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misshoneybee · 2 years

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⟣ 𝑌𝑂𝑈'𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐸𝐸𝐿 ⟢

— 𝑋𝑋𝐼. 𝐼𝑁 𝐿𝑂𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐺𝑅𝐼𝑃 𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐾𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑆𝐻𝐼𝑃𝑆, 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑆𝐻𝑂𝑊𝐸𝐷 𝑈𝑃 𝐽𝑈𝑆𝑇 𝐼𝑁 𝑇𝐼𝑀𝐸

Masterpost — OFC Biography — Playlists — Chapter XX — Chapter XXII

❧ Pairings | Post-Endgame!Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character, Previous Steve Rogers x Original Female Character

❧ Warnings | Mature content, explicit language, explicit sexual content (vaginal fingering, oral sex (f-rec), dirty talk, p in v sex, porn with feelings)

❧ Wordcount | ~8.8k

❧ Disclaimer | Dividers are by firefly-graphics. If you are a minor, or do not have your age in your bio, and I catch you interacting with this, you will be blocked. If you believe you were blocked unfairly, send me an ask with your url.

When you're young, you just run, But you come back to what you need ( This Love | 1989 )

February 21, 2025

With more force than he meant to use, Bucky cursed under his breath and locked the door behind him. He hadn’t seen Maggie since his return to the city and he was entirely certain that it was purposeful—she’d been avoiding him. He’d heard her scrambling to enter her apartment as quickly as possible, on more than one occasion, anytime he began to leave his whilst she was in the hallway.

Leaving Sam’s, he somehow felt even more confused than he did when he’d arrived. Perhaps his plan had been flawed; using their rules, he’d gotten burned. Maybe deep down a part of him knew how she felt, that she liked him, and maybe that was what had really scared him. Of course, he never wanted to see her name printed in the tabloids, but it had been something more.

No one had ever liked him for him. Steve had become his friend when he’d become the younger man’s protector, Sam and he had become friends due to circumstance, but Maggie? She didn’t have to give him a second chance after their first real meeting, but she had, and his world hadn’t been the same since.

She didn’t like him because he had anything to offer, or as reciprocation for something that he’d done—for the first time that he could remember, she liked him for who he was. She didn’t care about his past and all that he’d done before they knew one another, she didn’t care that he was a little rough around the edges or that he could get grumpy; she only cared for him, but what had he given her in return?

Heartbreak.

Through thick walls, he’d only heard one piece of her muffled conversation with Sam in Louisiana, and he wished that he’d heard her answer. Did she feel bad that she wanted to move on or because she wanted to move on with him? Had she seen a future with him too?

For so many years, he never let himself look that far ahead. What was the point when he didn’t know what would become of him? A soldier, an assassin, a fugitive. He allowed himself to plan for days, not months, and certainly not years, but with Maggie? He wanted decades, millennia, eons—if he was with her, he’d be content to live out their years together and see the death of the sun.

As long as he had her, nothing else mattered.

And maybe he had had her for a moment, but then he’d allowed their kindling flame to burn out. He’d never admit it, but Sam was right—he’d been fucking stupid and now she was gone. Maybe not completely, but she was out in the hall, kissing some yuppie while he was only a few feet away behind a closed door. It should’ve been him that she was kissing.

Ripped away from his thoughts, there were three solid knocks on the front door. Staring at the wood, he wished he could see through to the other side, but it was unnecessary; there was no question who his unexpected guest was. What did she want? Was it about his staring? Or perhaps she wanted to complain that he’d scared her date away—the possessive part of Bucky liked the sound of that.

He didn’t know the guy but Bucky knew she deserved better than him too.

Working his jaw, he finally mustered up the courage to unlock the door, opening it only wide enough for her to see his entire frame. She looked beautiful, like if February had been given a face; a cream sweater, a woolen red, plaid skirt that looked so soft, he yearned to touch. The translucent claret paint that always graced her plush lips was present and…unsmeared.

So, she hadn’t kissed that Wall Street asshole. That was a win in his book.

Maggie allowed her eyes to drift over him as he waited for her to speak, and the sight infuriated her; his expression was so carefully blank, and she wanted to scream. Every emotion felt as if it had been dialed up to twenty—she was happy he was home safely because she thought that maybe he’d been away on some secret mission, furious because he’d left without a word for the second time since she knew him, terrified that maybe he’d disappeared forever to cut ties with her, and thoroughly, deeply in love with him.

All of that swirled in her mind, yet the only thing she was able to blurt out was a somewhat accusatory observation, “You left.”

He looked tired—the shadow of the dark circles under his eyes hedged the border from indigo to blue and his face looked gaunt. She just wanted to take it in her hands and see if he was okay.

“I had work stuff.” His words were unnecessarily clipped.

Crossing her arms, she was cognizant to not let the relief that swept over her show. So, it wasn’t exactly a mission, but at least he hadn’t been with his girlfriend. The bile in her throat receded. She knew she didn’t have a right to be upset; he wasn’t hers anymore—maybe he had never been to begin with. Never knowing how to leave well enough alone, she pushed with the barest hint of hurt, “And you couldn’t have told me?”

Clenching his fist at his side, he took a deep breath; he’d abandoned her in more ways than one. Was there a trophy for ‘Asshole of the Year?’ Because, if there was, he was almost certain that he’d be in the running for first place.

Curtly, he pointed out, “Well, we weren’t really talking.”

‘Don’t say it. Leave it alone. It’s not your business anymore.’

Ignoring the pointed voice in his head, he continued with a barely masked look of disdain that somehow bordered on ambivalence, “Besides, looks like you were out on a date, anyway.”

As he moved to shut the door, she promptly shoved her pump-clad foot in its path to block it as she clarified incredulously, “Nick?”

Even if she had been out, what did it matter? He had a girlfriend; Maggie wasn’t his problem anymore. So, what if she wanted to date? He’d made it very clear that he wanted that—just not with her. Even so, it’s like she felt the need to overexplain herself as she added, “He’s my ex—we were just catching up. We hadn’t seen each other in over a decade.”

With an annoyed huff, she continued to chastise him, “And we are way past that, James.”

He frowned; she’d used his full name, and they definitely weren’t having sex, which meant she was probably pissed. Rightfully so.

“That whole silent treatment thing doesn’t work for us.” She gestured between their bodies at the abstract concept; was there even a ‘them’ anymore?

“Maggie—”

Despite his attempt to cut in, though he didn’t even know what he wanted to say, she ignored him and continued, “You can’t just leave like that!” Cursing the way that her hands shook and how she cried when she got upset, Maggie swiped away some of the hot tears on her cheeks as she pushed past him into his slightly barren apartment, “Look, I know that whatever the fuck this was, meant more to me than it did to you but—”

His brow furrowed, “What?”

Bulldozing on, Maggie rounded on him and jabbed a finger into the firm muscle of his chest as he closed the door behind her, “—it’s not fair for you to just up and disappear and leave me here with no clue as to where you were, or if you were okay, again!”

That was a fair reprimand. Giving her an extra beat, waiting to see if she had anything left to add, Bucky’s voice was low as he responded to the single comment that had bothered him most during her verbal flagellation, “You’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?” She raised an eyebrow. It made her furious, how his expression was so calm, like he had the whole world figured out.

Repeating himself, he shrugged, “You’re wrong.”

Clenching her fists, Maggie ignored the stinging as her painted nails dug painfully into her slightly sweaty palms. ‘Say it, just say it.’ She had nothing left to lose—well, nothing except him—but if she didn’t tell him, then he was as good as lost to her anyway.

