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bucca2 · 8 months

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Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

#bucca writes #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x reader #fic:shrike

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aireia · 2 months

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from the stars did your kindness bleed through. — you are a spy, he is a sorcerer, a student in the very place you plan on betraying, but he doesn't know that, because he'll fall for you, the same way you fell for him.

tw/cw: reader referred to with she/her. angst with little fluff. hurt no comfort. spy! reader. spying. mentions of blood. minor violence. blades. suicide/ self harm. death. injuries. lowercase intended. author's first language isn't english. wc: 7.5K

note: riko told me to rival her 6.2k word fic, so i'm pulling up with this. (i got carried away) —masterlist

entry snippet, september 5th.

gojo introduced us to a new student today. she seems a little bit like me, but she isn’t, at least that’s what our unreliable teacher told us.she hasn’t interacted much with itadori or kugisaki, even after their pestering. i’m guessing it’ll take a while for her to get used to the new faces. not that it concerns me anyway…

the sun didn’t shine very brightly the next day. grey clouds covered the skies, the winds were getting colder, the once green leaves on trees were turning into a mixture of yellows and browns. winter would be approaching in just a few months, which meant they’d soon have those nights again, where they’d get permission to stay at each other’s dorms and have sleepovers while trying not to burn the kitchen down by making ominous hot chocolate for each other.

that morning when the trio walked into class, they were greeted by you absentmindedly staring out the window at the falling leaves. no concentration to any surroundings, considering you didn’t even look at them when they came in. yuji was the first one to say something, loudly greeting you a good morning, followed by your name, hoping to catch your attention.

you looked over to the trio, trying to take note of their expressions.

itadori yuji, who seemed excited, waving with his arm in the air and a grin as if you were worlds apart and you wouldn’t have seen him if he didn’t.

kugisaki nobara, who waved with a smile on her face. the perfect mix of crazy and calm, you think.

and finally, fushiguro megumi, who had his arm raised in an attempt to wave, but instead looked like he was raising his hand to answer a question. his expression showed nothing, something between irritated and ‘why am i friends with these people again?’

he reminded you of yourself… in a way. probably not what you were thinking about him, but something about him. maybe it was keeping interactions at minimum with people he didn’t know much about… yea. you’ll keep it at that.

the hyper duo had walked up to your desk before you finished processing your own thoughts. itadori slammed both his hands on your table, causing some of your things to vibrate upon contact.

“so, y/n, where are you from? what grade are you?” he asked.

“i’m from osaka, and i’m a semi second grade sorcerer.” lies spilled from your mouth easier than when you breathed around them the day prior. being a spy meant having to detach your identity as a person, which also meant having to create layers and layers of lies about who you actually were.

right before the cheerful boy managed to get another question in, the door of the class flew open, and gojo walked into class with nothing but happiness and positivity surrounding his aura… he was about to send all of you on a mission. you knew, even if it was just a gut feeling.

a loud clap followed by details of a new case confirmed your suspicions. a simple investigation in shinjuku about an unidentified curse that had caused deaths and disappearances of innocent civilians, as well as injuring numerous others.

“i’ll be leaving the rest of the details to our trustworthy assistant director ijichi! he’ll be waiting for you at the entrance.” gojo finished his ‘speech’ before hurrying all of you out the door.

“that gojo…” ijichi silently sighed before beginning the mission brief.

“your task is to only collect information from the residents in a specific area of shinjuku, mainly the offices around schools.” ijichi stopped speaking, only continuing after a brief period of silence. “If you happen to run into any high grade curses, please don’t try to challenge it.”

“my heart can’t take this type of stress anymore…” ijichi sighed.

the four of you began the mission shortly after, around 10am in the morning. you began by questioning some of the residents. a lot of them seemed nervous the moment anyone in your group mentioned the curse, some even running away from you. most of them didn’t have any information either.

when noon rolled around and your efforts weren’t bearing any fruits, the four of you decided to split into two groups. nobara with yuji, you with megumi. after the split up, you and megumi continued the search for anyone that might have had any type of intel. you never expected him to speak to you first.

