#convalescence au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fuckingloginwall · 1 year

Text

✎ Creation

✴ Convalescence✧And✦Corpses

—☵☵☰☰☰☵☵—

There exist two timelines. Two timelines where Teyvat hosts it's Creator. Two timelines where they are little more than mortal.

Both of them await the return of their divinity as they tremble under the obsession of their creations. Both of them enact the same choices. Neither of them reflect the other to perfection.

Despite their differences, nothing seems to change.

—☵☵☰☰☰☵☵—

⌡ 🔏 Heed my warnings oh Reader from Faraway, for the innards of this tale may leave you less than pleased ⌠

⌡ 🔏 Your death, Genocide, Human sacrifice, Xenophobia, Captivity, Obsessive behavior, Cults, and Religious themes mingle within this fable, so do beware of the contents before you open up ⌠

⌡ 🔏 If I have failed to caution thee against other horrors in this work, or have been far to vague, just let me know so . . . ⌠

—☵☵☰☰☰☵☵—

What ̷̣̹͉̞̊ ̵̧̟͉͊ ̵̣͚́ ̸̡̲̃̅̑̊ ̵̹̼̳́̌̉̈́ ̴̡͕̔̌͆̚ ̷͍̝̇̓͒̉ ̴͕̟̯̜̕T̵̩̒͐ͅë̵͉̊y̶̤͖̒v̸͙̲́a̷͖͋̏t̴̫̭͊͒ ̸̨̤͖͙̑́ ̶̼̔ ̴̭̬̳͚̎̊̋ ̸̖̀͛ ̵̅̓̈́̌ ̶͕͉͈̮̔̔ could only call the highest form of Divinity once gazed at an Earth; its endless creatures, cultures and creations. Such a lush world brought light to a seed, germinating into a Wish of the highest form.

A Wish to cultivate a world as flourishing, empyrean—no, more glorious than the Muse.

And create such a world the Newfound Creator did.

✧ But the Act of Creation was not without consequences . . .

✦ Reveling in creation, sweat and tears met disregard . . .

✧ Divinity so small, so limited unlike the greats of the Earth . . .

✦ And not even Divinity can escape their own sins . . .

✧ If not for the craving to see the fruit of their cultivation, this world would be their corpse . . .

✦ The Divinity's body demanded hibernation to remain, but their soul howled to stay awake so as to revere and bear witness to their ̷̣̹͉̞̊ ̵̧̟͉͊ ̵̣͚́ ̸̡̲̃̅̑̊ ̵̹̼̳́̌̉̈́ ̴̡͕̔̌͆̚ ̷͍̝̇̓͒̉ ̶͕͉͈̮̔̔T̵̩̒͐ͅë̵͉̊y̶̤͖̒v̸͙̲́a̷͖͋̏t̴̫̭͊͒ ̵̹̼̳́̌̉̈́ ̴̡͕̔̌͆̚ ̷͍̝̇̓͒̉ ̴͕̟̯̜̕ ̴̝̑̆̕ ̸̨̤͖͙̑́ ̶̼̔ ̴̭̬̳͚̎̊̋ ̸̖̀͛ ̵̡̲̗̅̓̈́̌ ̶͕͉͈̮̔̔ . . .

✧ Instead, The Divinity became little more than mortal, with only stardust flowing through their veins showing their holiness . . .

✦ Thus, The Divinity crafted an ageless body, mortal just like those of ̷͍̝̇̓͒̉ ̴͕̟̯̜̕ ̴̝̑̆̕ ̸̨̤͖͙̑́ ̶̼̔ ̴̭̬̳͚̎̊̋ ̸̖̀͛ ̶͕͉͈̮̔̔T̵̩̒͐ͅë̵͉̊y̶̤͖̒v̸͙̲́a̷͖͋̏t̴̫̭͊͒ ̷̣̹͉̞̊ ̵̧̟͉͊ ̵̣͚́ ̸̡̲̃̅̑̊ ̵̹̼̳́̌̉̈́ to bask in their P r i d e and J o y . . .

Here we stand, crafted from, standing on, breathing the flesh, the lifeblood, the everything of Our Creator. They've given up oh so much for us, so that we may bask under the heat of their sun, wish upon their starlight, and live our lives.

What are we if not their most holy children? Their scions. Even mere mortals could cull Our Creator where they stand.

But as the loyal, filial children we are, we must show our thankfulness, our worship, and above all else, our L O V E to The Creator. We would be nothing without them.

We hold one, singular mission:

Protect Their Grace, mortal as they stand.

✧ . . . Divinity gone and spent . . .

✦ . . . A comatose body . . .

From the Dawn of Our Completion, to the Midnight of Ascendance, Our Creator by night and day recovers their power, so slowly that we all dread that once Midnight has come, none will be left to witness their

A S C E N T

We dread Their Grace will not remain to ascend.

For Our Creator who could never bear to see our starlight extinguished, for we who can never bear having Divinity perish whilst under our care, a sacrifice will be made for the good of us all.

Traitors of Our Creator, the Underground Heresy, refused to serve Divinity, who gave them life, the world, a reason to march towards another day, even as all seemed hopeless. For this, they were marked for eternal death, bound to the Abyss, until the Midnight of Ascension Came and Their Grace judged their souls.

✦ But Our Creator learned of our offer and at last raged . . .

✧ The remains of retribution were brought to The Divinity, lifeblood to flow through their veins, but the sacrifice was met with screams, despair, and c o n d e m n a t i o n . . .

✦ They would not have blood spilled in their name, traitors offered at their feet, "the joy of creation concluding with the grief of annihilation . . . "

. . . no . . .

. . . NO!!!!!!!!

This wasn't how it was supposed to go . . .

We love you! We worship you!

Why was serving you a sin? What did we do wrong?

Our Creator rejected the offer in whole, instead regarding their us with scorn. No matter what we did, whatever favor we held with Their Grace had been lost forever, all because of the Underground Heresy.

But a contract between The Creator and Gods was made . . .

"I wish to revisit my muse, to see how far it has come. I will bask in its eminence, and in turn spread the word of my Creation, from the greatest feats to the most depraved genocides. My stay will last until every soul has heard of my people unless circumstances out of my control force otherwise. Lastly, I will grant thee eyes, to witness the spread of knowledge, the awareness that ̷̣̹̊ ̵̡̲̗̅̓̈́̌ ̶̶͕͉͈̮͕͉͈̮̔̔̔̔T̵̩̒͐ͅë̵͉̊y̶̤͖̒v̸͙̲́a̷͖͋̏t̴̫̭͊͒ ̷̣̹͉̞̊ ̵̧̟͉͊ exists. Those are my conditions."

We cheered for Our Creator trusted us again. Trusted us to witness the birth of new worship.

And witness we did.

Awe at their descent and blood . . .

Faces full of wonder . . .

Failure to care for Divinity . . .

Their Grace perished to the pestilence of their Muse, the land merely meant to be the beginning was instead their end. They were repaid with the most glorious funeral the Emperor could arrange, but even if the entire Muse was at the Empire's finger tips, it would never be worthy of The Divinity. Not when their disease killed Their Grace.

From then on the land Divinity last touched would spread tales of Our Creator, expanding the knowledge of Their Grace, but the Gospel was reduced to bedtime stories told to the children of few families.

There was vitriol towards these families, keeping the words of Divinity all too themselves, seeing them as but more than Fairytales, for denying their obligation of Worship to Their Grace.

But there too was gratefulness for keeping the memories of Our Creator alive in the world who owes them everything for their death.

✧ Desperate to not end up like the Muse—without Our Creator and their glory reduced to mere fantasie—each and every soul was to be educated on their holiness, ensuring that this wisdom shone upon all of Teyvat.

✦ Desperate to not end up like the Muse—Our Creator's holy corpse being all we had left—we sentenced the Underground Heresy to eternal sacrifice, in prayer that they would return to Their Grace and give them the strength to resurrect and return to us.

If one day, the Earth was to be judged, may Their Grace come to forgive these families, for never forgetting Divinity.

That was our belief until the most recent descendents, those who shared the memories, came together one by one under the name of miHoYo. Learning of their shared knowledge, strived to build an imitation of T̵̩̒͐ͅë̵͉̊y̶̤͖̒v̸͙̲́a̷͖͋̏t̴̫̭͊͒ which would spread across the whole world . . .

Another split. Do we give thanks to miHoYo, for reviving the mission of basking the Earth in The Creator's magnum opus? Or do we criticize them for reducing it all to profit and entertainment for the masses, lending credit for the makings of T̵̩̒͐ͅë̵͉̊y̶̤͖̒v̸͙̲́a̷͖͋̏t̴̫̭͊͒ all to the mortals instead The Divinity?

That decision was not made by Their Grace, nor we, but miHoYo. miHoYo, who dared to defile the Muse's view of T̵̩̒͐ͅë̵͉̊y̶̤͖̒v̸͙̲́a̷͖͋̏t̴̫̭͊͒ for monetary gain, annihilating the belief of countless denizens in the glory of Our Creator!

Their depiction of the fourth chosen nation, Sumeru, butchered our faith in the Earth.

Their Grace had been mistaken to revisit the Muse . . .

There was only one act miHoYo had done right, and it was reconnecting us with The Divinity. Reborn a human, they lost all memories of their history, and we hadn't even learned of their rebirth until they too learned of Genshin Impact.

Although our pale imitation was a mockery, Our Creator latched onto it, coming to rediscover and fall in love with us all over again.

"I wish Teyvat was real . . . "

Soon Your Grace . . . We will be reunited . . .

—☵☵☰☰☰☵☵—

What the fuck just happened?

Glad you asked, I'll explain and go further into detail about the lore!

Creator/Reader, Pre-Rebirth

The ✧Stars✦ signify what timeline I'm talking about, the Convalescence✧Timeline or the Corpse✦Timeline.

Planet Earth being the Reader's muse is my explanation for how Earth and Teyvat shares so much in common despite being different planets. Just like Real World HoYoverse, Reader took ideas from Earth to make Teyvat here.

Anyways, it took a lot out of Reader to create Teyvat, making a whole universeis taxing and they weren't all-powerful. They used nearly all their powers and essence forming their existence to make Teyvat, but how they used those powers differed in both timelines. That, or Corpse!Reader is stronger/has more power.

As a result, Conval!Reader almost ceases to exist while Corpse!Reader's body just needs to hibernate. Different approaches are taken by The Creator to dodge this. In Conval' they used what remains of their divine powers to become a mortal, with their blood showing otherwise. In Corpses they made a mortal body to placed their soul in it, rendering their divine form a corpse, since uh, that body has no soul.

This does not stop that body from rejuvenating it's powers, in time, the body will be fit to wake up again, and Reader can put their soul back in. Their body still won't be back at full strength anytime soon though.

The Cult is in possession of Reader's divine body in Corpses.

Conval!Reader steadily regains their power, plain and simple, just much more sluggishly than Corpse.

Conval!Reader's body is mortal, so the rate it can regenerate their divinity is gonna be hampered by that, but Corpses Reader's divine body is still divine, so it recovers faster whilst in stasis.

In both timelines, Reader's divine powers take a long fucking time to recover, not only because they were almost all spent creating an entire planet, with gods, demons, magic, and other jazz, but because divine powers and divinity (at least on Reader's scale) takes a long time to recover in general. Reader's ability was pushed to it's limits making a whole universe.

The Midnight of Ascendance (fully recovery of divine abilities) is far, far away from now.

While only Corpse!Reader's body doesn't age, neither can die by natural causes.

The Creator can get almost the entirety of their spent divinity back by destroying their whole creation and absorbing the divinity it was made from, but the Creator will never choose to do this, and the reasons differ from reader to reader.

Conval!Reader learns of Khaenri'ah's genocide after the deed is done and dead bodies among stolen items are presented to them for absorption. Of course the Creator is livid at their cult, refuses to interact with them, and refuses to absorb the remnants of Khaenri'ah.

