added, walking back towards an obviously amused fianceé. "It's a good look on you, being happy."

Atsumu entertained the possibility that maybe— just maybe, not everything was  fine the night the Jackals went home after an overseas tournament.

As soon as the plane landed on Japanese soil, the hunger he felt throughout the journey morphed into some kind of  anticipation, palpable through the thrill that electrified him into wakefulness. He might have left in a hurry, only half of his mind present when the Coach ordered for a short meeting. 

His foot tapped endlessly on the way⁠— while in the car; during the tedious elevator ride⁠— and when he'd finally entered his pad, slamming the door open with much eagerness than usual, Atsumu felt his heart plummet down his stomach when he was welcomed by a dark and empty hallway. 

You're not here. Not anymore.

Hasn't it been almost half a year now? Why did he expect you, face brightened by a grin that went from ear to ear, to materialize in front of him, with the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen? As if a magician with a hat trick.   

("Welcome back!" he was aching to hear.)

(You always insisted on eating with him when he got home; sometimes opting to just stay by his side⁠— munching on a midnight snack while you babbled on, if he arrived later than usual and you'd already had dinner.)

("It's lonely having a meal on your own," you explained. "Don't you think food tastes better if you have someone with you?")

Perhaps it was the jet lag. Or, it could be that the abrupt change in time zones was starting to mess with his head. Either way, Atsumu was sure that sleep would eventually cure him of the momentary delirium. 

But then he woke up the next day feeling like someone had pissed in his morning drink. The day after that, too. Even the next had been the same, persisting onto the following weeks. 

Until one game, after a winning streak that had the crowd chanting their names and with blood still roaring in his veins, he condescended to survey the numerous people occupying the bleachers. 

And when he couldn't find one⁠— one person that had always stood out to him despite being constantly drowned in an ocean of spectators— it was only then that Atsumu Miya decided that enough was enough. 

You hadn't really agreed with Aya when she told you that you'd be getting "laid" during this short vacation. 

Reason number one: it's a company outing. And you're sure you'd be breaking some protocols by fooling around with any of your coworkers. Reason Two: as you'd sagely imparted to a miffed Aya, "I don't think it's nice to cure a broken heart with sex; strings attached or no."

That being said, the lingerie she'd chosen for you did flatter your figure. It didn't matter that "no one would see it," as Aya grumbled. It was enough for you that you yourself saw it, you thought as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror. 

The way it was tailored made it seem like it was made just for your body. The details of lace also made it look so pretty that you felt kind of sad that you'd have to cover it up with a summer dress soon. 

Nevertheless, you allowed yourself to strike a few poses in front of the mirror; feeling like a teenager on their first date as you admired how you looked in it. 

You smiled to yourself, humming a tune, before you opened your makeup kit and prepared the necessities you'd be bringing for the bonfire dinner. 

"Wipes: check," you murmured, rummaging through your bag. "Hygiene stuff. Where are you hygiene stuff, hygiene stu⁠—"

You froze.

Something rustled. Outside. As if something had moved. 

Putting a robe back on, your heart thundered against your chest as you stepped out of the bathroom and into the dimly lit sleeping area, illuminated only by a small reading lamp.

"Be careful there, girlie," the old caretaker warned as she guided you to this room. "Lots of mean spirits lurking about."

You didn't believe in ghosts. For some reason, however, your coworkers did. So you'd taken it to yourself to move here after a room assignment mishap, leaving Aya and Kaori behind. 

It didn't seem like the cursed chamber that she purported to be. Sure, it was isolated at the furthest wing of the beach house, away from the other rooms and separated by a too dark hallway. But that had been the creepiest thing about it. Besides, you heard from logistics that renting the house didn't cost much, despite its size, so maybe it's just that they lacked the resources to renovate. 

The floorboards creaked beneath you. "Aya? Aya, I know it's you," you called out as you squinted, catching a faint silhouette reclined at the corner of the bed. 

It was too large to be Aya, but you chalked that up to the shadows playing with your eyes. You puffed out a chortle, resting a hand on your hips when she finally stood.   

"Very funny, Aya," you snorted when she sauntered towards you. "Just you wait until Kaori hears about.…" you trailed off.

"......this."

You drew in a breath as she moved closer, revealing a build that was much taller, towering almost in the small room, shoulders that are way broader than the ones your friend has, and a face that clearly wasn't Aya's.

"Evenin'," Atsumu yawned. 

Your legs refused to listen to you.

"Been a minute, hadn't it, darlin'?"

You don't know why he's here. 

And even if you wanted to ask, you find that no sound could escape from your mouth when you tried to open it.

You do know this, as he gave you a lopsided grin that used to have you eating at the palm of his hand, along with a lazy gaze that was belied by a bird-like focus:

That although he told you that all he wants is a little chat, you knew that he didn't come here just for that.

You ran.

Atsumu had been the worst boyfriend.

He's aware of it now, realized it fully when he knocked on Samu's door, shit-faced, and it only took a single look and a consoling arm from his brother to break Atsumu into tears and snot, as well as Samu's voice telling him, "Yer a big baby. Ya need her, dontcha?"

That's why he followed you here, figuring that you'd love a thoughtful surprise. Because you always have. He didn't expect you'd take to it kindly, of course, not right away. But he also didn't expect that you would be doing the surprising.

You were talking to that man when he arrived. 

Didn't he tell you not to?

His intentions still haven't changed. He's here to bring you back, but before anything else Atsumu's sure it's only normal that you guys clear things up first. 

And if you're going to do that, he can't have you running away now, can't he?

Grabbing you by the waist, Atsumu's palm tingled at the feel of your body, pulling you closer to him as he pinned you to the wall and stifled your shrieks with his hand.

"Everybody's gone, angel," he whispered, losing himself in your skin, though covered in silk; lips and fingers roaming every which way because finally, finally, fuckin' finally you're here and you're real.

"Just wanna talk." He stroked the curve of your ass, middle finger tracing the lining of the crack. "Ain't this what'ya always wanted? S'let's talk," he murmured against your collarbone.

You were already crying, shaky hands weakly grasping his back and tears wetting even his cheeks. Atsumu couldn't help but smile. You'd always been a crier. It's one of the many things he loves about you. Always so honest with your emotions.

"I missed ya," Atsumu groaned as he grinded his cock against your pussy, feeling it harden when he mouthed your tits.

There was something peeking out of your robe, he noticed as it became more rumpled. 

"D-don't," you breathed, your attempt to swat his hands away thwarted when he seized your wrist.

It was lace. The color pulling the eye to your body like a siren's song. And when he stripped the robe off of you, silk swishing down your elbows, Atsumu saw that it was a piece of lingerie. One that he hasn't seen before.

Because he didn't buy this one. It wasn't from him. You weren't the type to get one yourself. 

Until now.

"This for him?" he murmured, pressing a kiss against your pulse, beating like a drum against his lips. 

"Wh-who?" you whimpered.

"The ugly piece of shit. Saw you guys gettin' chummy earlier."

He was close, too close to you, back at the beach. You smiled at him, laughed and showed him what he isn't supposed to see. And when he touched you— when the fucker touched you, Atsumu wanted blood on his hands.

"Yer gonna fuck the guy whose face I busted?" 

You squeaked as he dug his blunt nails against your wrist. Atsumu licked the red impressions they made.

"And what- what about it?" Your voice was so brittle and small. God, he just wanted to hold you. "It's none of your business, who I spend my time with. And don't- don't tell me you're jealous because-"

He chuckled, the sound of it making you shrink back into the wall. "Jealous? Doll, ya wouldn't wanna know what I'm feelin right now. But, sure." Atsumu lightly nipped at the tips of your fingers. 

"'Course I'm jealous," he rasped. "You're mine."

Then, Atsumu looked at you. And what he saw in your eyes made him stumble that when you shoved him away, all he could do was stand and stare.

"I'm not your thing, Atsumu," you cried. A light-year difference from the girl who'd always stare at him so tenderly. "I never was and I never will be. I'm not yours."

You didn't run this time. You should've. 

Atsumu clenched his jaw. "Like hell ya ain't," he snarled.

People say that breakups are a messy business. Atsumu was so sure he wouldn't have to endure that, before he met you.  Now that he's had the experience, though, Atsumu can say with confidence that breakups are, in fact, a goddamn mess.

But you're over that now. It's time to turn over a new leaf and return to one another. And Atsumu's finding out, in the process, that making up can be astonishingly reminiscent of the breakup.

You started crying when you woke up, screaming for help as you tried to budge the rope that was tying your hands to your knees. You got louder when you found out that you were naked and not in the rickety confines of the beach house. 

"Welcome home, baby," he beamed, eying you from between your legs. 

The begging started when you realized how drenched your little pussy was, his tongue lapping and slathering the cum dripping from your twitching hole, against  your swollen folds; his calloused thumb massaging deep circles on your clit. 

And when he stuck another inside your puckered asshole, you writhed out of your binds and squealed, "T-tsumu-kun…!"

Fuck. 

"Babydoll," he growled. "Daddy's gotcha, daddy's gonna treat ya so fuckin' good."

He slapped your damp cunt with his long fingers, thrusting them inside to rub and feel at your walls, at the bump that never failed to make you screech. "Daddy's been mean hasn't he? Hm? Been a bad daddy to ya, baby?"

You could only gasp out wordlessly as he slurped the juices off your clit, not stopping until you were gushing, sloppy cum drizzling on the bedsheet, every muscle in spasms, incapable of even stretching out your legs although Atsumu knew you wanted to, you really wanted to so fuckin' bad, resorting to curling your toes instead. 

"E-enough, please, please, stop!"

How adorable, Atsumu thought. "My little slut," he cooed, tapping the tip of his hard cock on your pussy. "My good 'lil fucktoy."

He relished it, wanting to draw this on forever, so he slides it against your folds, pussy lips wrapping the meat of his cock, gyrating his hips back and forth, as if he were fucking you, and grabbing your tits to play with your nipples. 

"Atta girl," he laughed, licking his teeth when he finally sunk inside your tight cunt, pushing you so far down into the mattress until his chest was rubbing against your tits, your feet dangling against his shoulders.

"I don't-I don't want this, 'Tsumu," you sobbed. "Don't want this!"

Oh, of course you don't. Atsumu knows you don't. He'd fucked you against your will, after all. 