“l/n, right? let me be straightforward about this. why did you join jujutsu high school?”

“to spy on you, obviously,” but you couldn’t say that.

“to help others,” another lie slipped past your lips.

“...did principal yaga actually let you pass the interview with that answer..?”

“no, but i doubt you’d want to listen to the speech i memorised to get in. he told me to stop before i finished it,” you sighed, remembering the amount of struggle you faced a few days before the interview. you had to ensure you had a 100% chance of getting into the school, or you would’ve been a failure as a spy. who the hell failed a mission before it even began?

megumi looked at you with a bewildered expression, though quickly shook the look off his face as you approached an ice cream vendor near one of the high schools.

“recently, less and less people have come by to buy ice cream. a lot of those were kids who would come by to get a sweet treat after school, so i have noticed quite a few of those disappearances.” the vendor placed his fingers on his chin, thinking of the customers that he enjoyed speaking to, even if their interactions were limited.

“alright. thanks for your time,” you expressed your gratitude, even though the things that the vendor had said had helped you in your investigation in… absolutely no way possible.

just as you and the raven haired boy walked away, your phones rang. a message from yuji, reading, “we ran into one of the victims that managed to escape the cursed spirit!! apparently most of the victims are people who’ve lost or cut contact with their parents. they won’t tell us anymore about it.”

“that’s vile,” you thought to yourself.

“we should meet up with them and report back.”

“so, what do we do now?” nobara whined out of boredom. ever since reporting back, there hadn’t been much to do. you all had a free day, but nothing to fill said free day with.

“we should go watch human earthworm 4!”

“no.” nobara and megumi said in unison, wanting to avoid the movie at all costs.

“oh! y/n, we should go shopping together!” nobara suggested. and somehow against both yuji and megumi’s wills, you had all been dragged to go shopping.

nobara suggested that she helped you get a new wardrobe, which ended in you trying on multiple sets of clothes. nobara insisted that you got them, and forced megumi to carry your shopping bags even though you said it wasn’t needed and felt bad that he had to help.

the rest of the day went by with a blur, and you exited the mall after the four of you had a few photos taken in a photobooth.

“my child…” everyone was walking in front of you when you heard that voice. it sounded oddly familiar, and it was calling out to you. you whipped your head around to look for the source, but there wasn’t anyone there. the call of your names continued, and you strayed from the group to look for the source of the sound.

you were almost one hundred percent positive that it was the curse you had investigated the other day. why was it targeting you? and no one else in the group seemed to hear anything either.

eventually, you were led to an abandoned building. you could feel the cursed energy leaking from it, and there was a very pungent smell coming from the abandoned structure. you briefly wonder how no one has flagged the place for an investigation yet. maybe it was, and was ignored. who knows?

the voice continued to lure you closer to the building, eventually getting you into the building and up the slippery stairs, wet from the leaking pipes around the building. your footsteps echoed in the building, the sound of your breathing in your ears.

you walked up to a room with a closed door. a heavy stench seeping from the gaps of the door, even worse than when you were in front of the building. maybe coming here hadn’t been your best idea, but you were already this close, so why stop here?

you exhaled deeply before twisting the rusty knob open. you saw the dead. blood and corpses were by the spirit’s legs. its claws were digging into the flesh of the innocent, shaking the body as if trying to toy with it more.

the report you submitted was done a week ago, and the incident started way before this. these bodies had been rotting for weeks at least. assuming the cursed spirit in front of you killed all the people around it, you were going to be next.

you entered a defensive stance, hand on the handle of your weapon, ready to fight if it pounced on you. instead, you watched as it slowly turned its head towards you and walked towards you. your body tensed, but it didn’t seem to bear any hostility.

it held its hand out, taking one of your hands, and you found yourself unable to move. even when you screamed at yourself to get out of the way, you found yourself unable to resist as it dragged its fingers along your wrist, a thin line of red bleeding out.

“l/n, step back!” the familiar voice snapped you out of whatever trance you were in before the spirit in front of you was hit with a few nails.