Corpse!Reader learns of the planned genocide before it happens and shuts it down real fucking quick. Of course, after regaining their memories, they're gonna regret not putting in contracts that put a full stop to any genocides completely.

As for why they left to Planet Earth? The Cataclysm or plans for it was the Creator's final straw, they need to break away from their cult badly. Even if only temporarily. What better escape than the Muse? Their inspiration for their lovingly made world, their world that became their cage? They to need to remember why they made a personal hell full of victims for their Cult again.

As for how they manage to convince their Cult to let them go alone? idk about that one either, I'm scratching my head at it too

The Cult

As you may have guessed, this is written from the POV of a very, obsessive cult, specifically the Celestia-led sect. Unreliable narration is woven into the text.

And the Creator is unfortunate enough to not only be the centerpiece of their religion, but powerless as well. The Cult will frequently deny the Creator autonomy, put words in their mouth, "speak for them" and believe themselves the Highest Order of Worshippers.

Also the Celestial Cult of The Creator is very delusional. They straight up called their genocide of Khaenri'ah "love" for the Creator and asked themselves why said "love" was a sin, as if they didn't massacre an entire people.

The Creator has little say in even their own personal life. They can eat what they want, dress how they want, pursue interests yes, but the places they can and cannot go, people they may interact with, and any changes they want bring to the world, is restricted/banned by Celestia.

So they also have little control over their own influence and interaction with Teyvat.

Celestia's Cult says they love the Creator and act in their name, but they don't. The Celestial Gods act in their own interests, and are merely obsessed with the Creator, obsessed with their status and advantages it brings being close to them, or see them as nothing more than a tool just like Religions involving the Creator.

The Creator, little more than mortal, can only give Celestia so much influence. But a more powerful one who accepts sacrifice to rejuvinate their divinity and preform miracles? Miracles that could outshine Celestia's once the bodies start piling? That'll get the people under them and willing to give up their lives, and what better sacrifice to start off with than those who do not follow the Sacred Texts? They're no real loss to Teyvat!

Conval' and Corpse make a scene of Celestia's massacre or plans for it respectively. For once it works in favor of the Creator. It spreads that Celestia has enraged the Creator, acted or planned against them, and Celestia's influence over the people plummets.

It's why Celestia has little fuss against the Contract. They need the Creator's favor back, their influence back. Letting the Creator have their way for once will "prove" that they aren't tyrannical and the likes. Plus the faiths of Teyvat will spread across a whole 'nother world, including the faith of Celestia!

The Creator's death is bad because their pawn is gone for an indefinate amount of time so they can do little to manipulate a grieving Teyvat, and they can only watch as their own religions wither away.

On the plus side for them, they can use their death to convince Teyvat that the Creator is best left locked away kept safe if once they come back. Look! The minute the Creator left our protections they perished! Do you see why the mission of protecting the Creator is oh so preached?

While the Creator is away, they shall shape Teyvat as they see fit and present it's new state to them.

Celestia seeks to control Teyvat to it's entirety, and uses the beloved Creator to do so.

What will they do once they have it under control? idk maybe start a Celestial war since the gods could have clashing agendas.

The name Teyvat is all messed in the text because the actual name of the whole planet/universe was scratched out. Teyvat is a continent, not the whole planet. This reigion, particulary Celestia's Cult is keeping the Creator all to themselves.

Also there's more Cults dedicated to the Creator than Celestia's but only their sect is relevant here.

Also Celestia heavily curates/manipulates what the Creator is told of the world outside of their cage and what the public knows of the Creator.

Outside of the Celestia's Cult or even within it.

Teyvat of the Corpse Timeline might not even know about their God doing the whole body-changing, or that the true divine body that's comatose. They might think that the Creator's body is weak and became mortal just like the Convalescence timeline.

They also don't know their real blood color. Some people think they bleed gold, others think they bleed starlight or the night sky, depends on who you ask. Some think their tears are those colors or even their eyes. Other potray them as having inhuman features since it's the Creator.

Those who ascend to godhood and thus Celestia are beneath the hierarchy imposed by the first generation of Celestial Gods as a whole, aka those who founded the Cult.

Planet Earth, The Muse

To escape Celestia and live without them dictating their every step, a contract was made.

According to its terms, the Creator would walk all of Earth to view it's progress. Not only that, but they would tell the world of everything they knew about Teyvat, and not leave until the tales reaches everyone's ears.

Additionally, should anybody discuss, write, draw, look at, etc., anything related to Teyvat in any shape or form, they'll see it through themselves through the person's eyes. This excludes thinking going up in the head. This ability is refered to as Eyes.

This includes Genshin Impact, being based off of the Creator's tales of Teyvat. Oh boy are the divine going to be in for a surprise when their Eyes suddenly explode in what they can see. They'll be going through it for days!

Every single God in Teyvat gets these Eyes. All of them.

You know how Reader was isolated? You know how isolation leads to ignorance about the world? Lack of exposure to infections especially with Deities with powers™️ to keep themselves clean of illness 24/7, hoarding them all the time?

Earth and Teyvat being different worlds will have different infections, infections the Creator's already inexperience immune system has no experience with. Fun!

So the Creator descends onto Earth, specifically on China during an era when they had Empires, I imagine, and after proving their divinity with their blood, they tell every story they can of Teyvat and have fun exploring Earth!

Maybe they can do actual divine tricks to if this is the Conval' timeline. Corpse!Reader's divinity is stuck in the comatose body up in Celestia still.

But that all changed when the Viral Nation attacked

Creator gets done in 6-feet-under by Earth's diseases, but silver lining in that they shot up so high in status thanks to just their blood, the current Emperor himself arranged their funeral!

With no weakened Deity with divine blood to prove the validity of their godly existance or Creations, the stories spread, yes, but they dwindle in popularity and memory.

Only a few families continue telling these stories of a Foreign God Fallen To Our World's Plague.

Cut to modern day and Reader's divine soul has reincarnated them onto Earth as a human. No memories or special blood, so life is normal.

Around the same time, miHoYo is formed. Be it one, two, or all three of the founders, or employees under them, staff of the company come to realize that "hey, all of our families told us the same stories as kids (with differences here and there), why not make a game based off of them?"

They make the game. Teyvat was split on how miHoYo got all the credit for their Creator's crafts, others applauded them for striving to complete what the Reader began whilst making it fun in the form of a game.

Then Sumeru happened and yeah, everyone was against them just like that.

In Celestia's case, what little tolerance they held for miHoYo vanished. In their eyes they were only good for reintroducing Teyvat to Earth and reestablishing the Creator's love for Teyvat.

But how can that happen when they're presented with such misintepretation of the real thing?

So uh, yeah, Genshin Impact is not a 1:1 depiction of the real Teyvat by a longshot. Teyvat's Sumeru is dirastically different from Genshin Impact's, as are other aspects between the two.

Celestia and some others obsessed with or devoted to the creator do not fucking like Earth, especially China where the Creator died.

Sorry China.

But Celestia still takes advantage of all the fucky wuckies going on over there.

miHoYo failed to properly potray Teyvat, and that company is within the same country their God-to-trump-all-Gods died in? The high emotions this event will stir are going to be used by Celestia manipulate Teyvat and reelevate their positions in the eyes of the people, rallying them under their faith and the Creator faith.

Perhaps even sway Earth's populace to their side should a gateway between two worlds ever be established

If the events of Genshin Impact are unconnected to the actual Teyvat, what's going on up there?

IDK, maybe the devs of Genshin Impact who got told stories of the Creator somehow got some of the Creator's divinity? Like after death, somebody had to hold onto the teeny tiny godhood and what better than the families bothering to remember the faith?

Once Genshin Impact gets worked on, the divinity activates (maybe cuz of Reader's rebirth) and those devs can now see into Teyvat to see wtf is going on like seers. But they think it's their imagination like their actual imagination.

Course they ignore some visions for monetary or other reasons.

But why wouldn't it stay in the Reader's soul and new body? Cuz too much Divinity isn't good for a pure human body w/ no experience w/ holding magic cuz Earth has none of it? So spreading it out across multiple people is the best choice it can make?

Or maybe they're not special and are coming up with whatever they can based on the stories of Teyvat meaning Reader will be wholly unprepared once they end up in actual Teyvat since it's nothing like Genshin Impact. The characters, the cultures, the timeline? Totally different!

I'm stumped here.

All that is certain is that Genshin Impact has no supernatural connection to Teyvat. Everything is working as intended. No vessels no nothing.

Even if Teyvat doesn't like Genshin Impact, some Allogenes maybe try to use their Genshin counterpart being favored by the Reader as a "checkmate" sometimes, or take advantage of it.

Time dialation may or may not be inconsistent between timelines as Conval' came to Earth at a much later Teyvatian date then Corpse. Or is it the Earthan date that differs? Hmmmm . . .

Yeah that's about it, if you wanna send an ask or submission, go on ahead.

Also if anything I wrote was in poor taste or mishandled, please let me know and tell me exactly how I fucked up. I don't want to hurt anyone with my writing nor do I want to mishandle delicate topics. Knowing where I went wrong will help me big time in avoiding those mistakes in the future.

#✎ My Creations #✎ creation✧convalescence #✎ creation✦corpses #✎ Creation✴Twin Timelines #GICAU #Genshin Impact Cult AU #reader insert #gender neutral reader #tw reader death #tw genocide #tw human sacrifice #tw xenophobia #tw captivity #tw obsessive behavior #tw cults #tw religious themes

11 notes · View notes

saintobio · 3 months

Text

sincerely yours. (9)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. profanity, usage of alcohol, mentions of cheating, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationship, explicit smut

series masterlist -> episode ten

Satoru had a major problem.

And it was his self-control. His lack of self-control was the reason he had engaged himself in an adulterous relationship back when he was married. His lack of self-control was the reason why you had become the recipient of his unreasonable anger in the early stages of your marriage. His lack of self-control was the reason why, out of all the women in the world, he was now sleeping with a friend of yours. For God’s sake, his lack of self-control was probably the reason why you were also pushed to your limits, choosing to cut your marital ties with him and leaving only the scraps of his role as a parent to Sachiro.

Back when he was attending his weekly therapy sessions, his therapist told him that part of what he needed to learn was to control his impulses, resist temptations, and actively exercise his willpower. They were easier to achieve then than now, since he was the loneliest man at the time with no friends, no wife, no son, and no bustling company to run. His decisions remained untainted, his temptations unchallenged, his emotions uninfluenced—a solitary journey at its finest. He was all by himself. How come? It was because he was sent by his mom to Osaka to temporarily seclude him from his harrowing memories in Tokyo, compelling him to sever ties with the outside world and immerse solely in personal convalescence. Reflecting now, it felt no different than being sent to a psychiatric hospital.

He could say it worked at the time. He learned how to keep his emotions at bay. He learned how to control his thoughts, throwing away the bad and keeping only the good. He was a new man by the time he returned to Tokyo, prepared as ever to take on his role as the Chairman of the Gojou Group, ready to once again try and live a normal life. But the moment news had spread about his ex-wife's marriage to his business rival, all the self-control he had painstakingly cultivated seemed to have evaporated in an instant.

Everything also went downhill after that.

He wasn’t going to list down all of the things that happened nor the impact it had on him since you yourself were a witness to them. But if he was going to look at the way your return has changed the trajectory of his life 3 years after you first left, he would still at a hundred percent put all the blame on his shoulders. None of this domino effect would end up like this if he had been a faithful and loving husband in the first place. The pressure from his father was not the only root of all this, the branches also extended to his corporate greed which ultimately ruined his chance at a fruitful marriage with you.