“Look, I like you, Bucky. And, even if you don’t want me the same way, you’re still one of my best friends.” Swallowing her pride, and the lump in her throat, she held his glacial eyes that seemed to be thawing, “You’re still one of the only people that I have left in this stupid fucking world, and I can’t lose you too.” Willing the tears away, she started carefully, averting her eyes, “I know you’re seeing someone else—”

There it was.

Flinching, he accepted the blow. He couldn’t do it anymore—he couldn’t let her believe that there was someone else when there was only her. He regretted ever telling her that in the first place. Maybe the road to hell really had been paved with good, but misguided, intentions. Cutting her off, he bit the bullet and finally admitted the truth, “I’m not.”

“You…” Faltering, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other as her brain struggled to compute the simple two-word sentence. Crossing her arms uncomfortably, she huffed and quietly reaffirmed, “You’re not?”

Shaking his head, his voice was quiet as he clarified, “I never was.”

Brows drawn together, making a tiny wrinkle between them, she could only stare. Not only was he not seeing anyone else, he never had been in the first place. That didn’t make sense. Because, if he was telling the truth now, that meant that he’d lied before—and why would he have lied to her?

Feeling her face flush even more, Maggie felt slightly embarrassed, but she couldn’t put her finger on the reason why. Maybe it was the relief that he hadn’t been with anyone else, or because she’d been jealous of a figment of her imagination, but whatever it was made her chest constrict as she tried to fit the puzzle pieces together unsuccessfully.

“But why—”

Raising his voice just slightly, like he was trying to silence her, or end the conversation all together, Bucky spoke over the tail end of her question defeatedly, “You deserve someone better than me, Maggie.”

December 18, 2024

Support group sessions at the Veterans Affairs office were his least favorite part of the week. It wasn’t like anyone could share his experience, so why did he even bother attending? All of the other Winter Soldiers were dead—Zemo had made certain of that with Siberia and again, with the explosion after the attempted GRE vote—so, it wasn’t like there was a slew of people running around with the super soldier serum coursing through their veins.

The short, older man who ran the group had finally dismissed them for the afternoon. Using one of the wooden stirrer sticks, he waited for the packet of sugar to dissolve into the darkness of his lukewarm coffee; the thin paper cup had done a poor job at insulating the liquid. Before he saw them, he heard a person approaching from behind. Suddenly, a tall, slender woman with straw blonde hair appeared by his side.

Following a similar routine to him, she poured the bitter, burnt coffee from the carafe into a cup. Sitting it down on the table, she added the barest splash of cream, hardly changing the color at all and brought it to her lips. Though she was bundled in a heavy, puffer coat and plaid scarf now, he easily recognized her from earlier. She’d been sitting nine spots to his left in the circle.

Turning to face him, she gave him a long look with black cat-lined, hazel-brown eyes before asking with a quiet, alto voice, “Barnes, right?”

“Bucky.” He corrected and offered her a hand, the gloved vibranium one carefully wrapped around his coffee cup. He’d introduced himself at the beginning of each session, the same way, every time since he’d begun attending.

'Barnes. Army. I was a P.O.W. for a few years,’ That was definitely an understatement, ‘Now I’m just trying to get back to normal.’

It was innocuous enough that it didn’t garner questions or any unwanted attention; he was just biding his time in the group until he could cease his attendance.

“Elizabeth Van Patten.” Her grasp was soft, like a barely-there touch as she shook his hand. There was a certain confidence that she easily emanated as she stood beside him, her posture perfect and her arched brows giving a constant look of skepticism while her lips were twisted into a little smirking smile like she knew something that no one else did. “I know this might be a little forward, but I’ve seen you around here a lot, you’re cute, and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to get some actual good coffee sometime.”

She held up the coffee cup with an expression of disgust; the way her nose wrinkled reminded him of Maggie though two women couldn’t have been more different.

“Oh, uh,” Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he awkwardly declined her offer, “Thanks but I’m…seeing someone.”

That’s what they were doing, wasn’t it? Their rule had been that they’d stop their arrangement if they found someone else that they wanted to be with. He didn’t want to be with anyone except Maggie, so it was simple, really.

“Oh.” Taken aback, there was a slightly surprised look on her model-esque, angular face. She was beautiful—that was an objective fact—but there was just one problem. She wasn’t Maggie. Maybe she wasn’t used to being turned down; there was almost a sense of arrogance as she gave a half-shrug, “Well, let me know if that ever changes.”

The jazzy rhythm of a ringtone shattered the quiet ambience of the mostly empty room, and he pulled the small, silver flip phone from his pocket. A little, involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Speak of the devil. It was Maggie’s ringtone that she’d set for herself at some point, so he’d always know when it was her calling.

Taking a few steps backwards towards the door, he shook his head as he flipped it open, his finger hovering over the green button with the smile still on his lips, “Sorry, I don’t think it will.”

February 21, 2025

She could only stare at him for several seconds, dumbfounded as the weight of his words fell upon her. Her shoulders fell with the weight as she searched for words, coming up only with a whispered, “What?”

With his jaw set, she could see the vein on the side of his neck protrude as he crossed the living room, needing space for just a moment. He couldn’t think when she was around; it was like she made every rational thought in his mind disappear and replaced all of them with her presence. She was dangerous.

There was a dark look that cast a shadow over his exhausted face as he looked at her in defeat, “I’m fucking broken and still trying to pick up all the goddamn pieces. I don’t know who I am or what the fuck I want, but I know that I can’t be Steve.”

The way he spat the last four words made it feel like she’d been struck by shrapnel from some ticking time-bomb.

There was a piece of Maggie that hurt for him because he wasn’t broken—not in the slightest, no matter what he thought. Like her, Bucky was bumped and bruised from all of the hits that the world had landed on him, but she loved every imperfection they’d left behind. She loved him because, not despite. She loved him, just as she’d been loved before.

Beneath the hurt was a ghost of offense; at his statement, she began playing back every memory she had of him. She’d been so careful to never compare him to Steve—not aloud at least. But had she allowed those mental parallels that she’d drawn affect him? Had she hurt him and had no clue all the while?

Unable to look at him though she could feel his eyes burning her, she tugged at her fingers as she whispered weakly, “You thought that’s what I wanted?”

“You were going to marry him!” Running a hand through his cropped hair, he gave a stilted shrug, like something had been set in stone that he was powerless to change.

“I know.” She got out severely as her eyes shot back to his and she pressed her lips together to stop herself from snapping further. Measuring each careful breath, she tried to speak without crying any more than she already had. The subject was far less painful than it once had been but there was still some residual sting that had been left behind.

“Trust me, I know I was.” With several slow steps, she approached him, holding his eyes, and waiting for him tell her to stop. Her voice was soft, like if she was any louder, she’d shatter something fragile, “I wouldn’t trade those years for anything, but I had to let him go, Bucky. And the only reason I was able to do it was because of you.”

It was like their own grief had alleviated the other's; sharing the burden had lightened the load. As he stared at her, there was something deep in his eyes that was pained.

Even if it was useless, even if he didn’t love her back, even if there wasn’t anyone else, she had to get everything off of her chest now before she could talk herself out of it again.

Reaching out with a shaking hand, she took his and touching him felt like coming up for air after being underwater for so long that her lungs had begun to hurt as they struggled to survive; it was bracing and beautiful and he made her feel like she could breathe again, “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I wanted you to be him; I don’t.” Shrugging, it felt like her heart was wide open as her watery eyes stayed trained on him and she whispered earnestly, “I just want you.”

How had she managed to do it? To let herself into the cracks of his heart, warming and filling it with her golden light? When he was with her, he didn’t feel broken or incomplete. There was a comfortable wholeness that he felt like he’d been searching for his entire life.

But what could he give her in return? He couldn’t even guarantee that she would be safe with him; when Sam had told him that Karli had called Sarah, his first fear had been that maybe she’d found Maggie too, or maybe she’d even taken her. He would have ripped the world apart to get her back.