But you were taking him so well, darlin'. Your walls were hugging his cock so fuckin' nicely that he couldn't help but shove deeper inside you, craving for the way your pussy twitched rapidly around him. 

If you weren't bound, he's also sure that you'd be pushing his hips away. But that's not what's getting to him. Because as he pistoned his cock into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass, you instantly turned your face away.

Did you know that you were breaking his heart? Shattering it to pieces, when you close your eyes like doors, locking them to prevent him from ever reaching you again. 

So he gripped your chin. Forced you to meet his eyes as you wept and shook your head. 

"Am gonna be better, baby," he groaned.  "No more keeping things from ya. None of that bullshit, now."

Atsumu shivered as you came around him, convulsing under him and strained voice still begging him to stop. Because he wasn't. He would never stop. Not when it comes to you. 

"Am all yours, angel. All yours." He pounded your fucked out cunt, chasing his own high as he kneaded your tits. 

A tear fell from your eyelids. And when he kissed you, it felt like everything in his life shifted back in its rightful place. "You can have it all," he sighed, cupping your cheek.

"So give me all of you now," Atsumu pleaded. "Come back to me."

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x female reader #dark content haikyuu #prompt

[cvtqr]

hm, boring

parings; jean kirstein x reader x marco

content warning; relationship with sharing, hair pulling, face fucking, degradation, spanking, squirting, horse cock marco, + someone additional listening in

“jeannn~ ‘m tired. come cuddle with me pleaseee~” 

“EREN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WE’RE ON THE SAME SQUAD!?”

there he goes, ignoring you. nothing new though. every single night jean would be on his god damn game with his friends. night time was the only time you two could spend together because of your jobs getting in the way. he doesn't even like eren yet he choose playing with him over paying attention to you? tch, what a joke.

that's when the idea popped in your head. you reached over to the nightstand, grabbed your phone, and opened your messages. 

hey bodt! come over and hang with me n jean, haven't seen you in awhile :)

y/nnn!!! i was actually just doin some work at the cafe by your apartment! guess i’ve been overworking myself that i haven't had the time to come hangout with my best friends :(( but since it’s friday i guess ill drop by ≧◡≦

yeah it’s not good to overwork yourself! we’ve missed you, see you soon !

yup ;)

:)***** sorry y/n clicked the wrong button (・_・ヾ

its fine haha, see ya bodt!

you giggled to yourself. yeah, he was your and your boyfriends best friend, but he really was adorable. such a gentleman. 

well that's when he isn't drilling into your tight little cunt while jean jacks off to the sight...

“who were you texting now that you’re all giggly?”

“just inviting someone over!”

“who.”

that came out not so much like a question

“marco! we haven't seen him in awhile.” you said while walking up behind jean in his chair. 

he spun around in his chair and looked up at you, patting his lap. of course you weren't going to refusing sitting in his arms, so you snuggled into his lap.

“simp. hi y/n”  you faintly heard from jean’s headset 

“SHUT UP YEAGER YOU CANT EVEN GET A GIRLFRIEND”

you took his headset, since they were just in the lobby of a game, and put it over your head. 

“hiiii eren.”

“give me that you little shit.”

you lightly slapped him on his cheek and got up to sit back on your bed, hearing him chuckle.

little did you know you were going to regret thet later 

it wasn't long before you heard marco knock on the front door. 

you ran out of the bedroom and unlocked the door for him, greeting him with a warm hug. 

“ok so i kind of lied. i just wanted you to come over. but that's only because jeans ignoring me!” 

before giving him a chance to respond you took his arm and dragged him to the bedroom. 

“hey hey jean!”

“hey bodt - EREN STOP IT YOU FUCKING BASTARD.” 

you rolled your eyes and plopped down onto your bed, marco following behind you. you knew that jean has an agreement to share you from time to time, so you cuddled up into his strong arms, resting your head on his broad chest. 

he smiled and squeezed you tight. but when jean saw you two from the reflection, he was mad. he knew that he shouldn't have a reason to be mad though, he was the one rejecting giving you the much needed attention. he didn't know if it was because marco was the reason you were smiling right now, or the fact that his hand was roaming a little too far up your thigh. 

but what jean didn't know was that marcos been... well, sexually frustrated. like he said before, he been burying himself way too deep into work. being a CEO was a lot of work, even for someone as bright as marco. he used to go at it a little too frequently, but now he never even has the chance to jack off. 

so what was his real reason for coming here.

“eren are you there? eren? erennn”

not bothering to shut anything off he put his head set down on his desk and walked over to you and marco. 

 “you guys hungry?”

you slowly opened your eyes, looking over to jean.

you and marco both nodded your heads.

15 minutes later the three of you were gathered in the living room, you and jean sitting on either side of marco. 

everyone was laughing while jean teased you as always. but when you went to go playfully smack his head? the cup of ice cold water in your hand tipped over and spilt all over marco’s jeans.

“ ‘m so sorry hold on!!”

you ran up and into the kitchen grabbing a hand towel. you came back to the couch, sitting back in your spot, taking the towel, dabbing it all over the stain on marco’s pants. you didn't know why he was blushing to an extent though. 

“its, its fine y/n! its just water it’ll dry”

you removed the towel to reveal a huge bulge in his pants. so that's why he was so embarrassed.

“im sorry, im sorry! ive just been really frustrated lately and-”

“just help him, y/n.”

marco let out a relived sigh when you got onto your knees in front of him. you slowly brought your hand up to his zipper and pulled it down. he then helped you pull of his pants and boxers just for his erection to spring up and hit into his stomach. 

he never failed to impress you, he was defiantly bigger than jean. long and girthy with a few veins running down the shaft, pre-cum dribbling out of the tip. 

without saying a word, you took his cock into your hands slowly stroking him, using his pre-cum as lube. 

“p-please y/n. i want it in your mouth.”

knowing how mean and dominate he can get while riled up, you obeyed, enjoying the shy side of him.

you swirled your tongue around his tip before bobbling your head down, taking as much as you can. marco’s hands found his way into your hair while throwing his head back. it was taking everything to not just buck his hips up and shove his cock down your pretty little throat.

“so you’re just gonna let her run that slutty mouth up and down n not just fuck her throat? hm, boring.”

at the moment you wish jean would've just bit his tongue while marco let out a deep, long chuckle. 

he then tightened his grip around your hair and forced you down further onto him before thrusting up into your throat. he was way too big for you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat earning a gag from you.

“what's wrong can't take it? i really thought you were a slut... getting onto your knees for your boyfriends best friend and letting him fuck that tiny throat of yours.” 

his degrading words were enough for you to slip your hands down your shorts, slowing adding friction to your clit. 

jean, now fully erect got up from his spot on the couch and squatted down next to you, pulling your hand away and out of your pants, a tight grip around your wrist. 

“i don't think anyone told you to touch yourself, now did they?”

without warning, marco came in your mouth, his warm cum spilling down your throat. he then pulled you off his cock, a string of saliva mixed with cum still connecting you to him. marco looked down to jean and nodded.

jean stood up, bringing you up with him and walked over to the bedroom, marco following close behind and closing the door once you all got inside.

jean pushed you down onto the bed. the two men were now hovering over you, looking down onto you. you definitely lost any sort of control over this situation. 

“hmm, i think you deserve a punishment baby. i mean for slapping me before.”

“that wasn't my fault tho-”

“shut up. no one said you could talk.” he spat out

jean then sat on the bed next to you. you knew exactly what he wanted. you crawled over and laid face first across his lap, ass perking up, while marco took a seat on jean’s gaming chair facing the both of you.

“you’ll only get ten today. i hear anything fall from that mouth besides you counting, i’m leaving to go spend the night at marcos”

you shook your head yes while a harsh slap landed right across your ass.

“o-one” you said while sniffling 

marco on the other hand was started to palm himself through his boxers at the sight in front of him.

“te- ten!” you basically cried out at this point. you usually get more, but jean was harsh tonight. 

meanwhile, no one in the room realized the discord chat going off on jean’s computer

surprised your still on... mikasa ratted me out about something so my mom called and chewed my ear out longer than expected.

helloooo?

jean?

“my sweet girl, you were so good for me. as a reward i’ll let you have marco’s cock. you’ll let him fuck you, right baby?”

eagerly you nodded while jean switched places with marco, now sitting on the chair. 

“as always im going to prep you first, i wouldn't want to hurt you. that alright?”

without having to say anything you pulled your shorts down and disregarded them onto the floor. 

marco then pushed you down onto your back while slipping down your panties. you looked up into his eyes while he shoved to fingers knuckles deep into your cunt, earning a sweet soft moan from your lips.

a few minutes after using his fingers to stretch you out, you left your climax building with a familiar feeling in your stomach.

“m-marco i’m gonna~”

about to cream all over his fingers, he pulled them out and flipped you onto your stomach.

“didn’t think i’d let you off the hook that easy hm?”

“marco pleaseee, i need too, please!!” you were basically sobbing over the fact that you wanted to get fucked

“no need to be a little cry baby y/n. he’ll let you cum when he wants to.” said jean from across the room, fucking his fist

“no, no its not that... it’s just that nothing feels better than your sweet cum running down my shaft.” right when he finished his sentace he shoved his cock right into your tight cunt, completely bottoming out and thrusting into you without giving you time to adjust.

“ ‘s too big marco please!”

“sorry, couldn’t help it baby.” the sight was so lewd. marco pounding into you from behind and shoving your head down into the mattress. jean behind you two fucking his first harder than ever. the room filled with wet slapping sounds and your loud moans, along with grunting from the two boys.

“ ah~ baby you’re squeezing me so, so well.” said marco while reaching his hand down, finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles around it.

“mm need to-”

marco sent a harsh slap onto your clit, sending your whole body jerking foward, squirting all over his cock.

marco let out another chuckle at your reaction. “wow, first time anyone’s ever squirted on my cock.”

he pulled out soon after and released all over your ass, crashing down on top of you, out of breath. jean was about to come over and help the both of you clean up until everyone heard a sort of high pitched moan. you and marco knew that didn’t sound like jean and both flipped over.

you all soon realized the headset on jeans desk, the green light indicating it was still on and running. you all then caught on to what was happening on the other side.

“wow jean... didn’t know little y/n was such a slut.”