But at least, the chaos should have settled by now. You chose to move forward and he decided to respect your decision by finding his way to another. This should free you both from the emotional torture that had you imprisoned in each other's cage for the longest time. He would still be there for you as the father of your child, but otherwise, he was happy that you had Toji Zen’in by your side to fill in the marital gaps that he had failed to complete.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. The warm water fell on his body in rivulets, soaking him completely so early in the morning as he decided to take a long shower. For how long? He couldn’t tell. He could stay there for hours if need be. He had to let his mind wander on its own, with a hand pressed against the wall, and another stroking his white hair back. Despite accepting the fact that Toji now owned your love and affection… well, wasn’t that son of a gun too lucky? Did he even realize that the woman he would marry was once Satoru’s entire universe?

Ah, but who cares? Satoru scoffed inwardly, leaning his head back to let the water hit his face. He had Akemi, so why did it matter if you had Toji? He wasn’t bitter. He was just trying to reason with himself that you deserved to be with someone you really, truthfully loved. And he deserved that, too. Maybe not now, but at the perfect time, he could relive the life of a married man after learning from his mistakes the hard way. A much better one. A married man who would never in his life betray, hurt, or ruin his partner. A doting husband who would offer his whole life just to make her happy. He promised to himself that Akemi should have that kind of man from him.

Though, he could ask himself, how far was he from achieving that? He did practice his self-control last night when joined you in the pool—his face, inches away from you. Hand gripping your hip. Eye-to-eye. Skin-to-skin. Your warm breath fanning his cheek. Just another step forward and your lips would touch. But he didn’t let that happen. He mustered all of his power to pull back from the gravity that was drawing him closer to you. Still, he couldn’t deny that you looked absolutely gorgeous last night. As the moonlight illuminated your face, he could swear that the stars also sparkled on your eyes. They must be from the tears you were desperately holding back, but either way, you were still so goddamn beautiful. He almost couldn’t keep his eyes off you last night and had to distract himself from looking at your lips, your collarbone, your chest, your curves…

“Fuck.”

Talk about self-control.

Satoru had none of that right now. His body reacted involuntarily to the thought of you last night. The sensual thought of you. The what-ifs.

What if he had wrapped your legs around his waist and enveloped your lips into a passionate kiss?

He took a deep breath, still holding onto the wall as his other hand traveled to his growing member.

What if he had carried you all the way into the living room and laid you naked on the couch?

Closing his eyes, his hand started moving on its own, stroking his hardened cock and feeling every ridge as he pleasured himself.

What if you had let him devour you? Let him roll his tongue on your entrance and taste your sweet, sweet flesh?

Gojou let out a moan. A quiet yet desperate moan when he continued to jerk himself off faster and rougher. Damn it. He had to keep it low and he better not be heard committing such a sin in the bathroom. Although, he was confident that you were still sound asleep next to Sachiro in your bedroom, so he didn't think you would hear the noise he was making.

After all, it was shameless to know what was driving his feral thoughts right now. Thoughts of you letting him slide his tip along your entrance. Thoughts of him ramming his cock inside your tight cunt, being squeezed by your soft, velvet walls. Thoughts of your breasts bouncing wildly as he continued to hit your most sensitive spot. Fuck. Faster. He would have taken you on all fours, too. He would have let you ride his hardened shaft. He would have pressed you against the sofa and put your legs above his shoulders, letting you milk his cock with the tightness of your cunt. Satoru would release his warm seed into you in every position. He would shoot every drop of his cum straight to your womb, no doubt impregnating you for the second time around. He would absolutely love that. He would love seeing the residues of his wanton desire for you seeping out of your pussy. He would be at bliss watching your belly grow a few months after that, knowing that he had created yet another beautiful life inside of you.

“Y/N…”

Awakened by his senses, Satoru opened his eyes and saw the sticky white mess on his hand and on the wall. What the hell did he just do? More importantly, what the hell was he thinking of?

No one should know about that. Not you, not even Akemi. He didn’t cheat on her, no. He didn’t do anything with you. That shouldn’t be counted as cheating. He didn’t even touch you. And he wasn't even officially dating Akemi.

No, no…

Absolutely not.

Drowning into a pool of guilt, the first thing he did after that sinful shower session was to contact his supposed girlfriend not-girlfiend. And to make things even more awkward, you entered the kitchen in silence at the right time, carrying a sleepy Sachiro in your arms, unaware of the dilemma that was sending your ex-lover into a spiral.

“Morning,” he greeted almost inaudibly, clearing his throat and taking a sip of coffee afterwards. He had to think straight.

“Morning,” was your simple and oblivious reply as you went about your daily morning routine.

Gojou, on the other hand, was typing on his phone because Akemi wasn’t answering his FaceTime calls. He had completely forgotten to update her all day because he had been a little bit too occupied the moment he landed in America. She must be overthinking why he hadn’t reached out to her until now, and he felt extremely awful and responsible for that, but she couldn’t be fast asleep that early, right? It was 7:00 a.m. in New York, so that meant it was only 9:00 p.m. back home.

He nervously rang her number once more, mumbling a ‘please answer’ as he watched her caller ID appear on the screen.

“Dada,” called Sachiro, looking at him as his mother sat him on the high chair to prepare his breakfast.

Still holding his phone, Satoru walked to his son and placed a gentle kiss on his tiny forehead. “Morning, Sachi. Did you sleep well?”

The toddler nodded at him, drinking milk from the baby bottle that he was holding with both hands. His eyes were wide and blue—quite the same hues of blue that would remind you of a clear sky. Satoru couldn’t help but pinch his adorable son’s cheeks.

And while you were busy picking out food from the pantry, Akemi finally answered his call after the fourth attempt and showed her beautiful, soft features on the screen. His eyes immediately lit up at the sight of her. “Hey, how are you?”

He could tell she was still a bit distant and upset because of what happened two weeks ago, when she claimed to have heard him say your name during his sleep. He already made an excuse for it as he also didn’t know why he even did it in the first place, but Akemi was still understandably hurt. He couldn’t blame her.

“I’m fine, how are you?” she tiredly asked, seemingly heading towards her bed. “I just got home from work, that's why I wasn’t answering.”

He could see, in the corner of his eyes, that you were glancing at him but he didn’t return it. All of his focus was on Akemi, feeling bad that he hadn’t exactly been a good partner for her lately. Especially after the shit he just did in the shower this morning, but that was a secret that was meant to be buried. “Alright, did you have dinner already? It’s morning here so I’m having breakfast.”

She offered a small smile albeit the visible exhaustion on her eyes. “I did. How’s Sachiro doing?”

“You wanna see him?” He walked closer to his son, showing him on the screen as his big blue eyes stared at the woman on the other end of the line. “Sachi, say hi to Auntie ‘Kemi.”

“Hiii~” Sachiro happily greeted Akemi, while the latter cooed at the sight of his son. She spoke to him with a gentle and motherly tone, weaving warmth and love into her words. It made his heart full knowing that Akemi would wholeheartedly treat his child as her own, because if there was a slight possibility that she wouldn’t, she knew that Satoru would rather let her go. His child was still more important than any other woman. And so if his future partner couldn’t accept the fact that he had a child with his ex-wife, then they shouldn’t be in his life after all. The case was different with Akemi because she was already your friend and she had the chance to see Sachiro grow up before Gojou even knew his son existed at all. It was a bit complicated, but things turned out to be easier on the part of acceptance.

The only problem was you.

Because by the time the call ended, Satoru could tell that you weren’t in the best mood as you ate breakfast next to Sachiro in complete silence. Your eyebrows were curled into annoyance, and yet your eyes held sadness in them, an expression that had become difficult for him to fathom. Were you jealous of Akemi? He assumed you would say no, but your expressions showed otherwise.

“Y/N,” he called for your attention, hoping that you would look into his eyes for a little bit. Yet, not a chance did you do. “What’s our agenda for today?”

You seemed irritated, if anything. You refused to look at him as you gave a curt reply. “I communicated everything you needed to know via email. You should have checked it instead of letting Miwa do everything for you.”

Jeez. You were definitely angry. “Okay.” He cleared his throat once more. “I just asked in case there was a last minute change.”

“There isn’t. I would have said so if there is.”

“Right.”

Satoru didn’t know how to act in front of his ex-wife anymore. Now that he had seemed to ignite your pique, he chose not to say anything else further as you two finished your meals and cleaned up after yourselves. The only time he spoke again was when he offered to bathe Sachiro so that you could focus on yourself.

You agreed.

And he did his part.

It was simple give-and-take. A transactional relationship, if you must. Nothing else would blossom from that except your responsibilities as parents for Sachiro.

——

The New York trip was already as awkward as it was. And it only just started.

To be fair, it wouldn’t have been as uncomfortable if only Gojou had not decided to make it so. He was the one that made the atmosphere unpleasant by trying to savor every inch of closeness he could get to your skin, only to pull away as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t care about how it made you feel. He even had the audacity to lecture you on how to go about being good parents and setting a good example to Sachiro. Then suddenly, the next morning, he would act like such a loyal and caring partner to Akemi.

The thought of his loyalty made you scoff on the inside. He should be the absolute last one to be saying that. He should be the last one to profess how much of a loyal man he was trying to be to his new girl.

Besides, even before this trip was arranged, you had already made it clear on your mind that the sole purpose of going to New York was for Sachiro's sake. Any interaction outside the need to be there for your son would be unnecessary. He wasn’t someone you still needed in your own personal life nor did he need you in his. Your past relationship no longer mattered in this situation and all that was left was for it to be forgotten. But even with your resistance to be anything more than a parent to your son, Satoru still respected you. He still showed, even in little ways, that he cared about your comfort throughout the trip.

Five days had gone by, and everything you did in New York had been smooth sailing, all thanks to his grand number of connections across the USA. In a short amount of time, Sachiro’s surname had been legally changed, and everything else concerning his birth certificate had been corrected. The only issue left to address was your son’s nationality since Japan doesn’t permit dual citizenship and Sachiro would have to carry a Japanese citizenship and the Gojou name to be able to inherit his father’s assets and multinational conglomerate. You would leave that one up for Satoru to deal with, but everything else had been settled on your end.

Although this trip wasn’t exactly a vacation, Gojou insisted that you two still take Sachiro out to explore the city he grew up in. And you did so by going to Central Park, telling your ex-husband stories of how you used to bring Sachiro there in a stroller when he was still a little baby and that plenty of strangers, both locals or tourists, would coo at him the minute they took a peek at his adorable face. You also took him to the Empire State Building to get the best view of the entire New York City, and Satoru being Satoru couldn’t leave without taking a family photo with you and your son, capturing the beautiful urban cityscape behind you. You could see it in his eyes that even though he was happy to be there, he was also melancholic at the same time. Almost three years of his son’s life were spent in this famous city, without him, and it was as though the bitter memories of those three years for him were haunting him back. Sadness was reflecting off of his crystal blue eyes as he took a minute staring at the view of the city, reminding you that you were the reason why he had missed out on his baby’s first memories.

If guilt could literally eat you alive, you would have been devoured.

“Ready to go, Sachi?” Satoru asked your son, tucking his phone away after having (seemingly) sent Akemi a text message, probably updating her of where he was and what he was doing. In fact, he had been texting and calling her every now and then, as if he was doing his best to reassure her that he wasn’t doing any funny business with you. Has Akemi always been a possessive partner? Even with your years of friendship with her, she had never acted that way in her past relationship. So, was she only like that to Satoru specifically? You wondered if she would go nuts had she heard Satoru tell you how badly he wanted to make more babies with you on your first night here.

Sachiro nodded, clinging to your hand while reaching for his father’s. “Dada, hand pwease!”

Satoru did offer his hand, but mirrored the surprise on your face when your son tried to link your fingers together, urging you to hold each other's hands like a couple. You didn’t want to get too offended by it, but your ex-husband was the first one to pull away. “I, uh, made a reservation for us in Carbone,” he said, unable to exchange eye-contact, “Yuuta will meet us there.”

“Oh, he’s in New York?” you asked, pretending you didn’t notice how he acted allergic to your touch and redirected your attention to your son. “Did you hear that, Sachi? Uncle Yuuta will come and see you.”