If she was the radiant setting sun, he was dusk—an ever-looming darkness that always came to eventually eclipse the light.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Bucky’s grip tightened on her hand as his resolve began to crack, “Maggie…”

As he trailed off, she was still stuck on his earlier wording. He’d said deserved—like she was some martyr or saint. Like she hadn’t made her own fair share of mistakes in her life. Like he wasn’t good enough for her. Dropping his hand, she crossed her arms once more as she defensively pointed out, “And who are you to tell me what I deserve, anyway?”

She’d wracked her brain, again and again and came up empty handed every time. What had happened that he’d had such a change of heart? It was like, one morning, they were fine but twelve hours later—oh.

Understanding washed over her like a tidal wave, knocking Maggie off of her feet, and pulling her violently out to sea.

“Is this about the thing in the paper?” She’d eventually seen the print edition of the Daily Bugle’s rumors—of course, he had too. His silence in response to her question would have been answer enough but the way he avoided her eyes sealed the deal. Struggling to keep the frustration at bay and out of her voice, she begged, “Bucky, you know all of that was bullshit!”

Shaking his head, his voice was low as he brokenly admitted, “I didn’t want anyone to look at you differently because you were with me.”

Her bottom lip wobbled at the pain in his voice. He thought so little of himself. Even after all this time, all the times he’d fought to save the world, everything he’d done to repent for the sins of his past—would he ever believe it was enough? Believe he was enough?

It bubbled over. Finally, she snapped, as fast, uneven breaths struggled to fill her chest. The sob was audible as she raised her voice desperately, “I don’t care what anyone else wants!”

For the first time in her life, Maggie didn’t want to take anyone else’s opinion into consideration. No one else mattered; what she and Bucky wanted, what they did, was no one’s concern except their own. It felt good not to give a shit, like a shackle around her ankle had been cut and she was free.

Finally, he looked at her as she explained erratically, almost hysterical, “I've spent most of my life thinking about what was best for everyone else, and what they wanted, and I never let myself have what I wanted.”

“But what if—”

“No.” Pointing a finger at him, he clammed up at her firm reprimand—she wasn’t done. She ignored the black flecks of mascara that she knew had begun to speckle her cheek from her tears as she let out a humorless laugh, “I have spent my entire life thinking about what-ifs and all that’s done is hurt me and I can’t do that anymore. I don’t want to.”

Standing in front of Bucky, she was firm, “I’m not going to give up before we even try.” Cautiously, she placed her freezing hands on his scruff-covered cheeks, and he shivered at the touch he’d missed so badly over the last month. Like it was a reflex, his hands gravitated to her soft waist.

Her thumb brushed soothingly over his cheek as the vulnerability broke through her exterior; she was just as afraid as he was. Her voice shook, “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine, but if there’s even the smallest chance that you do, I want this. I want you, Bucky.” Her watery eyes searched his as she begged in a barely audible whisper, like she hadn’t even meant to say it aloud, “Just…please say you want me too.”

Resting his forehead against hers, Bucky melted like he was finally laying down to sleep after being deprived of rest for so long. He didn’t want to fight it anymore, he just wanted her.

Murmuring softly, he closed his eyes, “Of course, I do.”

September 12, 2024

Curling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, Maggie’s voice was almost inaudible as she asked, “Do you ever wish you could go back and do it all again?”

Closing her eyes tightly, she wished she could retract her inquiry as she waited for his response. The handful of seconds were painful until she felt the pillow jostle the slightest bit as Bucky shook his head and murmured a low, “no.”

It felt like she could breathe again. His large hand splayed on her back felt like a pleasant weight as it drifted up and down. She could feel his warm breath on her forehead as he whispered, “No. I’m happy right here.”

She was grateful that the room was pitch black; even the dim light from the streetlamps outside her window weren’t enough to illuminate the stray tears that fell down her cheek and landed silently on the satin pillowcase. If she said another word, he’d know she was crying again, and she’d done far too much of that in the past twenty-four hours.

With a quiet sniffle, she shifted closer to him. Slotting her thick-sock-clad feet between his, she curled into his chest, burying her face into the soft, gray fabric of his shirt. It went without saying, but she was happy that he was there, too.

Though her breath slowed, and her limbs felt heavy, sleep evaded her. How could she have been so tired on the couch where she’d almost totally drifted off to sleep, yet her mind refused to rest once she was in bed?

Counting her own breaths, counting Bucky’s, counting Alpine’s deep snores, she almost broke. It vaguely registered in her mind that he was also awake when his lips brushed against her temple, softly whispering into her hair, “He shouldn’t have wanted anyone but you.”

It was a valiant effort to keep her breath from catching in her chest though her heart rate had begun to compete with the speed of light. There was no doubt who ‘he’ was referring to, but the weight of the barely spoken statement fell on her like a ton of bricks.

This was what it felt like to finally be someone’s first choice.

February 21, 2025

“You do?” Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed that it wasn’t a dream or her mind playing a cruel joke. He wanted her, too?

He. Wanted. Her.

“I never wanted anyone else.” He breathed out, his fingers clenching the soft knit of her sweater before releasing them and sliding his arms around her, pulling her closer as he felt his own eyes grow warm with tears. He hadn’t cried since he’d been in Wakanda. Since the Winter Soldier had been taken out of his head.

Under her fingers, Maggie felt the way his jaw clenched hard before he finally exhaled plaintively, “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”

Honesty.

She had to be honest; she hadn’t been when she’d made that rule about not having feelings for one another, and she hadn’t been when she’d said that she was happy that he’d found someone. She couldn’t just pretend that it hadn’t hurt, that it was fine, and they could just ride off into the sunset together.

Her voice came out far smaller and more insecure than she intended for it to as she asked hesitantly, “But why did you lie?”

“I was a coward and I…” Pulling back to look at her—but keeping her tight in his arms because he never wanted to let her go again—his eyes were guilty as they swept over her curious, disappointed expression as she hung on to his words. Cringing, he admitted, “I thought it might hurt less.”

Pressing her lips together, she took a breath. Misguided as it was, she should have known that it was because he thought it was better for her, but it still burned. Shaking her head, she was frank with a pained smile as she pointed out, “It didn’t.”

Pulling her in tightly, he tucked her head just below his chin and held her close to his body. With only her presence, the feeling of her body pressed against his, Bucky felt his heartbeat begin to slow as he shook his head, “I shouldn’t’ve lied.”

“You should’ve just talked to me.” Maggie hummed into his neck, taking in the scent of him that she’d grown used to. The clean smell of his soap, the fresh scent of his washing detergent, the smoky, spicy cologne that was clinging to his skin after being applied so many hours earlier.

Who was she to give him advice on ‘just talking’ to someone? Maybe it was because that had been a mistake that she’d made thousands of times before, because he was the first person that she refused to make it with. Who would she be if she didn’t give him the grace that she’d been given? Maybe he’d been stupid, but he was hers.

“I forgive you.”

She felt the way his breath caught in his chest, like he’d been worried that he’d done something unforgiveable, “You do?”

“I know how it feels to be scared.” One of her hands that had been loped behind his neck drifted up, running her fingers through the soft, short hair at his nape as she assuaged him, “To want to run away.”

That was something she’d understood better than anyone because it was all she’d known since she was twenty-one. She’d run from her life after her parents died. From Nick. From Ben. And even though she said that she’d tell him if she ever felt like doing it again, she had eventually run from Steve too.

But she was done running away because there was no escaping pain or loss—that was life and it couldn’t be stopped, just as the Earth couldn’t be prevented from spinning. Running may have taken her around the world and from one pair of arms to another, but it hadn’t taken away the hurt, it hadn’t made her feel any better than if she’d stayed—it had only delayed the inevitable.