#aot #attack on titan #snk #aot smut #aot x reader #attack on titan smut #snk smut #snk x reader #jean kirschtien #jean smut #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean x marco #marco bodt #marco bott #marco x reader #marco x jean #marco bodt x reader #marco bott x reader #eren jaeger #eren smut #eren x reader #anime #anime smut #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yaeger smut

[regina-dei-fiori]

✦─chapter: 1/? ( ↣ )

✦─wordcount: 1.2k+

✦─genre: angst with a happy ending, fluff, friends to lovers, college/human au

✦─fandom: moominvalley

✦─pairing: snufmin (snufkin x moomin)

✦─summary: as the night, cold air hits my face, i come here because i want to understand. understand you of all people. you've been so good to me, and i feel as if i've been unfair to you. will you help me sort things out?

or: when moomin and snufkin have their first big fight, they find themselves discovering new things about each other.

✦─loosely inspired by the song two slow dancers, by the one and only mitski

✦─read and support on ao3 💕

a/n: waaah, here we are finally. it is i, secret anon who asked @hanekdrawsmoomins​ if they could write fanfics about their au muahahaha. im quite excited for this, since this is my first time writing like, actual serious fanfics lol. but yeah,,, this one’s going to be a lil too much on the angsty side since ive been on my feels, but i sure do hope you guys enjoy lmao.

HOWEVER, happy ending is promised, so don’t worry about that dsjhgjgdskg

also, if anyone would a tag list to be created, plz tell me in the comments!

finally, i would just like to thank the amazing @iemondropsss​ for being my beta reader!! i really appreciate it <33

so, with nothing left to say, let’s get right into it >:))

-He's outside, Moomin,- a voice says from behind. -In the hallway.

I turn my head around quickly, alert from the sudden new sound. I relax when I realize it was just Snorkamiden. I make out her face in the middle of the club-like flashing lights. I'm sitting in a chair, decorated with pink and red paper strips. The music is so loud in the gymnasium, I could barely catch what she was saying.

The worried look she's wearing says more than a thousand words. I know who she's talking about, but I choose to appear that I don't.

-Who's outside?- I say as nonchalantly as possible, as I turn my head back to the table and start playing with the plastic cup in front of me. Snorkmaiden sees through my act tho. She always does.

She huffs, changing her expression to one that is not at all amused. 

-Stop acting stupid. You know exactly who I'm talking about.

I take the cup and slurp the near nonexistent juice. Why is he even here? Didn't he say that he never wanted to see me again? Is he just playing around? Should I go see him?

Fuck, I really want to see him again--

No. Control yourself, Moomin. You're mad at him, remember?  

I stay there, thinking for a while. I feel Mai and Sniff's eyes on me. Sniff is sitting at the same table as me. I know he's worried about me. He's been more nervous than usual, giving shaky looks to Mai from across the dancefloor before we sit down together, trying to find an answer as to what was going on.

-You can't stay like this forever, Moomin. You two will have to talk things out at some point...

-But does it have to be right now?- I turn back to see her again, my eyes pleading with the false hope of putting the confrontation off longer. Snorkmaiden doesn’t seem to change her mind.

We have a quick staring contest before she speaks again.

-He literally came running from his house, you insufferable idiot. Doesn't that mean something to you?

I almost knock my chair over from standing up too fast, and I really hope no one noticed. I don’t need more embarrassing attention than I already have.

-What? How do you even know that?

-It's easy to tell, he's panting like crazy.

I lean against the table’s edge as I try to make sense of what he has done. 

What does he think he’s doing? Has he gone out of his mind? Why would he do something so stupid? Go run from his house to here, in this goddamn weather? Is he serious? And what for? Did he...?

I stay paralized at the mere thought of it. No, it can't be. He didn't just…

-Well, maybe... maybe he forgot something in his locker-, I say in a desperate attempt to regain my cool. An attempt that, of course, goes in vain.

-Moomin, we both know he doesn't care about school work, or at least not to that degree. What could he possibly forget at school that would be so important for him to come running like that in the middle of a freezing night?

Her stare wears me down. I don't wanna say it, I don't even want to think about it. I wouldn't like to get my hopes up for nothing. I wouldn't like to get hurt…

But then again, why would he come?

I look down at the floor, meditating for a second. If I go out there, it will be inevitable for us to talk again. I'll have no choice but to listen to what he has to say.

And for some reason, that scares me to death.

Because…

What happens if he actually meant what he said? What if he actually doesn't want to talk to me anymore? I don't think I would be able to handle that. 

I sigh heavily. My head is spinning like crazy. He's outside right now. He's right there. And you, sir, need answers, don't you? Once you do this, you'll be able to sleep more peacefully tonight (hopefully). 

It really can't be that bad, right? If things go south, we'll just... Well, we'll just stop talking to each other and that’ll be that…

I shake that thought out as fast as it comes. If I think too much I won't be able to get anything done.

I turn my head back up, to see Snorkmaiden anticipating a final decision from me. I catch my breath one last time. Here goes nothing, I guess.

-Where is he, exactly?

I can see her body relax after those words come out. I can even swear I see a small smile tease her face.

-Next to the janitor's room, around the corner.

I adjust my tuxedo, and Mai finally breaks from her static position, placing her hand on my shoulder.

-Good luck.

I nod curtly as my answer and start walking towards the gymnasium's exit, fighting the urge to look back. I hope Mai can take the work of explaining to Sniff what the hell is going on. I feel bad for not being able to tell him myself, but sometimes even I don't know how to decipher these situations myself.

I hear one of the boys of the basketball team call after me before going through the door, but I already nod to the teachers outside in the hallways that I’m just passing through. I quickly explain I'm going to the restroom, and I hope to God the coach doesn't notice that I'm sweating quite a bit. 

I don't even know what I'm going to say once I get to him. We haven't talked in a couple of days now. He's good at avoiding people when he sets his mind to it. Who’s even supposed to start the conversation? That is implying he actually did come all this way just to talk to me. Damn, what if we're all wrong and he really just came to pick something up? Ah, this shouldn't be so complicated-

My thoughts stop once I turn around the corner. I stop on my tracks once I hear faint sobs. There appears to be no one at first glance, but then I notice a lump on the floor, right next to the door of the janitor's. 

I don't really know how to proceed. But before I can do anything, he notices me. He's wearing his green hoodie's cap tightly over his head when he raises his face. He watches me for a couple more seconds before slowly taking it off, revealing something that oh so breaks my heart. 

His eyes are red and swollen, and I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever seen him crying. His eyes are also sporting deep dark circles underneath them, and it looks like he hasn't taken off the hoodie in a while.

He just looks... So weak. So defeated. So hopeless. All I want to do now is go and push his hair away from his eyes and wipe his tears away. I want to hold him and tell him I promise everything will be okay. I have to remind myself that we have to talk first before anyone can be assured that they are loved.

-Moomin...- is all he can say the moment he notices it's me. He looks like he's about to burst into tears again.

Snufkin.

#moomin #moominvalley #moomin college au #moomin human au #snufkin #little my #snorkmaiden #moomin sniff #moominmamma #moominpappa #snufmin #moomin fanfic #snufmin fanfic #moominvalley fanfic #moomintroll #tove jansson #regina scrive

[rizlowwritessortof]

Meant To Be - Chapter 9

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start.

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 5547

Warnings: Smutty smut 

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics​ 

Jordan moved her arm, and the unfamiliar tug of the IV finished waking her from a deep sleep. Her eyes opened, focusing slowly on the figure of the man sleeping in the recliner beside her bed. Dean was sound asleep, arms flung wide, an occasional soft snore escaping his parted lips. She smiled, relieved to see him there, safe and apparently uninjured. His vest was draped over a nearby chair, his boots beside it, badge and gun still in place at his waist.

She watched him silently until the quiet whoosh of the opening door made her turn her head that way. A nurse came in, her eyes falling on the peacefully sleeping man, and she quietly made her way to Jordan’s side. “How are you doing?” she whispered, taking her wrist between her fingers to check her pulse.

“I’m good. The doctor said once this bag was gone, the IV could come out – can you do that?”

“Sure!” She worked on that, nodding her head towards Dean. “Looks like you have your own private security, huh?”

Jordan grinned. “I’m very lucky.”

The nurse nodded, her eyebrows raised in agreement. “Yeah, you are. Well, let me know if you need anything else. Doc should be here in a couple of hours, once he okays it, you’ll be able to go home.”

“Thank you,” Jordan whispered back, and the nurse walked back to the door, turning with an expression of appreciation as she glanced back at Dean, pretending to fan herself before grinning and pulling the door closed behind her. Jordan giggled softly, and Dean stirred a little, his eyes opening slowly, squinting as he tried to focus. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she teased, and a crooked smile quirked up one side of his lips.

“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?” His voice was raspy with sleep, eyes heavy-lidded, his hair mussed and adorable, and she smiled affectionately back at him.

“I’m good. Head still pounding a little, but not as bad.” She threw her covers back, swinging her legs around, and hopped off the bed, coming over to crawl into his lap.

“Are they sure, they checked you out?”

She looked into his eyes, nodding. “Cat scan, the whole works. I have a concussion, but everything else is okay. Nurse said I can go home as soon as the doc checks in.” She leaned in to kiss him, and he pulled her closer with a soft hum against her lips.

He slipped his hand just beneath the hem of her hospital gown, fingers trailing over her knee as he laid his head back and smiled at her. “Donna’s bringing some clothes for you, she’ll be here in about an hour. Then we can stop and see Sam, if you want.”

She nodded. “Yes, I definitely want.” She cuddled against him, kissing his neck before settling her head on his shoulder with a sigh. When Donna arrived, they were both asleep in the chair.

She knocked lightly on the inside of the door, and they both stirred, yawning. “Hey, Donna,” Jordan smiled sleepily, not moving from her perch.

“Hey, you two. I hated to wake you, but I think the doc’s on his way soon, anyway. How are you feelin’, hon?”

“A little headache and neck pain, but other than that, I’m ok. I was better when I woke up and saw Dean sitting here and I knew you guys were all right.”

“Oh, hell, yeah. Like they used to say on Dukes of Hazzard, we cuffed ‘em and stuffed ‘em,” Donna joked, and the girls laughed. “Of course, Dean wanted to kill the creep that had you, but…”

“Sometimes it sucks being one of the good guys,” he grumbled, and Jordan smiled down at him.