Your little one was oblivious to the world, too distracted by the throng of people surrounding the place that he didn’t even notice how his parents were uneasy with each other. To say that you didn’t feel bad for your son was a lie, because it actually broke your heart. Even if you and Satoru were working on co-parenting and making sure Sachiro wouldn’t feel the gravity of a broken household, you knew that when he reached the right age, all of this would still have an effect on him. One day, he would still be asking questions about his parents. Questions about why you separated, why your marriage failed, and why you had to move to New York while his father stayed behind. It hurt. Deep inside, it hurt so much to know that your only son wasn’t given the chance to have a complete family and it felt like a failure on your part as his parent.

You were sure that was what Yuuta thought, too. As you met with him at a fancy restaurant in the city, you could see how his face lightened up seeing his nephew bonding with his parents as if it were a family vacation. He must have known what it was like to have a broken household. In fact, he had lived in a toxic one before, but he still grew up to be a mature and dignified young man who never let the horrors of his family’s actions affect his rational thinking. So if there was anyone in the world who would sympathize the most with Sachiro, it would be Yuuta.

“Sachi,” he spoke to your son fondly, wiping the sauce on the toddler’s chin. Yuuta chuckled as he watched the little boy's grimace after being given a small piece of broccoli. “You don’t like vegetables?”

You fixed the bib on your son’s neck. “He does, but he’s very picky with it,” you tell Yuuta, glancing at Satoru who was busy speaking on the phone with Nanami about what appeared to be matters concerning the company. “Wonder where he got it from.”

“Right.” Yuuta’s eyes turned into moon crescents as he smiled. “I remember nii-san being a little picky.”

“You hear that Sachi?” you teased your son, who looked at you with his cute puppy eyes. You knew that if you had the ability to peak through his toddler mind, it would actually be full of fried chicken. The thought made you laugh. “Don’t be like daddy, okay? Sachi needs to have his veggies so he’ll be strong when he grows up.”

“But…” Sachiro pointed to his father. “Dada is stwong.”

Satoru chimed in at the conversation after having finished the call, “That’s right, Dada’s strong. Mommy could barely even handle me.”

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?” You rolled your eyes, while Yuuta wanted to giggle, but chose to hold it back seeing the awkwardness of the situation.

Satoru shrugged and sat on his chair, eyeing the scrumptious dishes that were served to your table. He was acting like he hadn't been served more expensive meals before. “Have you tried the spicy rigatoni before? I heard it’s famous here.”

You casually answered. “Yes. Toji used to bring me here every time he visited.”

Look, you didn’t mean to overshare nor did you mean to make things even more awkward. You also didn’t mean to slap it in his face about how you were spending your years in New York with Toji. But Satoru, with his pride, took it resentfully.

“Oh, really?” His words were the opposite of his voice. He was mirthless and full of unenthusiasm before changing the topic, redirecting his attention to his step-brother instead. “How’s Harvard?”

Yuuta eased the tension by making small talk, sharing details about his university life, and making sure he didn’t contribute to the growing tension. “I’m really just trying to survive this semester so I can go back home as soon as I graduate.” After taking a sip of his Cabernet Blend, he continued, “Like I promised, I’ll help you with the company.”

You were happy, at least, to know that Satoru and Yuuta had fixed their relationship as step-brothers even after the whole incident with Nana, Eula, and their father. What used to be a relationship full of envy and competition finally became one that was full of mutual trust and support. Yuuta deserved that since he never once wished for his brother’s downfall, while Satoru also deserved to have a family member that had his back and helped him with the business without constantly fighting about inheritance. Because technically, Satoru was the sole heir of the Gojou family, and his dad only made it seem as though he would give it to Yuuta to make his own son comply with his orders. Satoru’s dad was controlling in that sense, and that was what led to all of this.

But the present was more important. Things have changed and mistakes have been learned. It was all up to you on how you were going to manage your new life moving forward.

Only, if only things were a little bit different on his side.

——

You had raised your son all by yourself for the last 3 years, so the presence of his father wasn’t really something you were used to for the longest time. How Sachiro acted around other people was solely a reflection of your teachings, discipline, and guidance as his mother. He didn’t really have a paternal figure up until now, and even if Toji was there to support your journey to motherhood, he never fully meddled with your mother-son relationship nor did he act like a replacement to Sachiro’s biological father. He loved him like his own, but respected the fact that the spot was reserved for Satoru. He knew that. He understood that, because he himself experienced raising a child alone without the presence of a mother. And if you asked him, he, too, would not want Megumi to replace the very love that he was supposed to have for his biological mom. Sure, Megumi could love and respect you, but Toji would still want him to save an unnegotiable spot for his mother in his heart. After all, she had birthed him. And in that same way, you had birthed Sachiro and created him with Satoru during your marriage. If there was anyone Sachiro should look up to, it had to be his father.

And quite frankly, the father himself was doing an excellent job.

But then again, remembering how hands-on Satoru was to you during your pregnancy, you never doubted that he would be a good parent. He may not be a perfect husband, but he loved his child with all of his heart and soul, and he would risk it all just to keep him happy.

It was new to you how, throughout the trip, you didn’t have to take care of Sachiro alone. You and Satoru helped each other harmoniously, attending to your toddler’s needs and making sure he was being prioritized. You were glad. Truly. You were grateful to see that he wasn’t an absent father and that his words weren’t empty when he promised you that he would be a responsible dad to him.

Though, at the back of your mind, you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he welcomed another child in this world? A child that didn’t come from you? Deep inside, it hurt you to imagine him neglecting Sachiro on the side the minute he welcomed a new baby with Akemi. The reality was, the father would always prioritize the child of the current wife, not the child of the ex-wife. He would still support him, sure. But would he still pay the same level of attention that he was giving Sachiro now? You would probably break in half if Sachiro was thrown to the agonizing realm of feeling like an outsider in his own family because no child deserved that. If Satoru had that experience first-hand, he should not subject his own son to that same feeling.

You would be selfish to say this, but you wanted to seize the opportunity while Sachiro was still his only son. Hiding him from his father was your fault—you had gone through that a million times and you weren’t shy at holding yourself accountable through that mistake. However, you were already doing your best to make amends and make up for the years Sachiro had missed around his father. He was Satoru’s first and only child, and therefore he should never fight for his father’s affection. You weren’t sure what Satoru’s long term plans with Akemi were, but if they were considering having their own children someday, you would never allow your son to be pushed back at the bottom of the family tree.

Sachiro was the true first-born son of Satoru. He should never have to fight for his position in his father's eyes.

And so on the night of your flight back to Japan, when Satoru asked if he could take Sachiro with him for the rest of the week, you had no problems in saying yes. Your only wish right now was for them to spend as much time together as possible.

“Where are you taking him?” you did ask in spite of your leniency to send your son away, waiting inside the car as the pilot and crew prepared the private jet. “Please send me the full address. I need to know where he’s gonna stay and—”

“You’ll get the details from Miwa,” he casually said, rubbing Sachiro’s back as the little boy slept on his chest. He didn’t bother meeting your eyes as he talked. “I’m just taking him to my vacation home in Osaka.”

Osaka…

That was where his mother isolated him from the rest of the world when he was having terrible episodes. Episodes that worsened after he had found out that you ‘terminated’ his child and abandoned him for good. Shoko once said that they felt like Gojou disappeared from their lives while he was there, because nobody else could reach out to him. They couldn’t visit him nor could they contact him for a year or so until he was mentally ready to come back to Tokyo.

You didn’t want to pry on matters that were sensitive to him, so you chose not to say anything concerning his decision to take Sachiro to Osaka. He must have wanted to reflect on his past experiences, allowing him to heal from them as it brought him to the incommutable life he had now—life knowing that Sachiro actually existed after everything that he was made to believe.

“Please take good care of him, okay?” It was only a reminder, nothing else.

Satoru kept a straight face, nodding before he planted a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I got it from here.”

After a minute of silence, you both got out of the car and you watched him carry the peaceful Sachiro in his arms. You left the sleeping toddler a tender kiss on the cheek before parting ways. “I love you, my baby.” Stroking his hair, you kissed his tiny nose. “Mommy will see you soon.”

Satoru knew that you were staying behind. You had informed him of your plans before you even came here to the airport with him, explaining that Toji would be in Miami and that you had made arrangements to meet with your fiancé there. Satoru didn’t say anything much about it either, simply nodding his head at your decision and telling you to ‘do whatever’ because he was no longer a husband you should report your plans to. There was no hint of jealousy in his stance, but you couldn't miss the flicker of bitterness that did appear on his eyes for a millisecond.

You didn’t even say goodbye to each other as you watched them board the plane. And he didn’t even bother looking back at you to tell you to take care of yourself. Not that you expected anything from him, but a quick goodbye would have been nice since you did spend the last couple of days together. Or perhaps, he was upset about the fact that you were staying behind to meet Toji?

Either way, you were on your own now.

It took some time for you to reach Toji in Miami. He had insisted on meeting you at the airport, but because he had to meet with a foreign investor, you headed straight to the hotel he was staying at. Funny enough, you couldn’t help but compare how different it was to stay in the same accommodation as your fiancé vs with your ex-husband and son. With Toji, nothing felt uncomfortable and sharing a room as a couple was as normal as it should be, but things did feel too formal and too forced. With Satoru, it felt awkward to share the same space with him, but since your son was there, it felt like home. It felt strangely close to home, like it was only right. That staying together as a family was what your heart wanted.

Ever since Satoru went back to Japan with Sachiro, you had been feeling a wave of separation anxiety. Your mind was always left wandering towards them; how they were doing, where they were, what they had for dinner. You wondered if Sachiro was giving his father a headache. Smiling at the thought, perhaps he was giving Satoru a hard time changing his diapers.

“Everything okay?” Toji, noticing your trance, put an arm around you as you two sat at the VIP lounge of the Miami Grand Prix. This was Toji’s scene. If Satoru was a fan of horseback riding and polo, Toji preferred big time F1 races. He even personally knew the racers, the type of cars they were driving, and everything a huge fan had to know. You weren’t all that familiar with these things, so it was a little hard to keep up with his lifestyle.

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” you stammered, realizing how distracted you had been all this time. “What were you saying?”

He drank from his glass of 30 year-old Macallan, downing the liquor like it was mere water. A cloud of disappointment settled over his features. “Not interesting to you, huh?”

“No, I…” You made an effort to place a hand on his nape, giving him an apologetic peck on the lips. “I’m really sorry for zoning out. I was just… I guess I was just a little tired from New York.”

Toji placed a hand on your knee, sighing. “It’s fine. I was just trying to introduce the guys to you,” he said, scooting closer as he pointed to the racers. “You know that guy? Lewis Hamilton. He’s quite popular with the ladies,” then he moved his finger towards the other drivers, “And we got here for Ferrari, Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc, also fan favorites.”

Your eyes suddenly caught sight of Gojou’s favorite car brand. “Um, how about McLaren? Who drives for them?”

Unsure if Toji caught on or not, he did take a minute before feeding into your curiosity. “Norris and Piastri.”

You wished you had any idea about F1 so that you could be as enthusiastic as Toji was at this event. He was at his happiest right now and you didn’t want to ruin it by being a boring, uncultured fiancé, because frankly, all these women around would have done a better job at entertaining him. Toji was very eye-candy and you couldn’t blame these models from glancing up at him, especially with how manly and suave he was, dressed like a picture perfect example of an old money businessman. The likes of him were the prey of these desperate influencers, willing to sell their bodies in exchange for a night with him. But truth be told, that was their way of living and you could never find it in yourself to insult them. You didn’t want to shame them for attempting to climb the social ladder because that was how they view money and success, or at least a faster ticket to it.

As long as they didn’t try to make moves on your fiancé while you were around, you wouldn’t be so bothered by a few stares here and there.

Neither was Toji. He must have experienced being stared at during these events plenty of times before, and he probably even sent women home crying because of rejection or worse, humiliation. Now that you think of it, how did Megumi feel when his father was being hit on while watching the Grand Prix? Most importantly, why was the teenage son absent at this current event?