“you’re just like fushiguro. you really should tell us more about yourself, you know?” nobara sighed, holding her hammer over her shoulder. “oi, i’m the one who noticed she disappeared in the first place,” megumi grumbled. you looked at his hands.

so that’s how they found you.

“if anything, she reminds me of when you first came to the city, kugisaki!” yuji chirped in, seeming laid back even in this situation. he turned to look at you. “you aren’t hurt anywhere else other than your hand, right?” you shook your head.

you looked at the spirit on the ground. it was a first grade at most, but it had been weakened significantly, probably even before you arrived. it wasn’t long before you exercised it, with some degree of resistance.

as the three of them prepared to leave, you walked towards one of the dead bodies and crouched down, placing your hand over them.

while yuji and nobara had already left, megumi was curious about what you were doing. you got up and exhaled when he asked. “i don’t know if it works on those who’ve already passed, but usually, my cursed technique allows me to grant people on the verge of death a better demise.”

“it overrides the brain and erases any and all memories they have in exchange for peace, and a painless goodbye.”

“those two are probably waiting for us. we should report back.”

when you got back to your dorm, you took the picture out and stared at it. more people that you couldn’t be friends with, but they had saved you earlier… maybe you’d get it framed just to decorate your dorm.

you looked at your injured arm, which had been bandaged, and closed your eyes.

yuji itadori is physically gifted, a guy born with a set moral standard. his mental game is easily shaken, but that might change in the future. he has a ton of room for improvement. that’s what makes him scary.

nobara kugisaki is strong-willed, a woman born by the countryside. she cares for others the way she cares for herself, and doesn’t like showing her affected mental state to the world. she’s strong in her own way, and that’s just the type of person she is.

weeks passed by quickly. you continued gathering as much information as possible, while growing closer to your classmates. yuji often told you to cover up for the pranks he pulled, nobara would invite you out to go shopping with her, and you and megumi enjoyed reading together.

one morning, you saw megumi sitting by the benches eating alone. right, yuji and nobara had recently been dispatched on missions. you realised early on that you preferred to be with megumi out of everyone.

maybe it was his personality that drew you in? the both of you were paired up on missions often, so maybe the fact that you were partners helped develop your trust in each other… when he shouldn’t be trusting you at all. or perhaps it was the way he put you first instead of himself.

megumi is a selfless person that might not seem caring at first glance, but actually does in his own way. he holds back a lot, and has a mind matured enough to compare to that of a man twice his age, though lets loose around people he can truly find comfort in. that was the conclusion you came to about his character.

you walked towards him, hoping to be able to make small talk with him. instead, you were called upon by someone right before you got to him.

“so this is the location?” you and megumi had been informed of a cave infested with multiple third and fourth grade spirits. your job was simple. take care of them and go home.

“yea. be careful,” you said, gripping your weapon tightly.

you and megumi stepped into the cave, almost immediately registering that there was something wrong. a veil was lowered. were such low grade spirits capable of such a thing? you gulped and looked around. just the herds of lowly graded cursed spirits around. no signs of anything else.

“be careful.”

the both of you managed to make quick work of the spirits. a few scrapes, sure, but you were overall uninjured. now, there was only one problem. every last spirit in sight had been exorcised by you and megumi, but the veil wasn’t lifting. something was still there, and you both knew.

something in your senses clicked. “fushiguro, jump out of the way!” you screamed at him. there was something underneath you, and megumi had dodged just quick enough to not be drilled and split into two halves.

a drop of sweat rolled down the side of megumi’s face. how would he deal with this? his first thought was to have you distract it while he attacked, but that would probably be useless and would put you and him in too much danger.

“fushiguro! focus!” megumi lifted his head up, and you were in front of him. you had blocked a direct strike for him. he needed to concentrate. this wasn’t like the spirit you had dealt with at the abandoned building, where it showed little to no hostility, and had been weakened.