“Don’t feel bad, I kinda wanted to kill him myself,” she said, dropping a kiss on his nose before sliding off his lap. “You brought me clothes?” Donna held out a bag and Jordan took it with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’ll get dressed, and then we can go see Sam?”

“That’s the plan, as soon as the doc lets you go,” Dean answered, and she stepped into the bathroom to change.

After an impatient wait, the doctor finally showed up to release Jordan, and they all headed to Sam’s room together. He was sitting up and talking quietly to Sarah when they walked in, and she jumped up to give Jordan a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay! You must have been terrified,” she sympathized, and Jordan nodded.

“Not something I want to go through again,” she agreed, then moved over to the bed to take Sam’s hand. “I was so damn worried about you.”

Dean came around to the foot of the bed where he could see his brother. “Yeah, even on the ransom call when I demanded to talk to her, it was “I’m okay – how’s Sam?” he grinned. “And you guys have matching black eyes. Somebody needs to take a picture of this.”

“Gotcha covered,” Donna piped up, grabbing her phone. “Get down there next to him, girl, we have to capture this for posterity.”

“Just what a woman wants to do after getting shanghaied and spending the night in the hospital – get her picture taken,” Jordan sighed, rolling her eyes, but she bent down next to Sam so Donna could capture the moment, laughing as Sam whispered some funny comment in her ear. Donna held out her phone with a triumphant grin.

“It’s a keeper!”

Jordan sat next to Dean on the way home, drowsy and content with his arm around her. She looked up at him, confused, when they pulled up in front of her apartment building. “We’re not going to your place?”

Dean hesitated a moment, then turned to look at her. “Doc said nothing strenuous, lots of rest. I just thought it’d be better if you were in your own bed, and we wouldn’t be – you know – trying to do strenuous stuff.”

She giggled, shoving at his shoulder. “It’s okay, you need to get some sleep, too.”

“Yeah, and – Donna and I have a lot of statements to take the next couple of days, and paperwork to do. We’ll have to get your statement at some point, but not until you’re rested up.” He leaned in close and kissed her tenderly. “C’mon, I’ll walk you up.”

He hung around the apartment, chatting with Donna until Jordan had showered and got ready for bed, going in to kiss her goodnight before he left. It didn’t take her long to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was late evening when Dean and Donna came home the next night, and Jordan sensed tension between them as soon as they walked through the door. It had been a long couple of days, and everyone was bound to be on edge, so she didn’t ask what was going on.

“Want a beer?” she asked, and Donna shot her a tired smile.

“Not me. I’m heading for the shower and my bed, it’s been a long day.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I should head out, too. Donna, we’ll talk about this later.”

She looked up at him, her voice sharp. “I’ll walk you out,” she said, and Jordan bit her lip nervously.

“Guess I’ll get ready for bed,” she said softly. “G’night, you two.” Dean was not acting normal at all, and Donna was pissed, and she suddenly wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Dean said softly, and Jordan nodded, noting the death glare Donna was aiming his way. The obviously feuding partners headed for the door, and Jordan walked towards her room, her stomach in knots.

She had barely walked into her bedroom when she remembered she had wanted to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, so she turned and headed back that way. She closed the fridge and heard Donna’s voice raise just enough that she could hear, wishing she had stayed in her room but unable to make her feet move.

“Dean, you know how I feel. I don’t like it at all, you blindsided me with this. You have to talk to Jordan.”

“I know! I will, I just – I have to… there’s just some shit I have to figure out, think about. I didn’t plan for this to happen, at least not this soon. Not right after… I mean, really, we haven’t been together that long, but…”

“Well, you’d better figure it out, and fast. I’m not good at hiding things. And I shouldn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t even told me.”

“I’m sorry! I had to fucking talk to somebody, and I thought maybe my partner wouldn’t be such a dick about it!”

Now Dean sounded pissed, and Jordan felt sick. She rushed back to her room, afraid Donna would come back into the apartment and see her standing there. Her hands were shaking, her head spinning, memories of Darrel’s demeaning and belittling comments echoing through her mind. She crawled into her bed, curled into a ball, trying to ignore them, but they wouldn’t leave her alone. All the old insecurity she had worked so hard to recover from came flooding back, overwhelming her. It hadn’t taken Dean long to get tired of her, apparently. And Donna was upset with him because he wasn’t talking to her about it. How could she think he actually wanted more with her than a casual fling?

She hadn’t felt this small since the end of her relationship with Darrel, and she finally fell asleep, exhausted, dark thoughts haunting her through the restless night.

Jordan stayed in bed the next morning until Donna left, not wanting to see anyone. She moved through her day in a daze, unable to focus on anything but her misery. She was in love with Dean, but something had happened to change his feelings towards her. Maybe last night hadn’t been about the doctor’s orders at all. Maybe it was just the first step in distancing himself from her. And even worse, if they weren’t going to be together, how could they possibly get back to the warm, easy friendship they’d had before? Everything was such a mess, she was a mess, and there was nothing she could do to fix it.

Late that afternoon, there was a soft knock at the door before she heard the key in the lock. Dean peeked his head in, seeing her sitting there, and came in, alone. He looked nervous, and she felt that sick, hollow feeling in her stomach again, dreading what was coming.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Where’s Donna?”

“She’s at Doug’s. Wanted to give us some time to talk.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He came to the couch, sitting down and rubbing the back of his neck before turning his body towards her. He glanced at her before he started talking, then kept his eyes in his lap, his hands fidgeting and rubbing over his thigh occasionally as the words tumbled out. “So, I’ve been kinda messed up for the last few months – I mean, you know that. When I went to South Dakota, when I met you, I was… I didn’t know if I wanted to come back to work, back to Kansas City. Anyway, while I was there, working on my car, I needed a part, and I found this little repair and body shop there. The old guy that owns it was pretty cool, we got to talking, and I told him how I grew up in Kansas working at my uncle’s body shop. He got me a beer and we just sat there and shot the shit for a couple of hours, it was the most I’d talked to anybody for a long time. When I got ready to leave, he said, ‘Dean, I’m gonna give up and retire one of these days. I’d sure like it if somebody like you would buy this place and run it like it should be run.’ Well, I told him, sure, give me a call when you do that, and I’ll see where I’m at.”

He looked up at Jordan again, then back down before continuing. “Well, he called me yesterday. And if we hadn’t just wrapped up the whole mess behind that shooting, I don’t know if I would even think about it. But – I’m burned out. I don’t love my job anymore. I really think I want out. Donna’s pissed at me, feels like I’m abandoning her or something, but – I can’t do this job if my heart and my head aren’t in it. I can cash in my pension and buy that shop, do something I used to dream about when I was a kid working for my uncle. Live in a place where you can walk down the street without worrying about getting mugged. Watch some sunsets, see what real peace and quiet feels like.”

Jordan was struggling not to cry, but her tears were winning, rolling silently down her face, and as she sniffed softly, Dean raised his head to look at her. “So - you’re leaving.” He stared at her, a stricken expression on his face at her obvious distress, his mouth open to speak, but she went on. “I mean, I get it, you’re not happy, and you don’t feel about me the same way I feel about you. I mean, Darrel always said I wasn’t enough to keep a man for long, I should have seen it coming. I should have stayed away from you in the first place.” She started to rise from the couch, but Dean reached out and stopped her with a firm grip on her arm.

“Whoa! Hey, where is this coming from? No – just... Baby, no… God, I fucked this up.” He shook his head. “Damn it, Jordan, I don’t want to leave you. I’m not leaving you. I want you to come with me. But we haven’t been together for that long, and you just got to KC, and I didn’t want you to feel like I was pushing you too fast...” He moved closer, his hands cradling her face. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I had no idea you thought that’s what was happening.”

“I heard you and Donna last night, I thought you were sick of me, I thought you wanted to leave me, and I thought that’s why Donna was mad at you, and all I could think about was the shit that Darrel used to say to me...” Dean pulled her into his arms, holding her tight and soothing her until she quieted down. Then he took her by the shoulders and moved her back, taking her face in his hands and kissing her gently.

“If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna erase what that asshole did to you, I don’t care if it takes me the rest of my fucking life. None of it is true. You hear me? And I’m not leaving you. If you really want to stay here, I will work through my bullshit and stay. But if you want to come with me – I told Earl I’d call him back tomorrow, let him know. I know that’s not much time, but...”

After a moment of thoughtful silence, she responded, “So, maybe I could still work for Sam, from home?”

“I’m sure you could. We can talk to him, we can go to the hospital so you can discuss it with him, if you want.”

“And we could go to Molly’s for bacon cheeseburgers and pancakes...”

“And frosty mugs of beer. Yeah. And I thought we could maybe buy a little house, and you could come and have lunch with me at the shop sometimes.” He kissed her nose, then her lips, and a smirk slowly curved his lips. “And maybe I could come home for lunch sometimes, but not for lunch, ya know?”

Jordan blushed, looking up at him from under her damp lashes. “You could.” He kissed her again, lingering over her lips, and she let out a little sigh, melting against him. Her arms slipped around his waist, handfuls of his shirt in her fists as his tongue touched her lips, then slipped between them with a moan.  

“Maybe I should stop,” he mumbled reluctantly, barely parting from her lips as he spoke, and she tightened her grip around him with a little whimper.

“Dean… it’s been two days, I’m fine, and I need you...”

He groaned, kissing her again, hard, before stopping to look into her eyes. “Are you sure? That you’re ready? Your head...”

“Please, Dean, I promise, I’m fine.” She slipped her hands underneath his shirt, moving them up his back and dragging her nails gently over his skin. “I need you to hold me, I need to feel you inside me...” She brushed her lips along his jaw line, then down to his pulse point, sucking gently at his skin, and he swore, letting her push him down. She stretched out, her body full length over his, grinding against his erection, her lips crashing down on his again. His hands gripped her ass, his hips rising up to meet her as she moaned into their kiss. She finally raised her head, panting for air, her eyes dark with want. “Maybe we should go to my room… in case Donna...”