“Love, why didn’t you bring Megumi with you?” you inquired out of a sudden curiosity, knowing that Megumi was always present next to his father during F1 events.

Toji took a sip of the hard liquor once more. “He didn’t wanna go. He was giving me the silent treatment before I left for the US.”

Confusion further blanketed your eyes. “Did something happen back home?”

He let out a deep breath, his face signaling that he was deep in dilemma. “The Zen’in elders want to set him up for an arranged marriage,” he revealed, much to your surprise, “They wanna make sure he’s not gonna end up like me, married to someone who wasn’t ‘qualified’ to be my wife.”

At first you were confused if he was referring to you, but you realized that he was describing his late wife. Megumi’s own mother, the only woman Toji had ever loved by a mile. He fought everyone for her, even turned his back on his own family for her, but claimed that he also ultimately led her to her demise because the elders of his family harassed her until the day she died. It was a tragic love, perhaps even more tragic than yours, so you somehow understood why Toji was conflicted about Megumi’s personal life.

But you? You were strongly against it. “I don’t support arranged marriages, you know that,” you told him with conviction, sympathizing for the poor boy, “It’s not gonna end well. You know what happened to me…”

“I know.” Toji’s eyes were filled with regret. “I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it unless Megumi himself tells me he has someone he loves.”

“Did you ask?”

“He’s tight-lipped about it.”

You sighed. “Well, he’s a teenager. They get pretty shy about these things.”

Forcing a marriage was never a good thing. You couldn’t understand why the concept even existed because it didn’t benefit anyone aside from the people around the married couple. That was why they called it a marriage of convenience. They were married for everyone’s sake but themselves; family name, status, business… You have had enough of it. If only you realized it from the very beginning, you never would have subjected yourself to a loveless marriage with Satoru. Even if your love did grow eventually, things still didn’t work out for the best, and now your life was a mess. A divorced couple co-parenting their only son? There was obviously no convenience gained in that false marriage.

Megumi would just be wasting years of his life tied to a person he didn’t love and so you were hoping that Toji would fight for his son’s right. Because if he truly understood you, he would not subject his son to the same suffering you went through.

“I wish my wife was here,” mumbled Toji, forlornly, “She’d know how to handle these things better than I do.”

Were you not there for him? You swallowed your pride, hiding the pain in your voice. “Right…” A smile was all that you could offer. “I’m sure she would.”

——

Something was different about Toji and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

It wasn’t his appearance, and neither was it the way he spoke to you. He was all the same except for one thing; the look in his eyes.

He had told you this before. He said that the eyes carry the most truthful and raw emotion that you can see on someone. The presence of love would be visible in someone’s eyes just as you would see stars on a clear, night sky. The lack, however, would mean that the eyes are blank and empty like the dark void in the expanse of the universe. You didn’t have to be poetic to be able to discern the way his eyes communicated his most solemn feelings in spite of trying to show otherwise.

He must have been tired. Being caught up in your back-and-forths with your ex-husband, having to put up with your pretentious co-parenting situation, and the never ending need to keep an open mind about your situation with the same man who had ruined you. When your heart was in pieces, wasn’t he the one who tried to fix it? Wasn’t he the one who remained by your side during your darkest times?

Whether that may be true, whether he truly ever loved you, you could recognize the stark difference of the Toji that genuinely cared for you to the Toji that was only actively trying to be there for you. What had changed him all of a sudden?

“Toji, you drank a little too much.” A weary sigh escaped your lips, pulling all your might to drag your fiancé to lie comfortably in your shared bed later that night. At least, on the way to the hotel room, you had his bodyguards to thank for. They were there to haul him while he was in his drunken stupor, letting you lead the way, and dumping him carefully to his bed because there was no way you would be able to carry such a muscular man all by yourself. Now that you were alone with him, you decided to care for him the same way you used to do when Gojou was coming home drunk at night. Starting with his shoes that you took off, his shirt that you unbuttoned, his pants that you unzipped. “Come on, love. I’ll get you changed.”

The verdant hues of his eyes weren’t present. They were hiding behind his lids, refusing to meet your gaze. But if anything, he did open his mouth to speak, “...You. You wanna know a secret?”

Drunken words are sober thoughts, you reminded yourself. Of the numerous times Satoru had gotten drunk during the early stages of your marriage, it was how you found out that deep inside him, he did care for you. That in spite of his ill-tempered exterior, he was a man deprived of parental love and support. What would be the case for Toji, then?

“Yeah?” You waited for his answer, slipping his shirt off and revealing his toned body.

The scar on his mouth moved when he displayed a mirthless smile. He was as drunk as an alcoholic would be. “I don’t… think… I can love you the same way I loved my first wife.”

Your heart paused. In fact, every heartbeat became heavy. You knew how he felt, but didn’t expect him to say that out loud. “I-Is that so…?”

“Absolutely,” he mumbled, chuckling inaudibly. He was at a point where he was too far gone to realize the magnitude of the words he was saying to you. “Even if you try your best, she was everything I wanted in life and the only woman I could ever offer my heart to. She’s irreplaceable, and I don’t feel guilty about it... because I know you’re still into Satoru, too.”

“That’s…” You held your breath, holding back the sudden tears that formed in your eyes. “That’s not true.”

Toji wasn’t done yet, however. He still went on with his drunken speech like he was finally pouring out raw, yet hurtful words out of the bottle. “Who knows? You would’ve had him touch you back in New York if you didn’t have me. You would’ve had him impregnate you, have his second child with you, and guess what? He still won’t be loyal to you.”

The pain in your heart increased tenfold. Everything went still and every minute felt like a stab to your soul. Should you say something? Should you get angry at him? No, no you couldn’t. Your chest was tightening and you knew it was smart not to let such negative emotions overpower you. His words were just a little difficult to grasp because Toji never in his life had been callous with his words to you. The tears that fell from your eyes were from the betrayal that you felt after hearing the cruel words he had uttered. And yet, you tried to hold on to that thin string of hope that Toji’s words didn’t come from a place of truth.

“That’s enough, Toji. Go to sleep.” You pulled away, swallowing the bitter taste of weakness in your voice.

He hummed, unaware of the pain he had put you through. “The more I look at you, the more I realize how much I actually don’t want to spend my whole life with you,” he admitted, with little to no regard for your current feelings, “I can’t fill this emptiness by being with another empty soul. And if there’s one thing I’m most grateful for, it’s that I let you run away that day before I fulfilled my vows with you—”

“Enough!” You shot up from bed and wiped the flood of tears on your eyes. “Enough! I’ve heard everything you wanted me to hear, okay?! Enough!” you raised your voice in despair, almost begging for him to stop tearing your heart asunder. “I get it! I fucking get it… so enough. Please, Toji.”

Drunken words are sober thoughts.

A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.

Alcohol is a truth serum.

The revelation of Toji’s true feelings that night was a reminder to you that he was just like any other man. That you should have never put him in such a high regard, thinking that he would be the prince charming that would save the poor damsel in distress. Why? What would he benefit from someone like you? You only deluded yourself into thinking that a man like him would take a single mother so seriously. You were only meant to be a placeholder for his dead wife after all.

A placeholder, certainly. Not even deserving to have the title of a wife.

——

There was a huge contrast between being with you and Sachiro in New York vs being with Akemi and Sachiro in Osaka. The difference? There was no awkward air between Akemi and him. They were free to do things as they will—no restrictions, no certain do’s and don’ts. They were happy to have each other’s company, minus the guilt nor the unease of being by each other’s side. If anything, Satoru bitterly assumed that you were having the time of your life in Miami with Toji. You were so keen to see the man back there before parting ways with your ex-husband and son like you were simply discarding them to the side.

If so be it, then fine. Satoru had all the right to have his son all to himself while you were gone. Besides, Akemi was just one call away and she was everything he could ever ask for. She cared for Sachiro as if she was his own mother and Satoru couldn’t be more grateful that he didn’t need to work on building a bond between her and his son.

In fact, Akemi very much knew how to win Sachiro’s heart. As they took his adorable son to Universal Studios that day, she was nothing short of a caring mother. She had acted as a guardian to his son throughout the rides, letting the toddler enjoy his time at all the wonderful attractions that the theme park had to offer. Not once did his son cry too, so that only meant that they were doing a great job at taking care of him.

Of course, it was a different story in the afternoon. After having spent all of his energy during the day, Sachiro had become tired and hungry by dinner time. But he wasn’t such a difficult kid to tend to, so Satoru was proud that his son still wasn’t throwing a tantrum even after a whole day of not having you around.

“We’re gonna get Sachi fried chicken,” he enticed the pouting toddler, kissing his forehead while Akemi carried him in her arms. “Is that what you want?”

Sachiro nodded and wrapped his little arms around his auntie’s neck. “Chicken, dada.”

Akemi smiled at the child’s gesture, tempting her to also place a kiss on his cheek. “You’re so cute and well-behaved, Sachi.”

“—Satoru?”

At the familiar voice, all three of them turned to the woman standing behind like a deer caught in the headlines. She was tall for a woman, slender, and had long, auburn hair, rosy cheeks, and ivory skin. Next to her was a tattooed man with salmon pink hair, a piercing on his ear, and a very defensive stance. Ah… How timely.

Sera and Sukuna.

Satoru wasn’t sure if he should openly greet them, after all, they weren’t acquaintances. And it was only recent that he got his memories back, triggered by Sera's presence at the expo. Other than that, he had no business with the two of them. Sukuna wasn’t a business partner of his, so him and Satoru had no formal connection towards each other. As for Sera, she might be his ex-girlfriend, but they didn’t exactly have the healthiest relationship to begin with, so…

“Of all the places,” she mumbled, almost gaping at the sight of him. Her eyes then trailed off to Akemi and Sachiro, with which her expressions shifted to guilt. Did she recognize his son? Did she remember the horrible attempt she did to harm his child during his ex-wife’s pregnancy? The memory was flooding Satoru’s brain like a tsunami. Yeah, in that case, Sera should definitely be filled with guilt. She tried to kill this harmless child.

He cleared his throat, now becoming protective over his son at the presence of his ex. “We gotta go—”

“I guess it’s true,” Sera spoke again, this time redirecting her attention to Akemi. “The rumors, I mean. It’s all just surprising to me considering how obsessive Satoru was to Y/N.” She paused, seemingly wanting to comment at her ex-boyfriend’s current relationship in a mocking way. She kept her eyes on Akemi only, while Satoru was left wondering why Sera was acting hostile towards her. What was her deal now? She wasn't in the position to be acting all entitled to Gojou anymore, but here she was, talking to Akemi like she had met her before. “Did you know? He sacrificed everything for her. No one else made him beg on his knees the same way Y/N did.”

He couldn’t even tell how Akemi felt while Sera was clearly taunting her with her words, but she still managed to smile and excuse herself, keeping Sachiro away from an environment that should only be between adults. It was ridiculous, surely. What was Sera thinking trying to subject his son around that kind of hostility? Balling his fists, Satoru turned to Sukuna and spoke to him man-to-man. “You’d better keep your woman entertained so she’ll stop meddling into other people’s business.”

Sukuna, however, found the situation equally humorous. “Don’t worry. We both are entertained.”

Making a spectacle of Satoru’s personal life? No wonder they ended up together. They were both pieces of shit.

Before Satoru turned on his heels to follow Akemi, Sera still had one last thing to say to him. This time, she was more calm and less malicious—her eyes following Akemi’s trail before looking back at him, “Satoru, if you have truly grown as a man, you won’t do this to Y/N.”

——

Sachiro was fast asleep when they returned to the Gojou clan's vacation home.

Meanwhile, since the night was young for the two adults in that house, Akemi and Satoru shared a passionate session in the living room downstairs, letting her ride him as he placed soft kisses on her collarbone. They tried to keep quiet, obviously, and all the lights were turned off, leaving only the moonlight illuminating their view. After a few more minutes into their lovemaking, they eventually met their climax and tried to catch each other’s breath, embracing her in his arms as she fell limp against him.