“are you back in your game yet?” you breathed out, the tiredness from blocking the attack and dealing with the earlier curses starting to kick in.

megumi took one look at your expression and hummed. there was something about it he couldn’t read, but he can’t let his thoughts consume him now.

you aren’t allowed to die here.

the both of you observed the curse for a little longer while simultaneously dodging its attacks. it primarily dug underground to attack, which made it hard to predict where its location was. the only warning sign was the rumbling of the ground before it drilled back up, which made it just a little easier to dodge.

it could blast balls of pure cursed energy, and with each dodge meant the interior of the cave was crumbling. you’d have to look out for falling rocks and stray boulders.

its weak point was probably somewhere other than its head, considering it used it to dig into places.

you shot glances at each other before megumi summoned his demon dogs to attack it from behind. “i have your back.”

you and megumi took turns switching on offence and defence. the one on offence would deal attacks to the cursed spirit, while the one on defence would watch out for oncoming attacks and destroy any rocks that were falling from the ceiling of the cave.

the plan worked well for the both of you. the uncertainty of when the both of you would switch out confused the curse, making it more vulnerable to your attacks. once you felt that the curse was confident on when you’d switch, you and megumi delivered one final attack to it together, letting it fall with a thump.

“is it over?” you heaved, your hand over your chest. a sudden realisation hit. the veil hasn’t been dropped. that meant–

“l/n, look out!” megumi pushed you out of the way before he got hit by a shot of pure cursed energy. you hear the sound of his body smashing against the rough walls, and his coughing afterwards. you looked towards megumi and briefly saw him cough blood out. you’re hoping he didn’t take the impact head first.

you narrowly managed to escape another blow just when your eyes snapped back onto the weakened, but still active cursed spirit. it can be exorcised in a single blow.

you rushed towards it and drove your weapon through its body as hard as possible, twisting, and slicing right through it. it’s as good as dead. you stared at the splatters on the floor that used to be a cursed spirit. you don’t have time for this.

turning your head away from the remains of your enemy, you focused your attention to megumi who was bloodied and injured. he was resting against the stone walls of the cave, and you could hear his heavy pants and breaths. you gulped and looked at his leg. it had stopped bleeding, the crimson now staining his leg.

you ripped a part of your uniform before crouching in front of megumi to tend to the wound. your eyes showed almost no emotion in the face of the situation, yet your trembling lips gave yourself away. you weren’t supposed to care for them, and yet here you were helping one of your targets.

you only spoke up once you finished bandaging his wound with the makeshift bandage.

“why would you do that?” you had unintentionally let your emotions slip. megumi looked at you tiredly. “just returning the favour. i would’ve gotten hurt if you hadn’t blocked the attack at the start of our battle.”

“fushiguro-” you started, quickly being cut off by megumi. “i know what you’re about to ask me,” he coughed a few times before he continued to speak. “you’re assuming i’m going to die? you’re cruel, you know?”

you tried to find words to speak, yet all you could say was a “no, i’m not,” turning your head away to not meet his gaze.

“i would kill myself if i died on you now,” he confessed, closing his tired eyes.

“and besides, you’re all i really want to think of right now.”

megumi went completely silent afterwards, and you heard soft breathing coming from him, compared to the heavy breaths from just a few minutes prior.

the next time he awoke, you were asleep, your head in your arms by his bedside. he felt a little sluggish, but his wounds had been properly bandaged and he was fine, aside from some soreness. you on the other hand, looked exhausted. there were creases on your forehead as you slept, and dark circles under your eyes.

there was a plate of food wrapped up on his nightstand, with a note stuck to it. “we make a good team.”

only after did he learn from shoko that you had completely gone against her instructions of two days of bed rest, and spent the time taking care of him instead.

“you still couldn’t have brought something more digestible?” megumi eyed the three of you, who had brought pizza to him. something that probably wasn’t nutritious enough for a patient in recovery.

“if you don’t want it, i’ll help myself!” the pink haired male took a slice of the pizza and began feasting on it. “oh, and since we’re already here, let’s just have our sleepover at fushiguro’s!” “itadori, talk after you’re done eating!” nobara shuddered at the sight of the food in his open mouth, while megumi looked as if he were about to kick everyone out of his room.

“we are not having a sleepover in my room,” megumi said in a deadpan voice, though the annoyance was evident on his face. “we can’t have it anywhere else because you aren’t permitted to leave your room, fushiguro,” you joined in on itadori’s suggestion.