Dean nodded, and she climbed off of him, heading to her room with him hot on her heels. He was halfway undressed by the time he reached the room, dropping his clothes in a pile before stretching out on the bed, lazily stroking his cock with one hand as he watched Jordan strip down. “C’mere, sweetheart...” he urged, and she climbed onto the bed, settling over top of him again and raising up to let him guide himself to her entrance. She wasted no time, impaling herself on him slowly, her eyes closing and head thrown back as she took him in fully, her thighs trembling beneath Dean’s hands.

“Feels so good, baby...”

She didn’t move, the sensation of him pressing into the deepest part of her making it hard to breathe, so delicious that she wanted it to last forever. Her hands fell on top of his, clutching, her eyes finally opening to meet his heated gaze. “Dean…” she whined softly, and he shuddered as she clenched around him.

“Whatever you need, sweetheart, just tell me,” he said softly, his hands gently kneading at her thighs.

“Hold me.” He raised up slowly, gathering her close against his chest, fingers trailing over her back as he dropped hungry little kisses on her lips. After a few moments, he laid back, pulling her with him, his lips ravenous on hers as she began to move her hips. She was completely lost in him, the wanton sounds muffled by their kisses making him crazy, and he clutched her tightly to his chest, wanting to feel every inch of her against him.

It was delicious torture, the slow grinding of their bodies together, and Jordan pushed herself up with a soft cry as she neared her orgasm, her nails digging into Dean’s shoulders. He slipped his hands beneath her, squeezing at her breasts before giving her nipples a gentle twist, clenching his teeth as she came, grinding down hard on top of him and quivering around his aching cock.

She dropped down, her heart pounding against his chest, and he stroked his hands over her back, soothing her with gentle whispers and kisses to her forehead. She finally tipped her head back to look into his face, an endorphin-drunk smile on her lips. “Are you good?”

“So good,” she answered with a sigh.

“No headache?”

“Dean, I’m okay. Stop worrying.”

He grinned. “Okay, but I’m taking over from here.” She raised her eyebrows at him, then let out a surprised little cry and pouted when he pulled her off of him, and he laughed as he flipped her to her back on the bed beside him. Before she could say anything, he was snugged up between her thighs and slipping back inside her, his lips silencing her pretended protests. “So, you got a problem with that?” he teased, his lips brushing over hers, and she smiled, arching up a little beneath him.

“No problems here. None.”

He tilted his hips a little, making Jordan’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, and bent to take a nipple into his mouth. She sighed, head thrown back, blissfully enjoying the waves of pleasure washing through her. Dean began to move, slowly at first, shifting his attention to her other breast with a moan as she shifted her hips to meet him. As he began to thrust faster and harder, he raised his head to look down at her, watching her expressions as he drove them higher. She opened her eyes, staring up at him with such heat in her gaze that he let out a growl, capturing her lips in a ravenous kiss, swallowing her cry as she began to come undone. “Let go, sweetheart, I’m right there with you,” he managed to say, burying his head in the slope of her shoulder as he came, everything inside him white hot and throbbing in time with his pounding heart. Jordan was still letting out soft little whimpers when he regained his senses, finally going quiet after a long shudder.

They laid quiet in each others’ arms for a time, neither of them wanting to move. Dean finally shifted himself over, laying on his side next to her, and she turned towards him, a contented little smile on her face, her eyes shining as she looked at him. He let his fingers trail over her cheek, ducking his head a little with a shy smile. “What?” she asked softly, taking hold of his hand. He shook his head with a small shrug of his shoulders, his eyes still averted.

“I don’t know. Just – the way you look at me. Makes me feel like I should, I don’t know, do something amazing for you.”

She laughed softly. “You mean like asking me to run away to South Dakota with you?”

His crooked smile grew, and he looked back into her eyes again. “No, I mean something really big. Rope the moon, slay a dragon, you know – big.”

“You wanna be my hero?”

He huffed out a laugh, blushing a bit. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

She raised her hand to his face with a soft smile. “Well, you already are.”

“C’mere, you,” he whispered, pulling her close, kissing her with all the emotion he couldn’t express in words. After several minutes, he moved away slightly, a finger beneath Jordan’s chin to tip her head back so he could look into her eyes. “So – what do you say, should we call Earl?”

She grinned, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s call Earl.”

Jordan parked in front of the shop and smiled up at the newly edited sign. Where it used to say Earl’s, now it read ‘Dean’s Body and Repair.” It had been three months since they had moved to South Dakota, bought a nice little three-bedroom ranch with a fenced-in yard and settled in. Dean’s business had taken right off, Earl’s loyal customers staying with him thanks to Earl’s glowing endorsement, and seeing him relaxed, happy and enjoying his work made her heart smile.

It was Friday night, closing time, and Jordan glanced around, making sure no one was around to stop her for a chat when she got out of the car. The coast was clear, so she headed into the shop, turning to lock the door behind her with a smile.

Her heels clacked against the concrete floor as she made her way back into the depths of the shop, her short skirt swinging with each step. Dean was just reaching for a shop towel after washing his hands, his coveralls down around his waist, and she felt that little clutch in her belly that she always got at the sight of his shoulders, bared in the tank top he was wearing. His eyebrows raised with surprise as she approached him, his eyes roaming over her. “Hi.”

“Are you the mechanic I’ve been hearing about?”

Dean’s lips twitched as he smothered his grin. “I’m the mechanic here, yeah.”

“I was told that you’re the best body man around.”

He tilted his head back, his eyes narrowing a little. “You were told?”

She shrugged. “I hear things. I came to see for myself.”

“Okay. So – what kind of work do you need done?”

She walked slowly over towards the Impala, which was sitting in the nearest stall where it was parked after an oil change. Dean watched the sway of her skirt, swallowing hard as she twirled to lean her back against the gleaming fender. “I was hoping that you could just check things over for me, see if I need anything – touched up.” She put her arms out to her sides, hands on the car, trying not to smile as Dean’s eyes were pulled to her cleavage. “Also, I think I might have a problem with my – intake manifold? Is that what you call it? I was told that you have the perfect tool for that kind of work.”

Dean cleared his throat a little. “So, what kind of car do you drive?”

Jordan smiled. “Oh, I’m not talking about my car.”

A smirk was beginning to curve his lips as he walked towards her, stopping in front of her to look up and down her body, slow and deliberate. “Well, from what I can see, your chassis is in perfect condition. But I’d have to get hands-on to be sure.”

“That’s the idea.” Her voice sounded breathless, catching just a bit as his hand touched her thigh, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt.

“You’re a bad girl, aren’t you? That short little skirt, and no panties?”

His fingers were trailing over her hip, squeezing at her ass and then sneaking around to explore between her thighs as she struggled to speak. “I wanted to make you happy.”

She bit at her lip as he stroked his fingers over her, teasing at her clit. “Oh, I’m more than happy,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust. He brought his fingers up to his lips, sucking her flavor from them before reaching for the buttons of her low-cut blouse. “Fuck,” he growled as he opened it to see the red satin and lace bra beneath, and she moved her arms to let her top fall to the floor. “You locked the door, right?”

She nodded, unable to form words at the moment, the heat of his gaze and his touch rendering her speechless. She braced her hands against the Impala again as his fingers traced the edge of her bra, caressing the rounded flesh above the fabric, then tugging the cups down and bending to drag his tongue over a nipple. She let out a soft whine, and then his large hands grasped her by the waist and set her up on the fender before he reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, tossing it out of the way and attacking her breasts in earnest.

Finally he laid her back on the car, staring down at her, his hands roaming over her body as she squirmed, every nerve electrified at his touch. “So fucking beautiful,” he growled, moving to flip her skirt up and pull her legs over his shoulders, bending to bury his face in her pussy with a moan. Already on fire, within moments she was thrashing underneath him, her heels flying from her feet as she shouted his name, coming hard as he drove her over the edge.

Once Jordan had calmed, Dean stood and dragged his forearm over his face, then reached for her waist, lifting her from the car and setting her to her feet. Legs wobbling, she leaned against the fender, watching as Dean, his eyes never leaving her, shoved his coveralls down and unfastened his jeans. He pulled her close again, walking her to the back of the Impala before shoving all his clothing down to his knees and spinning her to face the car. He wrapped one arm around her chest, his fingers kneading at her breast as his other hand covered her sex, holding her tight as he nipped at her neck. “You know what happens when you strut in here in your high heels and short little skirt with no underwear, naughty girl?” he rumbled in her ear, and she shook her head, trembling in his hold. “You get bent over my car and fucked.” At his last word, he plunged two fingers inside her, startling a cry from her lips, his arm around her the only reason she was still on her feet. After a few well-aimed strokes, he pulled his hand free from between her thighs and pushed her forward over the trunk, growling, “Hands on the car, and don’t move.”

After he had arranged her to his liking, moving her legs farther apart and pulling her hips towards him, he lined himself up, one hand on her back to keep her in place as he slowly penetrated her, pressing forward until he was balls-deep and she was whimpering beneath him. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly, waiting for her to nod before he moved, a tiny shift of his hips that made her moan. “If you liked that, just wait.” He pulled back, the slick drag against his sensitive cock making him hiss in a breath, teeth clenched. He pushed forward again with a soft growl, fighting for control for a moment before beginning a quickly increasing rhythm, his hands gripping Jordan’s hips to hold her in place. Each thrust forced a cry from her lips, incoherent begging and long, low moans of his name, spurring him on.

He felt his balls draw up tight, forcing a “Fuck!” from him as he began to flood her with his release, driving into her hard and fast. A moment later, she arched up with a broken shout of his name, her cunt seizing around him and making him swear again, shaking uncontrollably until she dropped to the shining surface of the Impala’s trunk, her breath coming in harsh sobs.

He let go of her, supporting himself with his hand against the car for a moment, waiting for his head to stop spinning. Jordan laid there beneath him, still panting, boneless and limp. Dean stood, pulling his pants up around his waist, and lifted her from the car and into his arms. He walked to his desk chair and sat with her in his lap, cradling her close against him. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hand smoothing over her back, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

Jordan tilted her head back to look at him, a serene little smile on her face. “Hey.”

Dean chuckled softly. “You good?”

She sighed, snuggling back against his chest. “I’m amazing.”

“Fucking right, you are. What the hell got into you today, anyway?” He smiled down at her, hands still stroking over her silky skin. “Not that I’m complaining...”