“Satoru, I missed you a lot while you were gone.”

“...Same.”

Silence engulfed them for some time until she let out an exasperated sigh. It was clear in her facial expressions alone that she was pondering about the whole scene with Sera earlier. “That girl earlier, Sera, she—”

“Don’t mind her.” Gojou closed his eyes and leaned his head against the backrest. He knew he had to clear things up straightforwardly, leaving no room for any misunderstandings. “She just loves riling people up. It’s ironic she’s coming at Y/N’s defense now like she didn’t torment her back then. She’s not worth paying attention to.”

“Okay.” Akemi pulled away, cupping his face and stroking his cheek. She also offered him an angelic smile while doing so. “But you don’t feel that way anymore, right? For Y/N?”

Satoru took a deep breath, but steadied the movements of his chest. He felt defensive all of a sudden. “No.”

Her smile grew more relaxed as she pressed a light peck on his lips. “Right.” And for a while, they both stayed silent. His thoughts ran straight to you, while hers was quite on a different route. “Earlier when I put Sachiro to bed, he called me his mama.”

His eyes widened. “Oh… he did?”

She answered with a nod. “I don’t know if he’s just half asleep calling for his real mommy, but… At that moment, it made me realize how much I want to have my own,” she hinted at him, wistfully staring at his blue eyes with her shining ones, “with you.”

——

You didn’t take the flight back to Tokyo.

What you took was an immediate flight straight to Osaka where you knew your son and your ex-husband would be. You weren’t sure if it was due to the height of your emotions, but you surely let your impulse win the best of you this time.

You just wanted to escape. It was for the first time in your life where you were dying to set yourself free from Toji’s presence, the very same person who you once likened to a buoy in an open sea. Now he was no longer that. He was far from that. He was an anchor pulling you down at the deepest part of the ocean. Needless to say, the pain was still fresh from your heart when you took the earliest flight back home after his drunken confession to you.

Despite the many missed calls and texts and emails he had sent you, none of them were returned. None of them were seen, or read, or had been replied to.

All you wanted to do was get to your son. Your son. Your only comfort from all the painful things that the world has thrown at you. If not for Sachiro, you would have long ended yourself. But because he was born in this world, because he relied on his mother for love and guidance, you had to be strong and you had to seek the comfort in your heart from him.

They could all turn their backs on you, but never will your son do.

And so, after a few back-and-forth emails with Miwa to confirm the address of Satoru’s residence in Osaka, you ignored the jetlag that was hitting your body and traveled straight to his place without a wink of decent sleep. Sachiro. Sachiro was all you ever thought of when you asked your driver to drop you off the park nearby the Gojou clan's residence as soon as you spotted your son's mop of white hair, him running across the small bridge and pointing towards a fish in the pond. Your son was happily calling all the fishes, gushing about them to Satoru who stood next to him.

You didn’t even care at how you looked during that moment. You just wanted to get to your son and embrace him in your arms. He had been away from you for way too long and you had already grown pale and sick from the separation anxiety that engulfed your heart and mind.

You had to have your son. You had to hold him.

“Sachi!” you called out, a smile present on your face as you made your desperate way towards the bridge. Your son looked at you the moment he had heard your voice, and was already skipping towards you with a bright smile on his face. “My baby!”

Satoru’s face, on the other hand, turned pallid. His eyes were full of surprise, unable to believe that you were actually right in front of him. It was like he had seen a ghost. No, worse than a ghost. Why? Did he not expect you to come when he had let Miwa send the address to you? Were you not welcome to visit your own son?

“Mamaaa!” Sachiro hugged you tightly, allowing you to attack his cute face with kisses all over.

“Mommy missed you so much, my baby.” You could almost cry. As young as he was, he had no idea how much comfort he was bringing into your heart. Just to be able to see him, hold him, kiss him was enough for you to feel complete again. It was at your brokenness did you realize how much Sachiro could fix you whole.

“Y/N, I thought you…” Satoru paused, confusion seemed to be settling on his features as you looked up at him. “You’re supposed to be back by Monday.”

For a moment, you were reminded of the reason you came home earlier than intended and it stung your heart to think about. “Change of plans.”

A small scoff left his lips. “Don’t tell me you left Toji back there.”

I did, you wanted to say. Satoru had no single idea how true his words were, but that was none of his business and you had no plans of confiding in him about what had happened. You may be angry with Toji now, but you still respected him enough not to do terrible things behind his back.

“I had to see my son,” you lied, although it wasn’t exactly one, and got up while holding your toddler’s hand. “Are you ready to go home with mommy, Sachi?”

Reluctance clouded your son’s face, and he became more resolute at shaking his head the moment a woman’s voice called for him from afar. A woman, a very, painfully familiar woman came into view a few meters away from you. Standing there was your best friend, Akemi Hirai, looking at you with wide, mortified eyes as soon as she saw your presence.

And in a snap, Sachiro ran to her. Your son ran straight to her, joyfully and excitedly as if she was his real mother.

How many more heartbreaks do you have to go through?

How many more tears do you have to hold back?

“I…” Your hands were shaking. Your entire body was on the verge of breaking down. All this time, your son had been in this vacation home living like a happy little family with your ex-husband and best friend.

Now, he even refused to go home with you.

Gojou scanned through the look on your eyes as though he was reading your emotions, but you showed none of it. Not a single emotion could be seen on your face. Not an ounce of pain shown, despite seeing how your son immediately forgot about you and headed straight to another woman. How excited he was to spend more time with his dad and his new girlfriend. How, much to your discomfort, he refused to go back to Tokyo with you. You saw the future family Sachiro was about to have without you in the picture, and damn did it hit you like a truck.

Why, why did everyone in your life choose others before you?

“I’m sorry. I’ll bring him to your house Monday morning,” said your ex-husband in a soft, delicate voice, almost as if he was being careful with you. “We’ll take care of him.”

You could simply nod, avoiding eye-contact with anyone in the vicinity except for Satoru. “Okay...” you struggled with words. Your entire body was shaking. The last thing you wanted was to sound like a selfish mother, but frankly, you were about to self-destruct. “Just keep him happy… that's all I ask.”

Behind your mask of indifference, Satoru knew what right words had to be said. You needed reassurance, and that was exactly what he gave you. “I won’t ever take him away from you, Y/N. I promise.”

You watched them walk away, leaving you alone with a look of sympathy that you didn’t need. Sympathy that you despised having received. This should serve as a wake up call to you that no one in this world would ever love you. That even your own child would, one day, abandon you.

As tears fell from your eyes, you felt a certain pang on your chest that hurt worse than every other pain combined. “You know you’re not so good with promises, Satoru.”

#series: sincerely yours #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo angst #jjk angst #gojo satoru angst #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x yn

1K notes · View notes

historiaxvanserra · 2 months

Text

Every Exquisite Thing | A Regency AU

Summary: The first of the season brings with it so many things; new friends, new enemies, a masquerade ball, and a rakish young gentleman with eyes like burnished gold.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (Regency AU)

Word Count: 3.1k

This is the first part of a series that had been consuming my thoughs day and night for about two weeks. We don't meet Eris yet but we get glimpses and I like what I see 👀 I just wanted to give a feel for the regency vibe and see if we're feeling it or not! Next chapter well get Eris in all his regency glory and I promise you, he's worth the wait.

The townhouse that your family occupies on the main street of the Ton is unusually quiet this morning, you think. The first of the season typically brings with it an air of frivolity; the ladies in their Spring colors, gentlemen riding horse-drawn carriages through the cobblestone streets and the hum of the city beyond. A myriad of color -- lilacs and honeysuckle, dappled with the greenery that climbs along the facades of the townhouses -- a colorful oasis from the bleak gray and green of a Winter spent in the country.

However, today, the main square, where Pryhtian’s most ancient and noble families convalesce during the fairer months, is blanketed in an oppressive palette of indigo and gray as the last of the Winter’s storms ravages the world beyond Crescent House.

The sound of the howling wind as it rages like a great tempest through the streets rouses you from your perch on the chaise near the dying hearth.

The street below the parlor is veiled in the shadowed hues of the storm and not a soul in town has dared brave the wrath of the elements since the dourpour began. Hail patters dismally against the window panes of your families townhouse and an ice-kissed wind crawls its way along the exposed planes of your shoulders and collarbones and in the distance you hear the distinctive draw of a carriage along the main square, near Forest House. As you near the window you observe the hail as it falls like pearls from the darkening sky onto wet, cobbled streets.

From the oppressive darkness a carriage emerges; a considerable vehicle of polished wood, lacquered with dark emerald paint, the trim and doors are framed with delicate golden embellishments and the doors and rear bear a family crest, obscured by the gloom of the afternoon. The cart itself is drawn by four bay stallions with long, dark manes, sodden with the downpour. From the cabin steps a shadowy figure of a man, once obscured by the oppressive darkness, now illuminated by the lamplight; he’s all dressed in black, save for the white collar of a linen shirt and his long hair, curls away from his face in tousled, auburn waves. He burns most ardent against the bleak afternoon, even in the din of the oil lamps, he looks like something out of one of Feyre’s paintings. Or perhaps the formidable and brooding romantic lead of the romance novels Nesta so adores. Either way he cuts an intimidating figure in the dark streets of the main square. Tall and broad-shouldered, and rather rakish as he stalks up the steps of the townhouse opposite yours.

From your perch overlooking the street you see him turn outward; admiring the graceful planes of his face, the aquiline nose and high-cheekbones falling to the slender cut of his waist and hips and the broad spread of his shoulders and sculpted arms.

It occurs to you then that you have been all too obvious in your voyeurism.

You are watching him.

And he is watching you in return.

The very thought elicits something in you; something dark and sentimental and terribly anxious. It is a cruel, coiling thing, in the pit of your stomach. Some ill-fated omen. A harbinger of your own downfall. The ghost at the feast, or a raven in the night that spells your undoing. Whatever it is, there is a deep sense of foreboding in you at the prospect of what this dark figure might herald in with him.

The tolling of the city bells brings with it a flurry of movement on the street and your eyes meet his strange amber gaze across the way and he scowls. A deep furrow of a brow; the firm set of his jaw, the flex of a pale hand, before retreating into the house.

“Come away from the window girl,” Your mother chastises in her usual cutting tone as she eyes you from her place in front of the hearth. Her gloved hand inspects the fine silk fabric of the dresses the modiste had sent to her. She holds the fabric between those fine-boned fingers and drapes each swatch over the pale skin of her slender arm with a rehearsed ease as she takes the time to scrutinize every hand-sewn seam and embroidered adornment.

“Yes mama.” You say absentmindedly, casting one last longing glance towards the dark facade of the townhouse across the street, where the orange flicker of candlelight illuminates the window..

Your mother is an austere woman with a cutting sort of beauty rather unlike your own. Her eyes are cold and grey and her features, angular; feline in a way that is almost unnerving to look at. Though even in her age, she bares fine, high cheekbones, unblemished skin, and her long golden hair falls over the delicate slope of her shoulder in coiffed ringlets. She had been quite a remarkable beauty in her youth, it had been said. Now all that remains of her lost youth is an oil painting hung above the hearth-- the paint, yellowed and cracked with age-- and the legacy of her ancient and most-noble lineage.

Her piercing gaze falls onto you again as you take a turn about the room, perching on the cushioned bench in front of the pianoforte. You run a hand over the untuned keys and in your wake dust mites filter through the stagnant air.

That piano had once been the beating heart of this room; a symphony of high arching notes that rang through the halls of this house.

It has not been touched since Nesta left.

“You look drawn, my dear,” She says simply, her eyes cruel and unyielding as she looks over you and the fine silk draped over her arm, “green does so very little for your complexion.”