“hypocrite,” megumi thought.

“alright it’s settled, we’ll have it here!” nobara clasped her hands together in victory, earning a sigh from megumi. “i still haven’t agreed to this,” he grumbled.

december 21st.

it’s cold outside. the temperatures have dropped significantly ever since the day you stepped foot into jujutsu tech. currently, you, alongside two of your classmates, were camping in megumi’s room. you had to admit, with so many people, the room considered spacious for one person became cramped.

you were sitting on megumi’s bed with a mug of hot chocolate in hand as you watched nobara and yuji fight over what they wanted to put into each other’s drinks. you found their sibling dynamic entertaining. megumi on the other hand, looked at you with softness in his eyes. the both of you had grown a lot closer compared to the first day you met. you were grateful for that.

maybe not in the right way, but at least you knew he was your friend, right?

the night went on with both chaos and comfort. yuji had suggested playing cards at one point, and he lost just about every single round. monopoly was going great until megumi somehow dominated the game so hard that the banker had to borrow money from him.

“i’m telling you fushiguro, it’s just this once! i’ll pay you back!” “you’ve said that about three times, itadori.”

you certainly weren’t in any place to laugh, and neither was nobara, since the both of you were basically hanging onto a thin thread, and if by any chance you landed on anyone’s property other than your own, you would’ve been out of the game from bankruptcy.

but you laughed anyway.

the night ended with all of you (except megumi) in your respective sleeping bags with extra blankets in case it got cold. it was quiet. too quiet, even with yuji’s snoring and nobara’s breathing. maybe that’s why you couldn’t fall asleep.

you slowly sat up, careful not to make too much noise. you looked at the clock on megumi’s nightstand. 11:47pm, thirteen minutes till midnight.

“can’t sleep?” a quiet and soft voice invaded your ears, and you looked over to megumi. he was lying down on his bed, staring out into the bushes and trees, which had been covered in a thin layer of snow. as a response, you shook your head and got up to sit on his bed. the both of you sat in silence for a while before you spoke up.

“fushiguro, you like the stars, right? wanna go stargazing on the roof?”

“are you crazy? it’s freezing outside.”

“we can use blankets.”

“have you forgotten that my leg’s still injured?”

“i’ll carry you up.”

that was how you found yourself sitting on the rooftops with a thick blanket around your shoulders. the stars shone brighter tonight. the cold winter wind that breezed by you every once in a while made you shiver. you looked up at the moon, it was full tonight. although the moon didn’t have an expression, you were sure it was smiling down at you and the raven haired boy sitting next to you.

come to think of it, even without exchanging a lot of words, you’d argue that you were closest to megumi out of all your classmates. when you first met him, you saw him as the moon, someone like yourself. yet you realised over the months that if you had to describe him, you’d have to say he were the stars. so pretty, yet disregarded by many as something outshone by the moon.

“y/n,” megumi’s voice broke through the comfortable silence, and you looked over at him. he had a small smile on his face. you felt him shuffle closer to you. maybe it was getting cold? the wind was getting stronger, afterall.

“yes?” megumi looked at the moon once more, then back at you. “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” the words reached your ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “and what of the sunset?” you questioned him back, feelings hidden behind your eyes and the convincing smile you put on your face.

“the sunset? i dislike it. the rays of the sun blind me too much for me to appreciate it as much as others do.” the sound of your soft laughter reached his ears again when he finished his sentence. “is that so…” you rested your head on his shoulder and looked towards the skies, some of the stars now covered by clouds. “really? i think the moon is beautiful too, but i’m the opposite. i prefer sunsets over moonrises.” you continued, one of your hands inching closer to him and eventually resting on top of his hand.

you exhaled deeply before lifting your head up. “fushiguro, what time is it?” he looked at you with confusion before answering. “a little bit past midnight, i’m guessing.” “oh.”

“may i kiss you?”

your question caught megumi off guard. it was expected, considering it came out of nowhere. a familiar warmth creeped up his face, and the hand on top of his now seemed to weigh heavier as you looked at him, awaiting an answer. he slowly nodded, and you leaned in to press your lips against his. the kiss was short and sweet, the light of the stars shining down upon him as you did.