She shrugged a little, a shy smile curving her lips. “Ever since the first day I met you, I had this fantasy of being manhandled and fucked by a really hot mechanic.”

He blushed a little, bending to kiss her, lingering over her lips for a few moments. “So, did you walk down here like that?”

Jordan giggled. “Ummmm… no. I know it’s only three blocks, but I could just see a little breeze kicking up and me walking bare-assed down the street. And besides, I was afraid Mrs. Murphy would want to stop me and talk about her cat.” Dean laughed, and she continued. “So no, my car is outside.”

“Well, good – I think maybe we’ll drive home together, I think I need to clean the Impala before I take her out. Somebody made kind of a mess on the trunk.”

“Not my fault.”

“Totally your fault.” He kissed her firmly as if to seal his winning of the argument. “So, how about we go home and shower, then hit Molly’s?”

“That is the second best offer I’ve had all day.” She reached her hand to his face, her eyes soft and searching. “You know, I was thinking. Everything that’s happened to us – if I hadn’t been running away from Darrel, and you hadn’t been trying to escape the shit in Kansas City – we never would have met each other. I think it was meant to be.”

“Oh, baby, definitely,” he said as she stretched up to kiss him again. “So – maybe we should try to find your clothes.”

“I have no idea where my shoes are. I think I kicked them off when you were eating me out like a wild man.”

Dean’s laugh echoed through the garage. “You can go home barefoot, I’ll find ‘em later. I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for a bacon cheeseburger.”

“Oh, God, yes. And a beer.”

He wrapped his arms around her for one more squeeze. “Yep. Definitely meant to be.”

#meant to be #chapter 9 #dean fic #dean smut #dean x oc #dean x jordan

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 13/?

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Part 13? The unlucky part??? I’m evil

Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name ( your best friend’s name).

I don’t know when this will be posted because time is dumb! But I do think I’ll have something prepared for Jason’s birthday<3

Hope you’re all well!

Warnings: Swearing, Eludes to sex, Mentions of injuries, Mentions of underage drug use (Do Not Condone), Mentions of sexual assault, Eludes to trauma, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

The next morning, Jason and Y/N would wake up in the same bed. Y/N would get up and stumble her way into his ensuite, trying not to wake him as he was still injured. It had been 4 days since his injury, and he was hoping that the next day he’d get his stitches removed. She would grab the clothes she wore the day before and walk into the ensuite.

She would fumble with her makeup a bit, realizing it had run slightly from the night before. Before just realizing it would be a lot easier if she took it all off. She wasn’t wearing heavy makeup, but it was just enough to hide what she thought were imperfections.

She wasn’t wearing anything, so she just threw on all of her other clothes and threw her hair up.

When she exited the ensuite, he was still sleeping in the bed, but his clothes were strewn across the room. She paused her thoughts to clean up his clothes and put them in his laundry basket.

She touched her nose to test if it was still warm and painful, which brought all the pain to the forefront, and it was still warm to the touch, she knew it was inflamed from the head-butting incident and looking in the mirror.

She didn’t think it would hurt this much, and she winced at the pain.

Jason would start groaning in his sleep, she assumed it was because they didn’t close the blackout curtains before they had their fun the night before. So she went to go close them when he went and grabbed her thigh, she laughed quietly.

“Good morning, Jason,” she said as she closed the curtains before  leaning down to see his face, and what was obvious bedhead.

“Hi,” he whispered before pulling her back into his bed.

She laughed, “Sorry, baby. I had to get up and get dressed.”

“Lame,” he whispered and curled into her.

“Jay, you’re naked,” she said.

“Thank you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh shut it, you should get dressed,” she suggested.

“Yeah, I should,” he said as he left the bed, crawling over her and going to his dresser, thank God he didn’t have any IVs and blood bags anymore, so he could walk without having to drag those around anymore.

She didn’t stare at him, because he nose started pounding and she whimpered.

“You alright, Y/N?” Jason asked her.

“Yeah sorry, my nose is killing me.”

“Well that’s what happens when you head-butt someone.”

She laughed, “I’m sorry okay, I panicked.”

“That part’s obvious.”

“You could pretend to care that I’m hurt, Jay,” she joked.

He laughed as he put on his boxers and his pants, “I could, but I also think you were being reckless, I worry,” he searched for a shirt, “I worry that us being together is putting you in danger,” he said as he found a shirt.

“Well, I like the danger, if there is any.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a danger,” he put on his shirt and fumbled with his hair, “It’s obviously because you’re attached to Bruce, you heard that man ‘I wonder what Bruce will give me for you’ he knew we had money. You need your car back.”

“I can’t afford the fees,” she sighed.

“Bruce can pay them, you know.”

“God no, I would feel so bad, I’ll just take the subway or something.”

He sighed and went back to her, cupping her face, “Please let my dad pay the fees, it’s dangerous out there,” he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, “I can’t stand that you got hurt linked to your shenanigans with me,” he kissed her.

“I guess it’s me being protective,” he said, “But I think it’s a reasonable thing to be concerned about, Y/N.”

“I’ll figure it out, I swear.”

“You figuring this out involved you head-butting your attacker, I get it was quick thinking, but my god woman, that was dangerous,” he said.

“You literally got stabbed protecting your best friend,” she argued.

“Okay, good point, but I’m prettier than you so I win,” he joked.

“What kind of fucking logic is that you bastard!” she joked.

“The kind of star-crossed lovers or something, I don’t know, I don’t write, you do.”

“I’ll sell our story to Warner Brothers, we’ll make millions off of us.”

“Two lovers, harassed by the press in the media, spend most of their time hiding and protecting themselves from the disgusting eyes of the media and the man who attacked one of them,” he said in a news broadcaster voice, “Amazing, isn’t it?” he joked.

“The kind of story Artemis said Dick would eat up.”

“Oh, he would. Man’s a sucker for a romantic story.”

“Well, maybe he can sell his and Barbara’s romantic story to the Warner Brothers, he’d probably make millions too, if it’s worth anything.”

“Well, they’ve known each other for years, and when they finally started dating, myself, Steph, Cass, Tim and Damien all celebrated to an extent, we all saw it coming from all those years of them knowing each other,” he paused, “They actually fought a lot when they were younger before they dated, it would be normal to hear Dick and Barbs going at it about how they hated each other.”

“That’s such a meet-cute stone-cold-woman meets goofy guy story that I hate it.”

He laughed, “They’re so gooey, it’s so cute that I want to vomit.”

“That’s valid. We should be cuter so that they want to vomit.”

“I like your thinking, Y/N.”

“You always do, I have good ideas, Jason.”

“Only sometimes.”

She laughed. It was true, someone with always good ideas wouldn’t have head-butted her attacker, but it’s not like she carried knives or guns around to defend herself. She was considering getting a conceal-carry permit, just because she truly was shaken up by the event.

But a little trauma makes for good stories, and her story with Jason was just starting.

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

Dick decided he’d drive her to her class that day, she didn’t think it mattered that much, her attack, but she realized that a lot of them didn’t want to see her hurt, even if they barely knew her.

She figured it was a kindness that they all possessed. She heard stories of the Waynes paying off waitress’/waiters’ student debts. She heard stories of the Waynes being polite to their ‘lower’ counterparts of the world. She knew they wer kind people, so she wasn’t shocked when Dick insisted he drive her to her class.

“So, Y/N, what are your intentions with my brother?” Dick joked.

“Oh no, not this, I haven’t prepared my answerers for this exam,” she retorted.

“No, its a pop quiz, you have no chance to prepare.”

“Fuck. Can I drop out of this class?”

“How would you even accomplish that?”

“Tuck and roll out of the car, probably,” she joked.

“You ever done that before?”

“Nope, you?”

“Did it on a dare, Jase dared me.”

“And he calls me reckless,” she laughed.

“Well, we were still in high school at the time, we’re supposed to be reckless,” Dick said.

“You ever met a college kid? We’re supposed to be reckless too.”

“He’ll get over it in time, Y/N. I promise. He just needs time to accept that you’re going to be as reckless and opinionated as he is, no one really refuses each other like you two do, and I’m sure you don’t mean it to be like that.”

“I think you’re reading too far into it, Dick, we make compromises.”

“Then why is your car still an issue? Bruce can cover the cost no questions asked.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Maybe it’s something to think about.”

“Are you always this brotherly? I need to know what I’m getting into here.”

He laughed, “You really do keep out of the press, don’t you?”

She took that as a yes, he is that brotherly and would continue to be. She didn’t mind, she never had a brother growing up so this would take some time to get used to, but she did not mind at all. She just figured she’d have to keep her partying ways even further down in the depths of her secrets.

They didn’t need to know what she did and what was done to her, she even ignored those problems herself. If they came out, then so be it, but if she could keep them hidden, she would.

“What were you like back in high school?” Dick asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Probably not the type of person that your dad would want Jason to be with,” she admitted.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Honestly? I don’t want to talk about it. You’d probably have to get me hammered to talk to you about it.”

“Well, maybe one day you’ll go to a gala. And after you’re wasted, I’ll ask you about it.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I’m sure you will, Dick. I’m sure you will.”

“Well, we’re here,” he said, “You have my number right?” 

“I do, I do.”

“Good, call me if you need me to come get you and take you home, or to the Manor. Either or, no questions asked,” he laughed, “I expect the same when you have your car back, to be fair.”

“Consider it a deal, thanks Dick.”

“Anytime, really.”

She closed the door and waved him off, but when he pulled out of the lot, the press was at Y/N’s ass. She ran though, she ran far to get out of there.

Class was the usual. She wrote her normal psychology notes, sitting in her class, concentrating as she scribbled down the notes that she struggled to read.

When she was done and getting read to call Dick to come get her, her old friends from Metropolis showed up at her school.

“Hey! Y/N!” Christopher yelled when he saw her leave her class.

“Oh my god?” she said before running to hug him, “What the fuck are you doing here, dude?” she questioned, before looking at the rest of the car and seeing Justine, Kaitlin and Thomas, “What the fuck are all  of you doing here?”

“C’mon party girl, we’re taking you to your pale, you get dressed, and we’re going out,” Justine urged Y/N to join them, “Just like old times, man.”

“Yeah! We haven’t partied in weeks since you got your scholarship! We know you’re busy and trying to discipline yourself, but we can go party every once in a while, girl!” Kaitlin added.