She considers you for a moment longer before turning to the modiste with a quirked brow. The seamstress at least, has the good grace to look apologetically between you and your youngest sister before nodding in agreement to your mother. She murmurs that a deeper shade of green would suit you better, though your mother ignores her entirely.

“Perhaps an emerald tone would suit better” she muses to no one in particular.

“It would make you look more…tempting” The modiste decides with a sly smile to you when your mother looses a shrill gasp. Your mother hums her disapproval once more from her spot in the armchair before turning her attention towards Feyre on the modiste’s podium as the slender woman takes her measurements for the last alterations to her gown.

“You look beautiful Fey,” You say lightly, pulling at your own faded sage gown as you regard your youngest sister, “the silver looks exquisite on you.” Feyre smiles brightly at you from her place on the podium and pulls a few strands of her long, golden hair to frame her face. She looks as though she is wreathed in starlight in the silver gown; the high bust lays perfectly over her chest and the cuffed sleeves are trimmed with silver thread and sheer lace and accentuate the slope of her strong shoulders, the skirts fall in a swathe of silk and chiffon and the pearls and opal sewn into the skirts catch like moonglow in the blue light. She smooths the skirts with a flair of her gloved hand and admires the matching slippers that peek out from the long hem.

“Hmm,” Your mother murmurs lowly, bringing a slender hand to her painted mouth as she assesses the garment carefully, “Yes - the silver favors you, my darling.” Your mother purses her lips once more and nods decisively at the modiste who offers a courteous bow in response.

“I have hopes that the Lady of Autumn might name you her ‘incomparable’, afterall.” Your mother’s voice is frightfully wistful as she casts a look up to her portrait hung above the dying fire. Beside it, on the mantle Nesta’s painted face stares back impassively at you and you feel anxiety twisting within you again. Feyre laughs. A small, disbelieving thing as she thanks the modiste and exits the parlor in favor of her sketchbook.

“She did so love Nesta when she was first presented,” You mother recalls, her eyes glassy as she sips at her cold tea with a grimace, “and your sister does so remind me of her.”

You smile fondly at the thought of your eldest sister; painfully absent for the last few years but missed dearly. Nesta had always bore the brunt of your mother’s cruelty -- until she could bare it no more -- and then you took her place.

“Yes mama, she will do very well at court.” You say genuinely, though your mother can’t bring herself to acknowledge you. You bite down the bitter taste of jealousy when her eyes linger on the portrait of Nesta hung along the mantel. The way her brows dip in a moment of fleeting grief for her favorite daughter.

When she looks at you again you get the sense that looking at you now -- in the pallid light of the storm -- is like looking in a mirror.

It is a mother’s curse you think.

A daughter’s burden.

Breathing deeply as the modiste pins the hem of the dress you find yourself thinking of the happy recollections of your childhood; you think perhaps your mother is reminiscing on those times too.

She had been the only daughter of an Earl somewhere on the continent once. Beautiful and graceful. Green and foolhardy. Named the incomparable of her own social season; she had dreams of an idyllic life in the countryside, summers shaded in the laughter of her many sons, and measured in the unyielding smiles of a good husband.

Of course, as was the way of things, her girlhood ideations had been nought but that-- dreams. Dashed and divided like stardust in a vast twilight abyss.

A series of scandals and bad investments led her to Pryhtian as the sole heir to an old name. A lamb to the slaughter by her own mother, to be the docile wife of some dull Lord, almost two decades her senior

In time, she did the same to her own daughters.

Time is a cruel mistress; and the woman she is now is one tarnished by the years. Imposing and cynical; demanding in a way that it was impossible to please her. In your youth you recall her endless cruelty towards you all, though none more than Nesta.

Her prodigy.

Her pride and joy.

It was that ceaseless need for perfection that drove Nesta away in the end.

So with the wave of her hand she gestures to you to take to the podium.

An ill-fated replacement for the daughter she lost.

Her perpetual disappointment.

The modiste is a young woman, who hails from the continent with beautiful dark hair that fell in coiled ringlets over her shoulders, she speaks to you in a low, velvet tenor and has a thick accent that distinguishes her to the natives of this land. She is favored by many of the young ladies of the Ton for her exquisite garments; each made with richly adorned and embroidered fabrics imported from her homeland. You watch impassively as she records your measurements and swatches a few scraps of fabric against your skin. The woman quickly discards the silver that Feyre had worn and opts instead for gold and offers your mother a few other options for your dresses this season; sapphire and cerulean, emerald and ruby, topaz and onyx.

Then selects a beautiful emerald gown, trimmed with jade and adorned with matching beads and crystals that shine with the glittering darkness of some forgotten forest when the light of the storm outside refacts in their many surfaces. The modiste admires the garment as she holds it up to you; her keen eyes finding yours and smiling brightly and nodding deliberately.

“This is the one,” She says, her accent so thick with delight that it is difficult to fully understand the words, “perhaps the Lady of Autumn might name you her favorite in your sisters place” She offers it jovially, almost in jest but your mother’s face twists nonetheless.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Your mother laughs cruelly as she regards you in the beautiful garment. You think perhaps that in you she sees all the things she hates about herself. Your mother takes a moment to scrutinize you; her eyes reap over every curve and divot of the skirts as they fall against you, every minute details to find fault where she can.

It is a mothers’s curse, not to know a daughter’s pain.

You imagine it is also a mercy too when she looks at you like you are her own reflection.

Her perpetual disappointment.

After another silent moment she nods her head to the modiste and rises to her feet. The tea cup rattles and rings viscously through icy air as she sets it down and wanders towards the doors.

“Oh Feyre darling, you look exquisite!” Your mothers voice is shrill and dripping with pride that elicits a strange sort of jealousy and you swallow down its bitter taste. In the foyer your sister glides down the marble staircase dressed in all her finery.

Feyre has the type of beauty reminiscent of a falling star; all pale skin, that looks like porcelain, dappled with the iridescent stardust that falls from the sky around her birthday each year. Her dress is one of flowing indigo and complemented by intricate silver embroidery along the cuffs and bust, the long line of her neck is adorned with pearls and diamonds that refract in the light of the chandelier; dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky.

She smiles brightly and her laugh echoes like birdsong around the hall as your mother takes her hand. And almost like an afterthought, your mother regards you with thinly veiled horror at the garment that clings to you like a plate of armor.

A deep merlot gown, inlaid with rubies and pearls; that cast a bloody halo as you step into the light of the chandelier. The skirts bleed into a train made of gossamer thin spidersilk that has a metallic quality to it that makes you feel as though you are some ancient Goddess of love and war.

Aphrodite perhaps, as deadly as she is beautiful.

Your hands, though they tremble, bare many gold rings, each polished to the heavens so that she sees her face distorted in their many unblemished surfaces. There is a part of you that hopes craves your mothers love more than you long to insight her ire.

But that part of you died the day Nesta went away.

“How do you suppose you’re going to tempt a man into marrying you dressed like that,” She chastices, pulling at the skirts of your wine red dress, “you look like a common whore.”

“At least a whore is paid to abide the insipid company of boring men.” you counter under your breath as your mother strides out into the street. You catch Feyre’s eye and she smiles at you like a feral cat.

The rest of the carriage ride is spent in solemn silence as the facade of The town hall draws ever closer. You mother’s idle gossip about one Lord of the other hardly seems the rouse you from though as you watch the world beyond this cart pass you by.

The storm had broken sometime around midday and the tempest gave way to sunlight; soft ochre and gold as it filtered through the open windows of your father’s library, where you had spent the afternoon. Nestled into the worn armchair favored by your father and a quiet comfort when he is away. There, in the confines of your father’s study, you allow yourself to dream; of debauched gentlemen and tortured artists. Stories painted with the vivid imaginings of Gothic heroines and vast and sweeping landscapes. Of temptation and sacrifice.

It is a hobby inherited from your sister and one much discouraged by your mother.

But as afternoon bled into night you were called away from the pages of manuscripts written in some foreign tongue. For, the Lady of Autumn’s masquerade ball marks the true commencement of the social season each year. It is a night of mystery and secrets; of dark romance and all things fanciful.

It is the one night a year that you allow yourself to be swept up in the excitement of the season and tonight every eligible Lord and Lady will don their finery for a night of high-arching orchestral music and sweeping dances that herald in the social season.

It is tonight of all nights where the Lady of Autumn will name the incomparable of the season; a young woman both fair and accomplished that will inspire awe and ire in equal measure. For her troubles she might hope to tempt an eligible gentleman into marriage by summer’s end. And as your mother gives Feyre one more adoring look you know that she is hoping that your sister will insight that awe tonight.

The carriage draws to a tumultuous halt outside the doors of the grand town hall and you hear the distant laughter of courtiers. The chatter of the ladies distracts you momentarily and you catch their idle chatter; something about the new Duke and his wicked beauty. A beauty as cruel as he is, they say. Their chatter dies when they meet your eyes and they devolve into mean-spirited whispers about the poor Archeron girls and their absent sister.

“Quickly girls, we mustn't be late.” Your mother instructs and steps from the carriage turning expectantly as you disembark from the vehicle with all the grace you can manage. Your stomach twists in knots and the anxiety is so consuming that it addles your mind. So much so that any intelligent thought you might have had seems to abandon you.

The gardens of the town hallare saturated in the light of the last shadowed sunbeams as they are obliterated by the rapidly falling night; veins of indigo and amethyst that streak across the black. The air is heady and thick with the smell of wildflowers and wine and every now and again you catch the scent of half-burned oak and bergamot’s on the evening breeze.

The first of the season is in full swing and the courtiers look like a jewel toned fire in their finery; swathes of ruby and topaz, dappled with emerald and carnelian. You had felt the shift in the air when the sun had begun to set in the sky; that anticipation so palpable you could taste it. It tastes like wood and wildflowers, undercut with something darker.

You abandon yourself to the thought of it; what he might taste like.

Hedonism; earthy and dangerous as you swallow it back.

In an hour or two, when the stars materialize like a million quarts against the velvet abyss, the Ladies will retreat into the mazes, in twos or threes and their Lords, like hungry wolves will begin the hunt.

A hunt that will last the season

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris acotar #eris vandaddy

312 notes · View notes

loregirlsam · 1 month

Text

post-cage/post lucifer possession fic recs

Life's A Walking Shadow by Lise

AU. When Sam gets out of the Cage decades have passed.

The Long Calendar by foolscapper

One time per month, every month on Earth, Sam visits Dean for a day from the Cage. Part 1 of The Calendar Verse.

The Gate is Straight, Deep and Wide by ratherastory

Part 1 of the Fusion 'verse. Sam walks out of hell and finds his way home.

From a prompt at the First Time comment-fic meme: The first time Sam gets that Dean does unreservedly trust him again, coupled with the first time Dean gets that Sam really does want nothing more than he wants to be with Dean.

Post-Miracle by angelszn (artbabe)

Sam gets his soul back, but he comes back wrong. Dean doesn't let him go.

Convalescence by impravidus

Post-Cage!Sam seen through the eyes of others.

Winchester Season by Lennelle

It's dangerous to hunt with the Devil in your head.

The Epilogue in a Very Long Autobiography by foolscapper (*endverse post lucifer possession)

“There is a tall man in the camp today.” Hurt!Sam. Outsider POV. Part 1 of The Author's Notes Verse.

The Author's Notes by foolscapper (*endverse post lucifer possession)

A sequel to The Epilogue in a Very Long Biography. “Five months since he got Sam back, he sets an alarm to wake up in the early morning hours.” Warnings: Suicide and thoughts of suicide, violence, blood, angst, serious subject matters like depression. Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean. Part 2 of The Author's Notes Verse

#sam winchester #these are all gen #feel free to add on your own fic recs #post cage sam #post lucifer possession sam

165 notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 99

Part 1 Part 98

Steve spends a short three days in the hospital before they start the discharge. It’s surprising, somehow, that spending time slowly dying in the Upside-Down is more traumatic on the body than literal possession. Eddie can’t wrap his head around it.