“fushiguro-”

“don’t call me by my last name.” you smiled when he said those words.

“happy birthday, megumi.”

nobara eyed the both of you suspiciously, looking you up and down. “you guys could at least try to keep it down when you’re climbing onto the roof. i need my sleep,”

“i thought i was being quiet. my bad,” you apologised sheepishly. the brunette looked clearly annoyed before she sighed and let it go.

“sorry,” megumi said to you. “why are you saying sorry?” you shot him a confused look.

“we would’ve been quieter if you didn’t have to carry me.”

“oh, thaaattt,” you dragged your words out. “don’t feel bad. you were worth it.”

“how about you come with me to the cliffs sometime? maybe in the next few days? there’s a great view of the ocean and sky from there, and it’s more secluded.” the invitation fell from your lips before you even processed it.

a rare smile appeared on megumi’s face. “alright.”

“what are you two doing?! we have a mission soon, hurry up!”

he kept to his word. you and megumi ended up going stargazing together so often that yuji and nobara started questioning if you were going on dates. to them, it was blatantly obvious that you two liked each other. hell, even the both of you knew. it was just that none of you had confessed yet.

megumi always felt warmth when you guys would go together, pointing out constellations and shapes of the clouds when you did.

you on the other hand, felt the spark between you grow stronger the first few times. you tried your hardest to suppress the rising guilt. afterwards however, you spiralled deeper and deeper into the guilt you felt as a spy. you were never supposed to fall in love with him, and yet you couldn’t help but do exactly that.

you wanted– no, needed to get rid of your feelings for him. you would never want it, but you’d need it in order to get over him.

you began growing more distant. it was hard, slowly excluding yourself from hangouts and ignoring them more and more, day by day. you felt terrible. every second away from them felt agonising. you’d push them away, dismissing their help.

the fact that they noticed your distance made it feel even worse. you were going to betray them, and everything you had built up for four months, their trust, friendship, it would crumble.

you’d complete your mission and switch identities again. anyone you’ve met here won’t matter anymore once you disappear. that’s what you reminded yourself.

january 25th.

“oh, you’re here,” you approached megumi from behind, sitting down beside him. the skies were dyed with violet and orange hues, the sunset that megumi had once described to be too bright.

“i was waiting for you. you’ve been quite distant lately.”

“i thought you said you hated the sunset?” you asked, changing the subject to avoid the question. “don’t try to change the subject, y/n. answer me, please, tell me what’s going on.” you could hear the alarms in your mind go off. you wanted to get up and run away. hell, you should’ve never succumbed to the burning feelings in your heart over your mind.

“it’s really nothing. i’ve just been more busy lately, i guess,” a lie rolled off your tongue again.

megumi sighed. he could tell you were lying, but he didn’t want to push it. “you said the sunset was pretty. i thought the other day that maybe it was because i never took the time to appreciate it, but…”

“hm?” you hummed, looking at megumi.

“i still can’t see why you like it that much. i still prefer the night skies better.”

the soft laughter you let out afterwards had goosebumps pricking on his skin. he watched as the light of the sun glowed on your skin, and you looked at him. “i personally prefer the sunset…”

“but if you like the stars that much, i’ll be sure to hate the sun and love stars the next time i’m reborn.”

a light shade of red appeared on megumi’s face, and he turned to look away from you. in reality though, he’s glad. there’s the girl he fell in love with. “you don’t have to do that. we can like what we want.”