“You know we miss you too,” Thomas finished.

“Alright, I need no more convincing, let’s get going,” she said as she hopped into the car and they went going to her house. She thought on the drive there, What if I fall back into old habits, and I’m doing so well, what if I fall off?

She couldn’t have more thoughts because before she knew it, she was in her house sending Jason a quick text,

Hey baby, I can’t come over tonight. Old friends came by.

Oh. I hope you have fun, I’ll probably be with my brothers. how did you even get home?

They drove me. I promise I’ll be over tomorrow and you’ll have me all day and night long, though.

That. That is exciting.

It should be.

She got dressed.

And she sent Jason a photo of what she was wearing (like the picture above) just to get him going. Before running out of her place and hopping back into the car.

“You always dress to impress, don’t you?” Thomas asked.

“I dress like I know what I’m doing,” Y/N joked.

“Never change, Y/N, never change,” Justine joked back.

------------------------ 

She walked into the club she frequented back when she was in high school, but the Gotham one. She had a fake ID, and she used it well and was in the club before the rest of her group knew it.

Justine would grab her hand and take her to the bar, Fuck, she thought, Here we go. And they ordered drinks. 

The rest of the night was a blur of people, drinks and her friends.

She knew she overdid it from the minute she woke up, in her bed, feeling around for her phone in her messed up and torn up sheets. Het body was covered in bruises, she noticed between harsh blinks from the pouding headache she was nursing. She remembered why she didn’t party as hard anymore. She didn’t even know how she got home that night. She found her phone and turned it on, 8:00am it read. She checked her messages, adn there was Jason, at 7:00am he said;

Are you awake yet? 

To which, she replied: I am, why?

How drunk were you last night?

I think blackout. I don’t remember much. 

I can tell.

Tell me I didn’t do anything stupid.

You did something stupid.

What did I do?

You called me at 3am and told me you loved me, followed by saying you threw up at one of your friends. I don’t even know how you got home.

Well that’s not that bad.

You told me about your past.

Oh.

When were you going to tell me you’re a recovering alcoholic?

I don’t know.

Come here. Come over. We need to discuss this.

Alright, alright. I’ll be there soon.

Dick will come get you in an hour, actually. Don’t leave the house without him.

I won’t.

She got up and looked at the mirror at herself. She was covered in bruises, her makeup was smudged, her eyes looked sunken in and her hair was a mess. She sighed, knowing she fucked up, and wiped off her makeup and got in the shower. She quickly showered and put on a turtleneck and a pair of jeans.

It was to hide the bruises from Jason. She assumed someone had physically assaulted her, possibly sexually. She only had that thought once before she pushed it very far down and swallowed it. She went to go make coffee, but her head was racing at the ideas of last night and what she said.

She was fucked up and she did fuck up. She knew she shouldn’t have drank. but she did. And she knew Jason was either really pissed or really sympathetic. She was scared at how much she might have discussed when Dick honked his horn and she left the house.

In the car, Dick tried to break the silence, “You should have told someone, anyone. We’re all really good at listening, Y/N.”

She wiped away a few tears that were pooling.

“You didn’t need to hide from us, Y/N.”

“I do.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t. Jason’s probably more mad that you didn’t tell him over you actually being a recovering alcoholic. You called him last night and let it all spill out. Everyone knows, you don't need to hide anymore.”

“Of course I did,” she said, swallowing more tears and her voice breaking.

She wanted her past as an alcoholic to die when she moved out of the city, because she didn’t want everyone to know how broken she was, fighting with addiction. A lot of her anxieties and treatments of people make sense with her past addictions, but that doesn’t mean she liked them.

She hated that girl, the wild party child who almost drank herself to death, her body was just recovering fully from her escapades when she went out clubbing. She knew this was going to be an issue, but she didn’t know how to fix it.

He looked over at her and caught eye at one of her bruises that was peaking over her turtleneck. He tried to not stare, but she noticed.

“Don’t ask about it, Dick. I don’t know what happened.”

“I think you two will get through this.”

“I hope we do, but realistically,” she paused.

“Don’t think like that.”

They pulled into the driveway and the minute Dick unlocked her door, she was out of there, speed walking to the door and then to Jason’s room.

She opened the door to find him reading a book, she would have smiled at this, had she not been certain that they were about to fight.

“Jason?”

“Oh. You’re here.”

“Yeah, I just-” 

He cut her off and got up from his bed, looking ever-so disappointed in her as he walked to the door of his room. She expected the fight to take place in the hall, so she tried to step back when he grabbed her forearm with one of his hands and yanked her into his room. She assumed maybe, just maybe his room was soundproof so his family wouldn't have to hear the yelling. He closed the door once she was in and stared at her.

She gulped, expecting him to let loose on the argument now about her drinking and her confessing she was a recovering alcoholic, but instead, he pulled her into a hug, which she yelped at.

“Jason?” she said, shocked.

“Shh,” he broke from the hug and cupped her face, “It’s okay, really.”

“But I hid it from you...”

“You know, we’ve only known each other two weeks or something, right? I get you hiding it, I just wish it didn’t come out like that,” he laughed and kissed her quickly, “Besides-” he noticed the bruise on her neck, “What’s that?” he asked, grabbing her hand and clutching it.

“There’s...”

“There’s more?” he asked.

“What, I mean, uh... uh... no?” she stuttered.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Jason...”

“Or tell me the truth.”

“Baby-”

“So there’s more, who hurt you? Did you fall?” he asked, getting a little bit heated, really squeezing her hand.

“I don’t know.”

He cupped her face, “That’s okay,” he leant his forehead against hers, “It’s okay, I promise, I do. I just really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t try to,” she said.

“Seems like trouble likes to follow you,” he said.

“Well, you found your way to me so I’d have to agree,” she joked.

“Ha ha. How’s your nose?” he said as he broke contact with her to go sit on his bed, she followed.

“It still hurts, but I can’t tell if that’s from last night or from my shenanigans with the attacker.”

“It could honestly be a combination of both, depending on what happened to you, have you asked your friends for the full story yet?”

“No. I’ve been scared to.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I’m going to. Right now.”

“I support your decision on that,” he said as he turned on the TV in his room, but then Y/N paused.

“Y/N?”

“Reports are in of a group of friends, who all got arrested last night, for bodily harm of a man who attempted to rape their friend, Police say., the suspects in the attack are Christopher Green, Justine Wong, Kaitlin Benoit and Thomas Harthrew. More to be coming soon.”

“Thank god that girl had those friends.”

She turned to Jason, “So,” she paused, “I’m glad you think that, because, those are my friends.”

#dcu #dceu #dc #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood fluff #dick grayson #nightwing #artemis crock #female oc #male oc #jason todd angst #red hood angst

[courtney-deserved-better]

whats ur writing schedule/process like! not in a “write faster” way, but i think once you mentioned writing in script form? and i like the way you wrote ur most recent fic! just curious bc ur works are just really good :)

this is a great question!!

if its not slippery slopes, ill usually get an idea for something and periodically jot down notes when they come to me until I feel like i have enough information to start writing (or if im just motivated), that's what i did for my horror challenge rewrite. and for stuff that's like... rewrites of an episode that aren't as character-focused as slippery slopes, i usually read the episode transcripts and try to replicate that total drama style with my own writing

for shorter oneshots, i usually just get a vague idea and run with it until i find a good ending spot, then i go back and clean it up a bit so the structure works

slippery slopes is an... interesting cycle. chapters are getting long enough that i cant just write them in one sitting any more (i think ch5 was the last chapter i did that for) and instead ill agonize over the beginning (always the hardest part to write for me) but once i get going with that i usually finish the chapter within a few days. then i reread the previous chapter to make sure it flows ok (and there aren't any contradictions) and then ill give myself a break where i dont do anything total drama related before coming back to edit and post. though before I do all that I type up notes and rough dialogue bits

and then once i post it it's like... a weight off my chest? like ive been purged or something?? idk its a weird sensation but im just like i Physically Cannot Write Anything For This Right Now and i don't start on the next chapter until that goes away. and then i either start the beginning and do nothing for a week before going back and finishing the chapter or i go into a manic state and write nonstop for a few days. right now i haven't reached a point where im ready to begin writing chapter 10 but i have a lot of notes for it.

(also as soon as i finish posting a chapter i try not to go on my laptop for like 12 hours so i don't obsessively refresh my email for comments. i love reading comments so much holy shit. please comment guys it makes fic authors feel so happy we will love you for it)

as for scripts: i am working on being a writer professionally, but specifically a playwright. writing in a script format comes more naturally to me than writing prose. funnily enough, i started posting fanfic just to practice my prose (and fix stuff in cobra kai that i didnt like) but things sort of... ended up here? idk man but im enjoying it.

right, so because writing in a script format is easier when im really struggling with a section in a fic ill usually scrap whatever i had and write it like a script, then translate that into prose. i was very excited to write the family videos for chapter 9 of slippery slopes, but i was Having Issues, so i redid it as a script and then rewrote that as prose. ill put the script version under the cut if you're interested in that.

but thank you so much for the question!! i do think my writing process is a bit unconventional but hey i think things are turning out well! if you have any more questions feel free to send them in!!

ok here is the last scene of ch 9 of slippery slopes in script format:

[SIERRA]

MOM: Hi honey! Omigosh this is so exciting! I bet you’re having such a great time! Especially since Chris is there! Is Chris watching this? Hi Chris! You know, I loooved you on that ice skating show. Your hair was fantastic! Well, it always is, haha. Do you really make your own hair gel? I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe but you’re just so hard to track down! Oh, you’re such a funny guy! I laughed sooo hard when you made all those jokes about marrying Chef.

Chef: hey!

Chris: ok just for the record, I wasn’t joking, we are married, Sierra tell your mom we’re married

Sierra: …can we just turn it off please

[COURTNEY]

DAD: Courtney, sayang, I know you’ve been going through a lot right now—

MOM: So you’d BETTER make it count. You’ve made it this far before, I want to see you getting all the way to the finale this time. And winning it. Enough moping about those hideous, good-for-nothing slackers! That’s what you get for hanging around freaks like them. You’re doing this for the million, now get the million. Is that clear?

ZARINA: And kick ass!

DAD: Zarina!

Video cuts out.

Alejandro: courtney you good?