Now, there were so many things that she wanted, and, for the first time, she felt like she was running towards them as fast as she could. Even if the wolves were nipping at her heels every step of the way, she knew it was better to have loved and lost rather than to never have loved at all.

Because, without a doubt, that’s what it was. Maybe at first, she’d been a little unsure but now she couldn’t be more certain: she loved him. The lazy look he gave her from his spot on the bed when she woke up before him, the way he absentmindedly played with her hair as she fell asleep, the pleasant pain in her side from laughing at something he said—all of the small things just added up to it, like it was some perfect mathematic proof.

Perhaps he was like her before she knew Steve—utterly convinced that everything she hated about herself made her unlovable. Like her, he was wrong.

Leaning back to look at him, her words were gentle as a sad smile played on her lips, “Why is it so hard for you to believe that because I loved him, I couldn’t love you too?”

His arms tightened around her waist at the question, and she’d never seen his eyes so soft as he looked at her, his lips parted just slightly as he absorbed the words.

It felt like grace.

Maggie loved him—a fervent, open-hearted, persevering love.

Before he could speak, her hands trailed over his broad shoulders and down to where they came to rest on his chest. She could feel the fast, steady thump of his heart through his shirt as she clarified pointedly with a slow shake of her head, “I don’t want you to be Steve.” Tapping her index finger against his sternum, she held his gaze as she begged him to hear her and truly listen to what she was saying, “You have so many things that make you good but you’re too fucking blind to see any of them.”

Clenching the soft fabric of his shirt in her fists, she finally tore her eyes from his piercing gaze. No more lies. She focused on the three buttons beneath his collar; the top one was undone, and she spoke to the hollow of his throat instead of his face as she admitted quietly, “I read your file from…from Hydra. When you were—”

Cutting herself off, Maggie bit the inside of her cheek; it wasn’t who he’d been. Correcting herself, she continued, “When they made you do all of that stuff, they had to convince you that you were doing it to make the world a better place because otherwise, you wouldn’t be on their side.”

Treating him like some sick experiment, they’d realized that it was like Skinner’s operant conditioning: positive reinforcement worked more miracles than punishment ever could. They’d abused the scientific method in the name of chaos because he’d been too virtuous for their cause to corrupt without help.

“It took them years,” Her voice cracked as she imagined everything that he’d been made to endure, “Of hurting you and torturing you, to break you down enough to do what they wanted because you’re so strong and so good. And even then, they just had to keep starting over because a part of you fought back every fucking time!”

A drop of salted water that had come from a set of blue eyes rather than brown landed on her hand and she took a shaky breath as she looked back up to meet his bloodshot eyes; finding tears swimming in them, her own began to fall more freely. His warm hand gathered both of hers, pressing them harder against his chest as he fought to breathe.

No one had ever been so brazenly candid with him; everyone shied away from his past but not Maggie—never Maggie. She faced it with a sense of bravery, that very few others had possessed, because she knew there was light beyond the darkness that he was always so ashamed of.

Shaking her head, her voice was still thick with tears, “And it’s not fair that you had to go through that. And we can’t change the past, but you’re in control now; you can make new choices.” Taking back one of her hands, she placed it on his warm cheek and made him look down at her. Steadying her voice, she spoke plainly so there was no mistaking the words she wanted to drill into his head, “You might think you’re too broken to ever let yourself be loved but you’re wrong. You’re the one that has to decide. You just have to choose.”

‘Please choose.’

Maybe before, she would have said that it wasn’t so simple, but time had taught her that it was. For several minutes, they stood in the echoey silence of his plain apartment as he held her eyes. The intensity didn’t scare her anymore like it had at the beginning. What was the use? She already knew he could see right through her.

God, she wanted to drown in that salt blue sea for the rest of her life.

Finally, his voice cracked as he quietly asked, “You read my file?”

“Yes.” Her teeth caught her bottom lip, it slipped free as she nodded, and her face went warm. There was the guilt that she’d felt as she opened the manila folder, her eyes hungrily devouring every painful line. Taking a breath, she started, “I’m sorry, I know it was an invasion of your privacy and—”

Shaking his head at her line of thinking, Bucky cut her off cautiously, “You still…love me?”

His words were so soft, so nervous, that it broke her heart just a little more. He thought that she’d stop loving him if she knew the entire truth, but she was resolute. So, he wasn’t a saint. Neither was she—she’d been in the wrong almost as often as she’d been in the right. Neither one of them were perfect, maybe she didn’t even believe in perfection anymore, but there was a feeling that tugged at her, deep inside her chest, that maybe they were perfect for each other.

Maybe that’s what they’d been missing all along; they needed the other to make their shattered hearts whole again.

“Yes.” She exhaled, her thumb brushing over his cheek as a little smile formed on her lips, “Yes, I still love you, James.”

Pulling her in tightly, he buried his face deep in her hair and took a deep breath like she was some drug he never wanted to be clean of. That familiar, sweet almond scent sent a wave of calm crashing over his nervous system that was busy running rampant from her confession. His voice was muffled into her hair when he finally spoke again, his voice pained, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“To do what?” Maggie breathed out as her eyes drifted closed, pressing her cheek against his warm chest. Her hand rubbed his back soothingly, her nails scraping softly over the scars that were hidden beneath his shirt, over the familiar border from skin to vibranium.

“To be happy.” He croaked out, “To be in love.”

He could feel the way she nodded, never one to back down from any challenge, as she whispered, “We can figure it out together.”

“It’s always been you.” He murmured, pulling back, and taking her face in his hands to look at her closer. His eyes were still so soft, like there was some hazy halo of warmth surrounding them. His thumb dragged across her lower lip as he admitted in a secretive whisper with a little smile finally taking up residence on his tired face, “I don’t remember what it was like before I loved you.”

Standing on her toes, she used a hand behind his neck to pull him down and connect their lips for the first time in far too long. He tasted like something sweet and addicting and the way his tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth sent her head spinning. She hadn’t fully let herself miss him but, god—had she ever. Slipping his arms back around her, he lifted her with an ease that she’d long since grown used to.

Kicking off her shoes, she wrapped her legs around his hips and smiled against his lips; the short skirt rode up tightly around her thighs as she crossed her ankles and tightened her arms like she was trying to merge their separate bodies into one. All she wanted was to feel him as close as possible; she needed to feel his touch that she’d been denied. One of his hands braced her ass, holding her up easily, as the other tangled in her hair, tugging gently and making her breathe a hot sigh into his mouth.

His apartment was like a mirror image of her own, the layout flipped opposite, so as he carried her down the hall, she giggled into their slow, honeyed kiss when the memories flooded back to the very first time they’d been in the same position, running on adrenaline and pent-up sexual tension from months of dancing around each other.

“What’s so funny, peach?” He trailed his lips down her neck to the collar of her tight, cable-knit jumper and she could feel the way his own lips curled into a smile at the melodic sound of her laugh. She never would have thought that she’d miss that stupid nickname, but she had.

“I never saw this coming.” Maggie’s words were breathy as tipped her head upwards, her waves falling down her back as she exposed more of her neck to him, feeling a warmth pooling low in her belly as his teeth grazed against the thin skin, “You. Us.”

His soft hum against her throat sent a shiver down her back. Looking around, she realized that she’d never been in his room as long as she’d known him. The bed was perfectly made like something out of a catalogue with a dark navy quilt and four uniform, looking pillows. There weren’t any decorations except a single picture on the nightstand.

As he laid her back on the firm mattress, she got a closer look and grinned as he tugged her sweater off. It was them from their first trip to Louisiana. Sam had taken it while they were dancing; she’d forgotten all about it, but apparently, he hadn’t. Not even after all this time.