“and i want to be able to truly love the stars.” you said, your tone sullen.

night fell not long after, but there was no moon that night. the waves underneath you didn’t seem calm either. it was especially cold this winter night, and you and megumi found yourselves bidding goodbye to each other in front of the dorms earlier than you expected.

mental entry, january 25th.

i wasn’t planning on seeing megumi at the cliffs today, but he was there. i was planning on spending the last day at jujutsu high alone. megumi and i really are alike. It’s a fault on my part, i guess. i grew too attached to them.

i don’t want to do this anymore.

you gulped, and just before he was out of earshot, you called out to him, grabbing his attention. he turned around to look at you, only for you to mumble a “nevermind” before quickly apologising and running back to your dorm. you couldn’t bear to tell him.

megumi was confused. why’d you suddenly call out for him? he decided not to dwell too much on it and went to bed. and the more he thought about it, the more he felt as if he had lost the chance to speak to you about something important, because you disappeared the next day.

you stopped going to classes, training, and you weren’t responding to texts either. any calls were immediately sent to voicemail, and other than the picture that the four of you took at the mall months prior, which was framed on your nightstand, your dorm had been completely emptied out.

megumi was the last person to see you.

the week following your disappearance, it was raining every day. although the higher-ups had confirmed to have launched an investigation for you, megumi was sure that they were looking into things much deeper than just your status as a missing student. he just wasn’t sure what it was.

the first day you were introduced to them, he felt that you were different in a way. was this connected to it?

the higher-ups had also told the first years to not worry, and that they’d take care of it. as if they’d ever listen. they had discussions every single day about where you might’ve gone, if you were okay or not, and why they couldn’t see signs of this earlier.

they got confirmation shortly after that there were no signs of cursed energy from your dorm. it was as if you had never existed, and had it not been for the pictures you’d taken together, along with the texts you’d exchanged with each other, he probably would’ve believed it.

february 26th.

JUJUTSU HEADQUARTERS NOTICE

one, y/n l/n has been confirmed to be sharing confidential information to third party sources. she has hereby been expelled from both jujutsu high and the jujutsu realm as a sorcerer.

two, the penalty of the crimes committed by y/n l/n is death. the execution will be carried out promptly.

three, second grade sorcerer megumi fushiguro will serve as the executioner for y/n l/n’s death penalty.

a full month after your disappearance, a notice was released by jujutsu headquarters.

megumi’s head was pounding. he had just returned from a meeting with the higher-ups, and throughout the entire time he was in front of them, he wished for nothing more than for whatever you were accused of to be false. he was hyperventilating, his face in his hands. megumi swore he heard loud footsteps outside his room before loud knocks echoed through his room.

“fushiguro, open up!” the familiar voices of his classmates rang in his ears. no. as much as he wished to find comfort in his friends, he didn’t want them to see him in such a terrible state, so why did his legs move to help him stand and walk towards the door?

megumi doesn’t know whether to regret or to thank his decision of opening the door. his mind couldn’t register that it was yuji who placed his calloused hands on his shoulders and told him to snap out of it. even when they questioned him for details about you, whether he knew about your intentions, and if it was the reason you had grown distant the few weeks before you vanished, he answered vaguely. all he could think of was that it was over. you’re gone, and you’re never coming back.

megumi wanted to run into the pouring rain and let it wash his soul away so he wouldn’t have to face reality. he wished he’d wake up and realise it was all just a dream, and he could still see your face when he walked out of the dorm in the morning. he remembers the words of the higher-ups so clearly, he was to carry out the execution without delay. he wants to be selfish and give the responsibility to either nobara or yuji, yet the better part of him stopped him from doing so. he can’t do that to them. for once, megumi wished that he would stop loving you.

that night, megumi had trouble falling asleep. he found himself tossing and turning in bed, his head constantly clouded with the many things that would follow this incident. it felt like hours before he managed to go to sleep.

he saw you, right there by the cliffs. you were looking at the sunset again. now that he thought about it, how many of the things you’ve told him were lies?

megumi walked towards you, standing beside you as he watched the sunset with you.

“megumi, i understand why you dislike the sunset now,” you said to him, earning a puzzled look from him. “i thought you loved the sunset?” he asked. the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks reached his ears, and you turned your head to look at him.

“it really is too bright. it doesn’t suit me.” you replied.

“megumi, have you regretted it yet?” you questioned him back, and he gulped. “regretted what, exactly?”

“us.”

megumi wanted to say yes. he did regret it. he regretted that he loved someone whose purpose was to eventually betray and leave him. yet, his answer was stuck in his throat, and he said he never did. not for a second did he feel that you weren’t worth his time. he looked towards the horizon, where the sun had now fully set, then at the sky, where the moon was supposed to be, and finally, back at you.