Courtney: no, she’s right. Mama didn’t raise no quitter

Alejandro: [knows she’s still upset about duncan and gwen]

[ALEJANDRO]

MOM: Hola, Alejandro. We hope you are doing well, especially in such unsavory conditions. I’m glad to see you’ve made it to the final four— we expected nothing less, of course.

DAD: You have been utilizing your skills quite well. Though I wish you hadn’t been so… blatant about it. You’ll have to work twice as hard once this is over to convince people you’re trustworthy. But surely you were aware of that going into this… odd endeavor. That’s just politics. Reputation is everything.

JOSE: [snorts] Oh, and what a reputation you have, Al. I could easily compile hours of footage of your failures, but I, unlike you, do not waste my time on the frivolities of reality television. Though you always have been lacking in taste. Especially with that bratty girlfriend of yours— oh, my mistake, aren’t you dating the whiny weakling? It’s so hard to keep track! [laughs]

Alejandro: callate!

MOM: I’m sure Alejandro is just working an angle on them.

DAD: Whatever the case is, do not disappoint us.

[NOAH]

MOM: Hi Noah, I’m sorry, I don’t have time to record a full video, but I’m proud of you! Here are your sisters!

ISWARI: A million dollars? A million [bleep] dollars? Win it, Noah! Win it!

RUTH: Dude!! This is crazy! I know you can do this— good luck! Ark misses you! [holds up Ark who barks]

MARA: Are you insane? Why aren’t you dating Alejandro already?

Noah: shut up, mara, just because you can’t keep a boyfriend—

ANYA: Don’t let ‘em trick you! No mercy! Crush their skulls if you have to— no, wait, you’re not strong enough for that. We’ll get there!

LIYA: I say this as your sister, someone who loves you but is constantly annoyed by you— for someone who is quite literally a genius, you sure can be an idiot sometimes.

BALLARI: Okay, I literally have no idea how you’ve made it this far without an athletic bone in your body— are we sure you aren’t adopted? I’m kidding

ABS: You’re stubborn as hell when it comes to me, so you better be stubborn as hell when it comes to winning! And when you do win, get me a frozen yogurt machine, will you? I promise I won’t make you rock climb again!

JAEL: If you lose this, I’ll kill you with this racket. And then use your guts to make myself a new racket. So don’t fuck it up. Again.

Noah: [frozen, ashamed]

Sierra: well that was a mess

Courtney: ok show of hands, who felt better after hearing that? [no one raises hands]

Chris: yeah I was expecting this to be a lot more heartwarming…

Chef: chris just look at them. If they had stable home lives they wouldn’t be doing reality tv

Alejandro: can we please stop talking about this. Also aren’t you supposed to be flying the plane

Chef: oh fuck

Chris: yeah sure. I think im gonna call my mom

Everyone: …

Noah: ok so that was really shitty. Why dont we all go to first class and try and ignore our problems

Everyone: yeah ok sounds good

***

Courtney: so that sucked

Alejandro: at least your dad seems ok

Courtney: true. What are your guys dads like

Noah and Sierra: bold of you to assume I know my dad. Jinx

***

Alejandro: that last girl… you mentioned a sister who does tennis and hates you

Noah: yep

Alejandro: why?

Noah: none of your business. but… it is pretty justified

#slippery slopes #ask #anon #total drama #writing #fic #my fic

[whumper-boi]

@whumpmasinjuly, prompt is “Sleep” 👹💅

————————

“Whumpee, Christ, you look like shit.” Caretaker pursed their lips, looking the flushed Whumpee up and down. “Are you feeling okay?”

They nodded, staggering slightly from the motion, something Caretaker didn’t miss. “I just didn’t sleep too well last night, that’s all.”

Whumpee’s voice was mumbled, weak, way too unlike them.

“You should have called in then. The buisness will run even if you’re gone for a day.”

They gave a crack-lipped grin. “Will it though? Gotta keep this place on its toes.” Caretaker didn’t find it too funny, and made that clear. Whumpee sighed. “Caretaker, seriously, I’ll be okay. I just need a cup of coffee and a minute.”

Caretaker wasn’t convinced, but ultimately ended up letting it go. “Fine. But let me go get you that cup.”

“You’re the best.”

They walked in opposite directions, Caretaker making their way to the breakroom to grab two mugs. They tried to tell themself to relax, but couldn’t help but feel like something was worse then it appeared.

They’d noticed in the last couple days the way Whumpee was dragging their feet more, slurring their words, they’d just looked more… exhausted. Caretaker asked once before, but Whumpee had shrugged it off and told them that they hadn’t gotten much sleep.

This was weird.

Before Caretaker could figure out a way to bring up the topic of their sleeping habits, there was a commotion in the other room.

“Holy shit, Whumpee!” They heard one of their coworkers yell. “Someone call an ambulance!”

They all but dropped the mug in their hand, running out to find worried faces crowded around an unconscious Whumpee.

Caretaker shoved their way forward, making their way to Whumpee. “Whumpee, fuck, what happened?” They pulled them into their lap, resting their head on their shoulder.

“I don’t know.” The same coworker who screamed said. “I was just walking their way and they looked awful, so I asked what was wrong and they,” Coworker motioned towards Whumpee.

“You idiot,” Caretaker whispered.

Medical help arrived shortly after, pulling Whumpee into an ambulance. One of the EMT’s asked if someone was riding, and Caretaker had quickly volunteered, though upon arrival they were forced into a waiting room as Whumpee was wheeled into another room.

“Caretaker?” Came a nurses voice almost an hour later. Caretaker jumped up, making their way over.

“Is everything alright? What happened?” They had to resist the urge to barrage the helpful nurse with questions, though was offered a empathetic smile.

The nurse looked at their clipboard. “Luckily for Whumpee, there’s nothing too major going on. Looks to just be a collapse from a mix of malnourishment, sleep deprivation, and… caffeine.”

Well they could’ve guessed the sleep deprivation, but they hadn’t been eating? “Oh.”

They nodded. “What’s your relation to Whumpee? I don’t mean to pry, I was just hoping we could find a possible reason as to why.”

“Ha, I was hoping you could tell me that. Er, I’m a close friend. We met several years ago, after I accidentally knocked them into a public fountain.”

The nurse nodded again, giving a small smile. “That’s cute. Did they happen to tell you about any history, mental illnesses, that you can think of?”

Caretaker pursed their lips and sighed. “No, Whumpee doesn’t really talk about their past.” All the memories they had were from since they met.

“Alright. Well they’re awake, and you’re welcome to go see them.” Caretaker thanked them, and (after asking for the room number) nearly ran to go find Whumpee.

When they arrived, Whumpee was hooked up to a machine, IV sticking out of their arm. They looked towards Caretaker, giving an embarrassed grin.

“Hi,” they muttered, eyes unable to meet Caretaker’s.

“Thank god you’re okay.” They closed the space between the door and the bed, pulling Whumpee into a tight hug. They briefly took note of the way they melted into it. “What happened?”

“Guess I didn’t get my coffee fast enough.” They grinned, but it didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Mm, yeah, the nurse tells me that should actually slow your roll on the caffeine.” They nudged Whumpee’s hip to make them move, before sitting down. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Caretaker-“

They stopped them. “Whumpee. You are my best friend. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and this,” they motioned to the hospital room, “is not you being okay.”

Whumpee bit their lip, looking down at their lap. They seemed to be contemplating, before; “are you sure? It’s- I don’t know if you’d want to, you know, deal with me afterwards, I just-“

Caretaker grabbed their hand, giving a small squeeze.

They sighed, then squeezed back. “Okay. Some time ago, before we met, I knew this person named Whumper.

“We we’re really close, actually, and they liked everything I did. It was like, love at first sight. Looking back now that should’ve been the first red flag, I think.”

“One day, they picked me up from home, and said they were going to take me somewhere, and blindfolded me. I thought we were going to go somewhere, fun, you know?” Whumpee’s voice cracked.

“All I know is, I woke up in a dark room, tied to a chair, and… god…” they broke off, choking on a sob.

Caretaker rubbed their back soothingly. “You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want.”

“It’s fine.” They wiped their eyes. “I’ll spare you the details of what happened, but I was there for almost a full year. A full fucking year.”

“The only reason I got out was ‘cause I managed to shove something in the lock from one of our last ‘sessions’.” Air quotes were used at the word.

“I ran home, to my parents. They didn’t fucking believe me, told me I did it to myself. How could I do all that to myself?!” They were freely crying now, and Caretaker listened, pulling them close.

“So I grabbed what I could, went as far as I could with what I had, and started over. It was okay for a little, but then came the nightmares, and the loneliness. God it was lonely. I was tired man, and I was actually planning to, you know…”

Caretaker pursed their lips. They didn’t know any of that about Whumpee, they always seemed so carefree.

Whumpee let out a wet chuckle. “I was on my way to do it, and here you come, head in the damn clouds, pushing me into a goddamn fountain.”

“The reason I haven’t been able to sleep is because of the nightmares. They’re coming back, and I don’t know what to do. So I figured, I’d avoid them. If I wasn’t sleep I wouldn’t feel them. You can see how well that went.”

Whumpee sighed, wiping at their face once more. “So there. My traumatic backstory.” They looked towards Caretaker, face falling.

Caretaker was stunned, they didn’t know how to feel, but Whumpee was turning away, shame burning on their features.

“Whumpee…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, hey,” they held Whumpee’s face looking them dead in the eye. “I’m sorry that happened, and I will never leave you alone like that. You are my best friend.”

Whumpee looked down again. “But I-“

“I don’t care, I’ve already made it my problem. I love you Whumpee, and I’ll be here no matter what.”

Their eyes collected with tears again. “Thank you.”

Caretaker smiled. “Why don’t you come stay with me for a bit? I’ll watch over you. Don’t make that face, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Whumpee rolled their eyes, but gratitude filled their expression. “If you insist your highness.”

“Good, you deserve to get some sleep.”

#whump #whump blog #whump prompts #caretaker #whumpee #whumper #implied kidnapping #implied torture #tw suicude #suicide ideation #passing out #tw hospital #hospital #found family #tw nightmares #whumpmasinjuly #kinda long post #lmfaooo #whoops #fun fact! #I’m supposed to be folding clothes #got kinda lazy in the end 👹💅 #Sue me