He’d never shown her the picture and even after they stopped talking, he never put it away.

Yanking him back down into a slow, dreamy kiss where his tongue caressed hers familiarly, she wiggled her hips to aid him in the effort to rid her of the tight skirt that hugged her thighs. As he pulled back to catch his breath, she yanked his t-shirt off and threw it over the edge of the large bed. Catching his earlobe in her teeth gently and letting it go as he shivered, Maggie murmured in his ear teasingly, “Are you going to make love to me, James?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.” As he gently squeezed her sides, she squealed before he sat up on his knees between her splayed thighs with a grin and undid his belt and jeans. Sitting up, she propped herself up on her hands to watch with eager eyes. Kicking the offending clothing off, he tugged her further down the bed until her head was nestled comfortably on the pillows. Hovering over her, he growled, “Gonna worship my girl like she fuckin’ deserves because I love her.”

He punctuated each of the last three words with progressively hotter, wetter kisses down her neck. Peppering soft ones across her chest, he traced the lace edge of her bra before slipping a hand under her back and undoing the clasp with deft fingers. Tossing it aside, his lips trailed down between her soft breasts.

Threading her fingers into his hair, a sweet sigh left Maggie as her eyes fluttered shut and he wrapped his lips around one of her tight, pink nipples that begged for his attention, “And I love you.”

The deep groan he gave in response sent vibrations through her chest as his teeth tugged at the sensitive peak; switching his attention to its twin, he murmured against her warm skin, “Never wanna stop hearing you say that.”

“Keep this up and you won’t.”

“Mm, whatever you say, doll.” With a low chuckle, Bucky slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties and grazed the pads of his fingers across silky skin. Groaning at how soaked he’d found her, Bucky slowly ground his hips into the bed, willing himself not to blow at merely touching her.

Her thighs tensed as she rocked her hips up into his touch involuntarily. The hand that didn’t have its nails digging into one of his shoulders was clenching the blanket, wrinkling the fabric that had been tucked tautly just seconds ago.

As he coated his finger in her wetness, he slipped it inside her warmth easily and she let out a quiet whine at the welcome intrusion as they caressed her velvet walls, dragging in and out slowly, “Fuck—”

“You didn’t think that I’d forgot how to make you feel good, did you?” A second finger joined his first, but the pleasant stretch was gone before she could even really enjoy it. Chuckling at the little pout on her gloss smeared lips, he licked her wetness from his digits before rolling the soft fabric down her thighs, murmuring quietly, “I know this body, baby. Know exactly what you need…”

Settling between her thighs, he tucked her legs over his broad shoulders and dragged her body closer to his by her hips. Pressing a soft kiss to her bikini line, he took his time reacquainting himself with every inch of her smooth skin. Dragging his lips down her hips, he pressed them to her mound before caressing her thighs with them, purposefully avoiding where she needed him most.

Squirming under his touch, he stilled her with large hands pressing her hips into the mattress. Blowing a little stream of cool air over her glossy folds, her whimper made his grin widen. Slipping his hands lower and lower, he used his thumbs to spread her lips, revealing her needy, pink sex to his hungry gaze, “Mm, look how wet you are, baby.” Pressing a gentle kiss to her swollen, red clit, he teased lowly, “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” Maggie breathed out, her fingers gravitating to his hair and tangling in the soft strands like she knew he liked. He let out a groan at the gentle tug and flattened his tongue, licking a broad stripe from her entrance up to lave around her little button. The muscles in her stomach tightened beneath his fingers at the feeling and she gasped out, “Fuck, James…”

He lapped slowly at the creamy wetness that was dripping from her like the sweetest nectar. Her taste coated his tongue and he groaned at the heady essence, hooking his arms around her thighs, holding her hips tightly as she tried to keep still through the pleasure that was making her twitchy, desperate for more—for as much as he’d give her.

Bucky’s scruff made the delicate skin of her thighs sensitive and red as he sealed his lips around her clit, sucking it in erratic patterns that made her eyes roll back as she jerked her hips into his mouth, whimpering out a breathless plea, “Yes, right there!”

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” He murmured against her cunt, his spit and her wetness dripping down his chin as he sloppily sucked and licked like he’d been starved; slipping two fingers back into her needy hole easily, she continued to babble unintelligibly for him, and he smirked. The way he could make Maggie turn off her racing mind was one of his favorite accomplishments.

Thrusting his fingers into her at a quick pace, the slick sounds made her face go red as the coil drew tighter deep in her belly. Gripping his hair tightly, she could feel the knot beginning to unwind as he sucked varying patterns on her clit, murmuring lowly, “Come for me, baby. Love the way your sweet little cunt squeezes my fingers…”

A moan was pulled from Maggie’s swollen lips as she felt her chest shudder and collapse in on itself at the sudden wave of bliss that flooded her brain. Her thighs tensed almost painfully, trapping his head between them as her toes curled. After her climax receded, she lazily grabbed for him and pulled him above her with a wordless whine.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she yanked him down to kiss his pouty, pink lips that were still glossy with her juices. He moaned into her mouth as he held himself up above her, his hardness pressing hot and heavy as it rested between their bodies. Murmuring against his mouth, she was still floating as she begged, “Need to feel you, baby.” Slipping a hand down, she pulled his length from his tight boxers, giving it slow, languid strokes that made his knees weak, “Please? I need your cock…”

Unable to deny her any longer, Bucky groaned and shed the last bit of clothing. Adjusting her beneath him, he brushed his lips sweetly against her dewy forehead as he murmured, “I’ve got you, c’mere…” Looking down between their bodies, he groaned as he traced his weeping, ruddy tip between her folds, once, twice, before using her wetness and watching as he slowly sank into her warmth, “Fuck, honey. You fit me like a goddamn glove, like this pussy was made for me.”

It had been some time since she’d felt the familiar stretch and she let out a broken whimper as she squeezed her thighs tightly around his hips. Eyes fluttering shut, he bottomed out and pressed his hips flush to hers as she agreed breathlessly, “Only you—fuck!”

Brushing some of the hair from her forehead, he stilled until her hazy, heavy-lidded eyes opened again to find his. With a smile, he pressed a sweet kiss to her lips and exhaled shakily as he dropped his forehead to hers, “I love you so goddamn much.”

“I love you too, Buck.” Those words sounded like his new favorite song, and he let out a soft moan as he slowly pulled out, relieving some of the pressure, before rolling his hips back into hers. Maggie’s nails dug into his back painlessly at the slow motion that he began.

“I’m never gonna let you go.” Setting a familiar, sensual rhythm, he watched as she allowed the pleasure to fill her with every slow thrust. She hummed at the way he fit her so perfectly, like two puzzle pieces; lacing the fingers of one of her hands with his, his words were low as his lips brushed against her ear again, “You’re mine, peach. Always.”

Nodding, Maggie pushed back against each thrust of his hips as she panted out, “And you’re mine—” A whimper was ripped from her lips as he tilted his pelvis, finding that spot deep inside of her so easily, “Yes, right there!”

“Of course, I am, baby…” He agreed, slipping his other hand down her body to circle her throbbing clit with the pads of his fingers as he growled lowly, “All yours. Always.”

His broad hips between her legs made it impossible for her to squeeze her thighs together tightly at the sensation that was just on the edge of becoming too much for her to handle. She’d been wound so tightly—no amount of time with her fingers or vibrator could ever compare to how he made her feel.