He’s sitting on Steve’s bed, hopefully for the last time, hip to hip as he kicks his feet out over and over again at the same tempo of his beating heart. Steve’s got their fingers interlaced on Eddie’s thigh, flexing his own fingers to that same rhythm Eddie’d started up.

“You think it’ll be much longer?” Steve asks, slumping his head to the side and atop Eddie’s shoulder.

His hair tickles Eddie’s cheek. Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it back, but Steve’s still holding his hand, and the other one doesn’t quite reach.

“Nah, the old man’s good at getting what he wants.”

“That’s because he’s got the same big, sad eyes as you.”

Eddie squawks in fake affront even as warmth pools in his cheeks. Few people have mentioned a resemblance, and it makes him go soft and gooey every time. “I don’t have big, sad eyes!” He shakes Steve’s hand around gently in his - he’s always, always gentle. “I’m too tough.”

Steve snorts, small and tired. Even with relatively minor injuries, neither of them have been sleeping well in the small hospital cot. It’s starting to show in the circles beneath Steve’s eyes. Eddie wants to bundle him up in the backseat of Wayne’s truck and tuck him into their bed at home.

They won’t even have to come back. All they’ve got is some sort of cream for Steve’s burns, and Eddie’s bruised ribs and broken nose are supposed to heal all on their own. His concussion’s already behind him, even if things still go a little wonky if he moves his neck too quickly.

They can just convalesce. Maybe Wayne will bring them soup. Or burgers from the diner and a strawberry milkshake to split. Anything will be better than the mind-numbing sterility of the hospital, as long as they’re together.

If only Wayne would hurry the hell up.

It’s not Wayne who walks in. It’s not any of their friends, or family, or an unnamed doctor in blue scrubs. It’s not anyone he recognizes at all.

It’s a perfectly matched pair - like salt and pepper shakers at a fancy diner. Eddie feels his shoulders curl, a silent question mark to their upright forms.

The woman looks like a mannequin, in her gray pencil knit skirt and matching cardigan, belted tight enough to make her look like a wine glass. Her hair is a windswept brown and her chin’s raised just so.

The man’s suit is a pewter gray, matching her skirt perfectly. He has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, like he’s posing for a catalog as he looms imposingly on the threshold.

She knocks on the frame of the door, calling a quiet, “knock knock,” as the man strides in.

Eddie feels Steve’s hair brush against his cheek as he sits up and twists, to look at the new arrivals. Eddie doesn’t look toward him, can’t tear his eyes away from the pair, as the woman comes to stand beside the man, photogenic smile plastered to her face, even as the man glares down at them.

“Steven,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in an expression Eddie knows intimately. He’s seen it on Steve’s own face enough times. It’s less charming on the older, meaner model.

Steve drops his hand covertly and shuffles slightly to the left and away, leaving Eddie’s hand to flop to the mattress, bereft.

“Dad,” Steve replies.

Eddie turns, can’t not when Steve’s voice comes out so even, so lifeless, so dead. It’s just like when the mind flayer was running the show. Like Steve’s not there at all.

He is though. And that feels worse, because as Eddie stares at Steve’s perfect profile, he can almost see the years of distance and berating stacking themselves into the clench of his jaw and that familiar furrow of eyebrows.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” His Dad doesn’t shout, but the hiss somehow still feels like it’s echoing off the bare walls of the hospital room.

Steve flinches back. Eddie sits on his hand as it twitches without his permission to grab onto Steve’s own.

“For what, sir?” Mrs. Harrington’s perfect face scrunches up into a wince as she looks sidelong at her husband’s stony face. He opens his mouth, eyebrows angrier than ever, and Steve blurts, “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t help.

“Sorry,” he says evenly, like his fist wasn’t clenched in preparation for a strike. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

Steve sits, wordless, as he stares up at him, unblinking.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Steve.” It sounds sympathetic, but Steve’s back curls in, arms wrapping around his ribs as he looks down at his own hanging feet.

Eddie sits on his other hand.

Steve remains silent while storm clouds bloom above Mr. Harrington’s head.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, crossing arms and tapping perfectly manicured fingers against her own forearms, that same familiar beat that Steve gravitates toward without any of the soul.

“Sweetie,” she starts, no warmth in her voice or eyes. “I understand that you might have been feeling a little sick, but that’s no excuse for the state you left the house in.”

Eddie looks at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, and sees Steve looking right back, eyebrow quirked up in a silent question Eddie doesn’t know how to answer with witnesses.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, looking back down to the linoleum between his feet.

“You’re sorry?” Mr. Harrington demands, voice raising with each syllable he utters. “You flooded the house, Steven!”

Steve flinches at the sound of his name. Eddie reaches out for the connection between them and plucks it, thrumming it like a guitar. Steve smiles, just a little, down at his socked feet.

It’s a mistake. Mr. Harrington’s nostrils flare. Eddie sees the resemblance in the way his nose leans just slightly to the left, almost charmingly crooked. But there’s none of that familiar light behind Mr. Harrington’s eyes. He’s an empty pit, a bottomless well.

“We’ve had to replace all of the carpeting on the second floor,” Mrs. Harrington cuts in, looking down at her nails, uncaring as Mr. Harrington’s incensed further by her words.

“We wouldn’t have even known if the Allen’s hadn’t called us!” He’s shouting now, gesturing wildly toward the open door like whoever the Allen’s are, they’re waiting right outside, watching the show.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Richard. Don’t make a scene.”

As if spurred on by his wife’s chastising words, Mr. Harrington’s voice only gets louder. “You soiled the carpet beyond repair.” He punctuates his words with a raised finger, like he’s counting down all the sins he’s ready to lay at his son’s feet. “You made a spectacle of yourself in front of all the neighbors.” Another raised finger.

He points both fingers at Steve’s face, finger close enough to his nose that Eddie wants to snap out and bite it. “You left the garage open to be ransacked!” And here comes raised finger number three.

Steve’s curling further and further into himself, creating distance between his Father’s wagging finger and his vulnerable face.

“Leaving the door open, Steven?” Mrs. Harrington asks, just as aloof and uncaring of the scene in front of her, even as she says, “we could have been killed.”

Eddie can’t help the snort that comes out. It’s all just such a cartoonish display, almost unbelievable even as he watches it play out in front of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but both their gazes have already snapped over to him.

Well, better him than Stevie. Stevie, who Eddie’s seen with that same curled posture hiding in his closet, and looking up at his own goddamn house from the passenger seat of Eddie’s van.

He’d been straight backed facing down a demogorgon but just the sight of his parents has him fading into himself. No fucking way. Not on Eddie’s watch.

Eddie slaps his own thighs once, sharp enough that it stings. Mrs. Harrington jumps, just a little, at the sound. Eddie stands, shifting on the balls of his feet until he’s just slightly in front of Steve, ready to defend.

“Wouldn’t you have to actually be home for that?” Eddie asks.

Mrs. Harrington gasps, hand over her cheek like Eddie had slapped her. “Excuse me?” she asks, at the same time that Mr. Harrington demands, “who are you?”

Eddie puts his pointer finger to his chin, pouting like he’s really thinking this through. “You know, I think you’d know that if you were ever actually around.”

Steve stands, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie as his Dad takes a threatening step toward Eddie.

“This is Eddie,” Steve says, voice flat and cold. King Steve’s come out to play. Eddie grins, manic and wide in that way that’s always worked to rile up cops and teachers alike. It works just as well on the Harrington’s. He sticks out his tongue and almost laughs again when Mrs. Harrington takes a startled step back. “You’d know that if you gave half a shit about me.”

Mr. Harrington scoffs as he looks Eddie up and down, eyeing the rips in his jeans, the frayed hem of his t-shirt, the unkempt length of his hair. He turns away, dismissing him without even a word as he looks back at Steve.

“It’s time to go,” he says, glaring down at his son. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

Steve takes a step away from Mr. Harrington’s grasping hands. Eddie reaches out, interlocking their fingers again and squeezing tight. The splint on Steve’s finger sticks out awkwardly, digging into Eddie’s own hand as Steve squeezes right back.

“Eddie is my home,” Steve says, like that isn’t the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

He almost swoons, even as Mr. Harrington rages, looking between the pair of them, making connections Eddie desperately hopes are true and even more desperately hopes the man won’t go spreading around.

“Last chance,” Mr. Harrington says. “Or we’re-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Wayne chooses that moment to walk in. His stance goes loose immediately, gaze sharp.

“Richard,” he says. Calm, cool, and gruff as he meets both their enraged eyes, one after another. “Nora.”

Mrs. Harrington sucks on her teeth, mouth pursed as she holds her silence. Mr. Harrington has no such compunction.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Wayne raises his eyebrow before turning his back on them to run his eyes over Steve and Eddie in turn. “You boys alright?” Steve nods, but Eddie raises his hand to flap it back and forth in a wishy-washy gesture that Wayne grimaces at. “Ready to go home?”

Richard scoffs, taking a threatening step forward. “What do you mean home?” Steve flinches as the last word lands with derision. Steve doesn’t respond, just looks down at his own shoes with a clenched jaw.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, and it lands in the room like a blow.

Wayne’s eyes have gone hold and hard as he turns around and steps fully in front of Steve. “Steve’s been staying with me for over a year,” Wayne says, tone modulated and controlled even as his hands clench. “And you didn’t even notice.”

“Steven,” Richard says, a warning hidden in his tone. “Last chance.”

Eddie leans around Wayne to look between the pair. He resists the urge to pull Steve behind him. Eddie squeezes his hand and is floored when Steve’s shoulders immediately straighten, chin raised just so, like he’s keeping his crown straight atop his head.

He stands, shoulders back, head held high. Eddie stands right along with him.

“I’m not going with you,” Steve says, boring holes into his Father’s head with the force of his conviction from behind Wayne’s shoulder.

Mr. Harrington’s jaw clenches with whatever he sees on Steve’s face. He reaches his hand out, palm open and beckoning. “Give me your keys,” he demands, curling his fingers like he’s in a cheesy karate movie and begging his opponent to make the first move.

Steve laughs. “You want my car?” His laugh is hollow. “You’ll have to go get it from the trailer park.”

Mrs. Harrington eyes Eddie and Wayne like she’s putting pieces together he’d rather she not have. Even still, she turns away with an airy, “Come on, Richard.” When he doesn’t immediately follow her directions, she continues, “this isn’t the place.”

Mr. Harrington’s snarling like a dog, finger still raised in threat as he hisses, “this isn’t over,” before turning and striding through the door with enough careless force that his shoulder hits the frame with a meaty thwack.

“See you next year, then!” Eddie calls, waving bitchily at their backs.

They all stare at the open door, waiting for an attack that never comes until Mrs. Harrington’s heels stop echoing down the corridor.

“What the hell was that?” Wayne asks gruffly.

Steve’s jaw is clenched, as he glares out the open doorway, but at Wayne’s question, he slumps, stepping closer to Eddie until he can lay some of his weight onto Eddie’s shoulders. It hurts his ribs, but Eddie takes it gladly, wrapping his hand around Steve’s waist.

“Just the usual,” Steve says, sounding exhausted.

Wayne eyes him critically as Steve avoids his gaze. Eddie squeezes Steve’s side, flickering his fingers against his waist just to feel him wriggle against the feeling.

“Alright, kid,” Wayne says, reaching out to squeeze both their shoulders comfortingly. Steve slumps further into Eddie who gladly takes his weight. “I think it’s about time we all get home.”

Eddie smiles, bumping his hip into Steve.

He was already home. After all, Steve’s right here.

Part 100

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #anyway. Steve's disowned!!! Hop just didn't give them a chance to say it #Also Steve does NOT realize anything he said was romantic. He's just like. of COURSE Eddie is like the most important part of my life #anyway. I really enjoyed the Harrington's as a looming presence in the story. Haunting Steve in their absence #and then finally being set free (disowned) is like the best thing that could ever happen to him

156 notes · View notes