“Oh god—I’m gonna come…” Maggie’s breath hitched as she arched her back, needing to feel him pressed against her as she chased her release. Her nails dragged slowly down his back as she begged into his ear, “Come with me. Wanna feel you come inside me. Fuck, James, fill me up, please. Need it so bad…”

“My dirty girl.” Bucky praised through a clenched jaw, snapping his hips into hers faster as he felt the way his balls drew tighter from the way her walls began to clench around him. He assured her sweetly as his fingers tugged back the hood of her clit to strum the sensitive bundle of nerves without any hindrance, “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me, right now. Let me feel that cunt milkin’ my cock, baby—”

With a gasp that pulled a sharp intake of air into her lung, Maggie felt her entire body burst into a firework show of brilliant light flashes that she could see, even with her eyes squeezed shut; for the second time, in just a few minutes, the rubber band snapped again as her orgasm washed over her and sent her reeling as she gripped his shoulder tightly, tremors rocking her body. Fluttering around his cock, she moaned as the shockwaves rippled out and his movement became sloppy.

“That’s it, fuck…” His hips jerked one last time as he pressed deep into her, his tip brushing her cervix as he spilled his release into her warmth, painting her walls with his spend. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, going harder for a minute before he could finally relax. Not bothering to slip out of her, he easily rolled on to his back and pulled her body atop of his as he mumbled with a satisfied, blissful smile on his tired face, “I love you.”

An airy giggle was exhaled from Maggie’s nose as she teased, “Are you ever going to get tired of saying it?”

His lips pressed against her forehead once again as he affectionately denied the notion, “Never.”

“Me either.”

She didn’t care that his chest was still slightly damp with sweat or that her hair was probably incredibly knotted; there was an overwhelming sense of peace that washed over her as she laid half on top of him. His fingers trailed lazily up and down her spine, going over each bump of her vertebrae slowly. She shivered at the feeling as her heartrate began to slow.

Her eyes were closed but she could feel his voice from deep inside his chest as Bucky looked down at her with an expression that she’d never seen from him before, murmuring quietly but with a fierce resolve, “I’m going to marry you.”

Once upon a time, those words had struck a cold kind of fear deep inside of Maggie, turning her heart to a frozen block of ice. It wasn’t too long ago that everything had felt so painfully temporary—even things that felt like they were meant to last forever. But now? Now, she felt like she could stop running. She’d reached her destination; this was what she’d been looking for all along and she’d finally found it. There was no chance that she was ever letting it go, that she was ever letting him go.

“Yeah,” Pressing a kiss to the middle of his chest, Maggie rested her chin on his sternum as she blinked up at him with warm, molten honey eyes. She felt whole, like every mistake that she’d made and every demon she’d fought had been worth it to find this serene peace. Meeting his gaze with a happy, golden shimmer of complete contentment in her own, she agreed softly, “You are.”

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autisticlenaluthor · 2 years

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broken heart mosaic - chapter 2

It’s possible to say that since their conversation, she’s spent hours at the library speed reading through medical journals and diagnostic manuals trying to make sense of what Lena told her. It made it easier at first— having a point of reference so Kara could find the vocabulary to explain the spots in their past that stood out to her.

Things she used to find confusing, like the way that sometimes Lena would space out mid-conversation only to return a few seconds later and smile, confused, before picking up as if nothing had happened at all. How on occasion she’d refer to herself as we or the way her voice would change when she got tired.

It was putting pieces of a puzzle together; finding satisfaction in how well the fragments fit together until Kara came up for air and looked away from the piles upon piles of texts and articles only to have the truth come steamrolling over her.

Blinking off the shivers sent down her spine, Kara had looked around the room; felt the air in the library grow thin and dry as she took in the empty space, listening to nothing but the sound of her heel clicking repeatedly against the wooden floor. Within a second, the words she’d read went from miles of passages and quotes and interesting tidbits to something much more real than that.

The realization that the safety net of hyper fixation is only so thick.

read the rest on ao3!

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #supercorp fanfic #fic update #DID fic #broken heart mosaic

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wildthiiing · 2 years

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@callsigncyclone said: 💋 from beau

The casualness of this thing with Beau was something he was still trying to adjust to. Or maybe he was just trying to adjust to being something other than a Navy Aviator for the first time since he was a little more than a kid. It sometimes made him antsy, forcing him out for a drive, taking the bike out for a while just to feel the adrenaline that typically only came when he was flying.

He hadn’t even turned his bike off when he heard the tell tale sound of Beau’s car pulling into his drive, making him smile as he finished turning the bike off and turned to face the man, waiting for him to get out of his car before he approached. “I wasn’t expected you til later.” Not that he was complaining, something that was made obvious by the way he leaned up to press a kiss to Beau’s lips.

#callsigncyclone #[thread: Maverick]#[v; mosaic broken hearts || PeteBeau]

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emails-i-cant-send · 2 years

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that is the guy that made the bald guy parody lol

Oh God

#give up these diamonds to you #Mosaic-broken-hearts-17

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thesamecoiin · 1 year

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tag drop ;; cian

#{just too soft for all of it ~ cian}#{just too soft for all of it ~ cian ; face}#{just too soft for all of it ~ cian ; mentality}#{just too soft for all of it ~ cian ; about}#{just too soft for all of it ~ cian ; aesthetic}#{my ghost ~ alia}#{the light that I will follow ~ maisy}#{my favorite monster ~ poppy}#{glitter in the darkness ~ daisy}#{red sky in morning ~ nisha}#{dedicating every day to you ~ kids}#{a wonder in this life ~ angie}#{self-rescuing princess ~ bee}#{forever loving you ~ matt}#{the most beautiful girl ~ alia nicole}#{mosaic broken hearts ~ gang girls}#{watchman to my heart ~ ophelia}#{;love don't die easy ~ alia && cian}#{;king and lionheart ~ poppy && cian}#{;all I need ~ maisy && cian}#{;love you to the moon and to saturn ~ daisy && cian}#{;you're the moon and I'm the tide ~ alex && cian}

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starseungs · 17 days

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after the curtain falls. lmh

lee know x gn!reader — spring was a season welcomed by all. what a pity that the notion of ‘all’ exempted you.

genre/s — angst, fluff, its just hurt-comfort, university au • 2.9k words

warning/s — break-up aftermath, profanity, commitment issues, minho gets called a bad bf (sorry), there's a twist i swear !

note — its quite literally been a year since i last wrote a fic so i would love to know how the quality of my writing is !! feedback is greatly appreciated 🫶

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Spring was never supposed to be this lifeless.

It was a season of new beginnings, where growth is celebrated and life is nurtured back into full bloom. A time of bright colors and freshly scented air floating all throughout the expanse of space, bringing soft smiles of comfort towards anyone who takes it in. Springtime was welcomed by all.

What a pity that the notion of ‘all’ exempted you.

You didn’t know why your spring was so vastly different from the others near you. You’d like to think that your winter started off just as normal as everybody else: watching the crisp fallen leaves on the ground get replaced by a fresh coat of snow, feeling the familiar prick of the icy season’s breeze on your skin as your body tried to suppress a giggling shiver, as well as seeing puffs of steam come out of every warm breath you took, reminding you that despite the cold weather, you still held a warmth inside of you.

Just who would have known that your spring would be the complete opposite, with your heart frosted over despite the rising temperatures? But somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew exactly why. You would never want to catch yourself admitting it, but maybe it was the way your winter ended in a snowstorm of emotions.

It wasn’t every winter that someone had a fight that could completely shatter an intricately built mosaic. It also wasn’t every winter that you would watch your other half walk out of your life without so much of a single falter.

You knew so damn well that it wasn’t every winter that you could get your heart broken.

Perhaps that was why you allowed your heart to get glazed over by ice. After all, it was the only thing keeping it together without requiring you to spend too much effort. Sure, it melted a bit every now and then, but it was easier to freeze liquid than it was to achieve the complete opposite.

It was for the same reason that you found solace in the springtime evenings, where it resembled even half of the winter that was keeping you human. The dimmed atmosphere of the surroundings was able to neutralize all the parading palettes of color, leaving you with a monochrome wonderland that was much more comforting to the eye.

The walk back to your dorm building wasn’t anything special. It really wasn’t supposed to, nor did you expect something to happen. You had just gotten over the hurdles of coursework back in the school’s library when you decided to call it a day, peacefully trek back to your dorm room, and get to sleep the hours away until duty calls. That was how your evening was supposed to go.

Except it didn’t.

When you first saw a figure more or less passed out near the lower steps of your dorm building, you were visibly concerned. Why wouldn’t you be? At this time of the day, it would be dangerous to just leave yourself undefended in public. That, and who in their right mind would be willing to snooze away amidst the midnight breeze?

That was enough for you to start a little jog toward them. Was this person locked out? Were they drunk? Should you help them? All sorts of questions popped into your head as you got closer to the steps the figure took as their bed for the night.

And yet all those same questions vanished into thin air the moment you caught a glimpse of the person’s face.

“—Minho?”

His name came out of your lips so frail, as if any stronger, and the scene before you would shatter into nothingness, telling you once again that it was all in your head. That you had wished to see him again.

It was almost comical just how fast the sight of him brought back the familiar prick in your eyes—the tears fighting the crisp blow of the wind to keep themselves at bay. This wasn’t how your evening was supposed to go.

Granted, the fight between you was a petty one. Well, not more so petty than sudden since it literally blew up out of nowhere. It started off with a question about commitment. Arguably simple one of where you saw each other in a few years. You had gone first after you asked, rambling happily about graduation and living together. Minho chuckled along with your plans, and to you, he even seemed glad to hear them.

Yet, when the topic of marriage was brought up, his smile immediately turned blank.

Of course, you noticed his drastic change of mood right away. What kind of significant other would you be if you didn’t? But when you reached out to ask him what was wrong, he merely brushed it off as being tired.

Except that both you and him had done nothing but lay around the whole day.

Maybe you, too, had a fault in all of this. You prodded him more about the topic, not knowing you were agitating a ticking time bomb running out of time. If you only knew, then it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he eventually exploded, spitting out that he wasn’t too sure about marriage.

In your view, that would have been fine. You were willing to talk it out; perhaps he had other plans for the both of you that would settle just fine in yours. There was no way you’d pressure Minho into doing something he didn’t feel like doing. You had too much love and respect for him to do so.

It was in an unfortunate turn of events that you had to find out the sentiment wasn’t shared in the same way you did, as when he slammed your room’s door shut after expressing that it wouldn’t work out, he took a piece of your heart with him that left you incomplete on the days that followed.

And yet, there he was again. Marching into your life like nothing ever happened.

In a blinding flash of hot white fury, you marched up to Minho’s peaceful figure, blissfully unaware of the chaos headed his way. Your body shook in the repressed burst of energy, trying not to lose yourself in public despite the area devoid of people. After reaching him in less than a minute, you saw no hesitation in leaning down to wake him.

“Minho,” you grasped at his right shoulder, trying to shake him out of slumber. You saw the action as intense in a way that was borderline frantic, not a care for the state of the joint you had grabbed. After all, why would you? Yet, while you’d like to believe you did a great job at expressing your displeasure, a small voice pestering at the back of your mind begged to say otherwise.

It was a mere whisper—directed at the act you just committed, one that shouldn’t even bother you in the slightest. Yet, it did. So painfully so.

That kind of gentleness isn’t reserved for a heart swirling in rage.

The slight squeeze in your heart at the notion only made you grit your teeth further in displeasure. Curse your damned heart for keeping its fondness for the man before you. The same man who was still up in dreamland while you were fighting your own war at the present. You clicked your tongue in building irritation.

“Wake up, or else I’m leaving you out here to freeze.” With one last shove, Minho finally came back to Earth.

You watched as he fluttered his eyes open, ignoring the warmth that seemed to spread over you once you got a glimpse of his big almond eyes. Minho sure took his sweet time to process his surroundings, causing you to purse your lips in uncertainty when his gaze lingered on your figure towering over him a bit too long with an unexplainable emotion.

“Hi,” he mumbled slowly, a small smile ghosting on his rosy lips. “Even in my dreams, you never fail to look so lovely.”

Cold air filled your lungs as you sucked in a breath at his words. You hated the way he easily melted the ice that you had covered your heart in. Without even meaning to, Minho had already managed to tear down the first layer of protection you had set up to keep yourself sane. There were a lot of things you wanted to tell him back, but you held your tongue. This wasn’t the right time.

Nor would that time ever come.

“It’s not a dream,” you opted to inform him of what was left of the goodness in your heart, partly feeling guilty for his disoriented state. “Get up, Minho. It’s cold out here.”

“You’re—what, wait!”

Minho scrambled frantically from his seated position on the dorm building’s steps, clumsily finding his balance to get up. The rush of suddenly standing after a nap came over him like a wave, causing him to stumble with a groan as he let the blood that came up settle. You sighed at Minho’s efforts, turning back around to continue your way towards the entrance.

“You should go back home.”

“I won’t!” He replied in haste, pure desperation seeping over his words. “Not again. Not when I spend every passing hour regretting that I did back then when I clearly shouldn’t have.”

You felt your world still at what Minho had just said. Did you hear it correctly?

“Please, Y/N.”

Minho’s footsteps echoed in your mind, telling you that he was moving closer. But your body had yet to listen to the warning bells you had set off, keeping you still in the same place you had stopped in. You surprised yourself with the small whimper that escaped your lips after feeling warmth radiating right behind you.

“Can—can I hug you?”

And just like that, the dam broke as the first fits of sobs spluttered out of your body in waves, barely getting contained as Minho wrapped you with his arms firmly. You turned to face him just to throw weak punches at his chest. “I hate you so much!”

“I know,” he said, hugging you tighter, as if you would disappear the moment he eased his hold. “I know you do.”

“Do you know how hurt I was? How could you just leave me like that!”

“I don’t know,” Minho answers again, completely giving in to your inner turmoil. He let you dampen his hoodie with your tears without any reference. “I was stupid.”

“So stupid!”

“Very stupid,” he repeats your words without hesitation, finally pulling back slightly to see your tear-stained face, gently wiping the fresh drops that escaped with his thumb.

You cursed the way your body naturally leaned into his touch. You disliked the way his voice soothed your running mind from the horrors it placed upon yourself. You hated the way you felt comforted by his presence, the same way he hurt you with his absence.

And most of all, you despised the way you couldn’t bring yourself to stay mad at him.

“I’m sorry,” Minho said heavily, visibly trying to keep his own tears at bay. “I know that won’t fix all the things that happened, but I still wanted to let you know.”

You exhaled shakily.

“I—I won’t force you to accept my apology,” he continued. “But please—God, Y/N. I don’t think I’d be able to handle you telling me to go home and never fixing us. I wouldn’t survive in this world without you by my side. I promise I’ll do better for you. I’ll reflect on what I need to, just—”

Minho breathed in deeply.

“Give me another chance.”

The two of you breathed in unison for the first time in weeks.

“Cut!”

“Nice,” Jisung’s squeal of joy could be heard throughout the wide space, carefully fumbling with his video camera to watch the scene’s replay. “That was a great take!”

Seungmin groans at the noise level. “Seriously, would it hurt you to keep it down? Some people are already asleep,” he scoffs, really not wanting to deal with a complaint filed against them this late into the night.

The younger of the two only juts his lower lip forward into a childish pout. “But it’s only midnight. We’re in university. Who gets to sleep that early in university?” Seungmin only bites back a retort after sensing genuine confusion in Jisung’s tone.

“Whatever,” he grumbled.

At the sound of their bickering, the late night’s breeze didn’t seem to be as frosty as it was a few minutes ago. You distantly hear Seungmin and Jisung continue to talk, now finding themselves in a heated discussion about the next scene. A light chuckle was heard coming from the man still holding you.

“Well, I’m glad that they’re having fun,” Minho comments, greatly amused at the duo. You felt his gaze drop down towards your head, still resting on his shoulder. “Feeling okay?”

You could only nod at his query, too exhausted from enacting the scene that just finished. He hummed at your non-verbal approach to answering, running a hand through your hair to soothe your dropping emotions.

“What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?” You let out a soft giggle at his wording before snuggling yourself closer to his figure. Minho lets you do your thing with a smile.

“Let’s not ever do that.”

“Do what, love?” He asks, requesting that you elaborate. You listened to his heartbeat thump calmly before speaking up.

“Break up,” you said, the thought leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. “I don’t like the feeling. It hurts.”

Minho laughs again, but this time it was aimed at you. “Well, of course it’s going to hurt,” he says with a light tone. “You’re going to be losing me!” You slapped his arm in annoyance.

“You are such an ass, Lee Minho!”

“Ow—hold on!” He chokes out in between chuckles. Minho takes hold of the hand that was assaulting his arm, slipping it into his own and entangling both of your fingers. You couldn’t help the heat that washed over your face at the intimate action. Minho seemed satisfied with your reaction. “If it makes you feel better, it’s going to hurt me too.”

You pull away to raise a brow at his statement. “Why? Since you’ll be single?” Minho pretends to think for a second.

“I mean, I guess?” You shot him an icy glare at his admission, but the tender smile he gave back at you made your angry facade falter in an instant. It looks like on-screen you had the same issues with their own Minho—both being undeniably weak when it came to them.

“Stop giving me that look,” you sigh amidst a smile you were suppressing.

“What look?”

“That look,” you say, almost in a breath as you struggle to chase the words out of your mouth. “The one when you look at me like I’m the only person in this world.”

It was a look you’ve seen too many times. One that he would give you both at the most intimate of moments and the most random of times. You see it when you wake up in the morning to him already awake beside you; you saw it when you squealed in joy after winning a prize from those rigged claw machines in the arcade across town; and you see it especially when he sees you waiting outside his class’ building after an extensive lecture, holding two cups of coffee for both you and him. It was from those times that you realized—it was Minho’s gaze of unfiltered love for you.

Minho pulls you back into his arms, still unable to let go of his endearing grin. Your head finds its way back into the crevice of his neck, finding home in it once again, like second nature.

“That’s because you are the only person in my world.”

“We beg to differ.”

Minho could only roll his eyes at the eerily synchronized voices of Jisung and Seungmin, leaving you to crumble into fits of laughter. He scoffs before replying, “If I lose my beloved darling, then you guys are losing an actor.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be trying to salvage your relationship if you stopped being such a shit boyfriend!” Jisung bites back at Minho’s threat.

“What, so you would rather watch us be all lovey-dovey in front of you? I didn’t take you for that kind of person, Jisung.”

“Seungmin, he’s fighting me again!”

“What am I, your mom?”

The night continued on in blissful laughter and amused smiles, finally fitting for the season of spring. Even with the chilled breeze of the evening air, the warmth exuding from the four of you would remain, defrosting the ice you had layered on your heart for the scene given to you. Deep in your mind, you knew that this was really how your night was supposed to go.

That as much as you loved creating little scenarios for your friends’ films, you’d always prefer the life you had after the curtain falls.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu

sorry for anyone tagged that didn't want to be !! i used my old mastertag from a year ago for this fic. i'll be creating a new one soon, so kindly just tell me if you want to be included still 🤍

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silverskye13 · 8 months

Text

Tha-thump

We considered ourselves to be a people of power. At least, that's what the story-tellers say. They say a lot of things that, for all their wisdom, the new generation of this world considers to be folly. They say their parents, and their parent's parents, lived it. They say the memory of the fall is fresh.They say we see only what remains, the ashes of wonders. We were a people of power, and our hands destroyed the world.

There is a tapestry in the old city hall which shows a skyline of ice-capped mountains, the knees and jaws of the world. What remains is only a few scattered hills and an empty sky.

There is an old, cracked mosaic in the church, which shows gods and their diadems and boons. The colors are faded, and the gilding stripped for it's use in trade. The gods are unnamed and forgotten. They say our people killed them, before they killed everything else.

There is a mouth where the mountains once stood.

Tha-thump

We considered ourselves to be a people of power, and we must have been, to leave so many footprints on the earth. I have watched as I walked by the river, as the impressions of my passing faded with each sweep of the water's path. But the river leads to a city, whose broken pillars and towers just like the ribs of dragons. Colors I have seen nowhere else on earth linger there, underneath bleached timbers and cracked stones, dyes we can no longer make with nature's bounty, with a brightness that burns the eyes. Pinks and purples more vibrant than violets, blues like crying stars, and greens like spider venom, puddle in the ruins. The blood of a culture whose eyes were lost between the generations somewhere.

There is ice in the vaults of the earth, pointed shards which blacken the fingers that clutch them.

Tha-thump

There is a place where the old world, with it's old dead gods, and it's vibrant blood still flows. There is a maw in the mountains that breathes, and great eyeless windows which stare, rain-streaked balconies leering icicle fangs at any who dare approach. There is a great citadel, with vaulted hauls, and a living, beating, heart. There is a graveyard where the spirits of the hands that built it sleep, and there are the monsters they made to guard it. There is a frozen throat, and a treacherous maze, and a burning dark. There is a malice which riots against the idea of the living, of a world that moves on without it, and a culture which forgets.

There is a holy place where slain gods dropped pieces of their power, defiled by the hubris of those that buried them alive.

Tha-thump

There is a citadel on the horizon where the mountains once stood, built from the bones and knees of the world. It is a dungeon, a maze, a gateway, a crossroads. It is a place that the storytellers fear, a place that my generation watches like some creeping, stalking thing waiting to pounce in the night, as though watching might keep it at bay. There is a holy place, a powerful place, and a gift of wisdom that sings, even as it's tainted heart rails against any sound that breaks it's solitude. It calls to the brave, to the foolish, to the desperate. To the curious. There is a mouth in the broken ground where the mountains once stood that screams.

We considered ourselves to be a people of power. This place is our message to all that hear it. This place is not a place of honor. No great deed is remembered here. What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us, and it gets stronger the deeper you delve. The center of all danger is here, below us. The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours. The danger is to the body, and it can kill. This place is best shunned and left to rot.

At least, that's what the story-tellers say. They say their parents, and their parent's parents, lived it. They say the memory of the fall is fresh. They say we will die like their parents, and their parent's parents, if we, too, enter in.

They say a lot of things that, for all their wisdom, the new generation of this world considers to be folly.

Tha-thump

The dungeon is ready for its next victim

Tha-thump

#the barking writer #hermitcraft #tangotek #decked out 2 #decked out #im not allowed to start a new longfic but if i were.................

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shintin · 6 months

Text

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

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

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

Word count: +11 k.

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

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

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

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

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

Back to masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But wait!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn't do this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

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

"Satoru…"

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

"Satoru!"

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

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

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

"SATORU."

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

"Satoru."

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

"Satoru."

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

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

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

"Satoru."

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

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

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

"Satoru…"

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

"Satoru."

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

"Satoru."

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

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

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

"Sa…toru."

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

"Satoru…"

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

"Satoru?"

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

…

"Okay. It's—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All that mattered was this.

This.

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

Oh, My!

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

Again.

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

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

You used to love this, remember?

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

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

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

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if this was a dream?

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

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

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

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

And you took your time.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck! You were full of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about your students?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disclaimers:

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

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

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