“you made me fall in love with the moon.” you chuckled at his answer.

“i thought you loved the moon from the start.” a brief silence ensued. one that felt comfortable. something he couldn’t feel for the past month when you were brought up.

“would you let me substitute the moon in your sky?” your voice pierced through the silence, and he responded almost instantly.

“always.”

a content smile appeared on your face. “i’m glad.”

megumi’s eyes fluttered open, the sun shining in his eyes. the male rubbed tried to rub the sleep in his eyes away, only to be met with a damp feeling. tears? what was that about? his mind was hazy, and he swore he dreamt, but he couldn’t remember what it was about.

he could remember the curve of someone’s lips. yours? yea, it was. even if he went through hundreds of lives, he doesn’t think he’d mistake someone else’s smile for yours.

he didn’t have time to think about that. through the hours of lost sleep, he had convinced himself he was ready to serve his role as an executioner, and he had a feeling in his gut he knew where you were already. at the place he had refused to visit. his mind told him that you had been going there every single day, waiting for him.

“you’re finally here.” megumi could feel his heart clenched as he heard your words, and the eerie silence that followed creeped him out. you had a smile on your face, arms behind your back as you looked at him.

“why aren't you moving?” you turned your body to look at him and spread your arms out. “you need to do your job, megumi.” the smile on your face dropped when you noticed he wasn’t going near you. there were no signs that his shikigami were active either.

one step, two steps, you walked towards him instead. a part of you felt as if you were walking towards your death. you felt him flinch when you used a hand to cup his cheek. his skin felt cold and slightly damp to the touch. he had been sweating. you looked down. his blade was just inches away from your stomach.

you took his expression in, and you couldn’t help but hold back your laughter. megumi’s eyes widened when you suddenly laughed. he felt guilty for loving it. was it genuine? or another one of the things you did as a spy to toy with his feelings?

“megumi, you’ve grown attached too, huh?” it only dawned on him then that you felt just as guilty for everything you were.

“do you know what would’ve happened if you sold us out?” megumi spoke with poison laced in his tone, and a lump formed in your throat. “the world would’ve weeped for your sins, y/n.” your expression dropped completely. “i know that better than you do, and here i am, giving you a chance to end my life. yet, you’re hesitating,” you retort back.

“so hurry up already.” you looked at him with sharp eyes, looking for any signs that he might finally give in to the orders given to him. megumi’s hands trembled as he tightened his grip around the handle of his sword. “it’s not that easy to just…” he groaned loudly.

“megumi, do you want to know why they chose you to execute me instead of anyone else?” you sighed and stared directly into his eyes. “they knew i would have resisted had it been anyone else but you.”

your hands went to wrap around his. then, you slowly pry his fingers off his blade and inspect it for yourself. “you sharpened your blade. were you hoping to finish me off in a single strike?” megumi almost choked on air in response, and nodded.

your eyes softened. “how nice of him,” you thought.

“how about this?” you stepped further away from him and pointed the sword at your skull. “i’ll be the one to carry out my own execution. then,” you pointed your finger at him. “you won’t have to bear the burden of killing me.” you could hear megumi’s heavy breaths. it seemed that reality had yet to crash into him when he first found you here. “megumi,” you whispered as you took one final look at him, “i think you know better than i that i wasn’t trying to give you an option.” you gripped the sharpened blade and winced at the pain as your hands bled, then flashed him a quick smile before you slashed your eyes.

you groaned, holding back the scream threatening to release itself in an attempt to sooth the pain in your eyes. you had no right after all the hurt you’d caused. you couldn’t open your eyes. it hurt like hell, but you didn’t want to see the look on his face either. you convinced yourself it was worth it.

megumi felt as if he were frozen during the entire duration of your encounter with him. what was he doing? he was spiralling into his own thoughts, and here you were, handling your own execution because he was too much attached and too much in love with you.

every nerve and muscle in your body seemed to scream at you as you gripped the handle of megumi’s sword tight. even then, your ears couldn’t mistake the heavy footsteps of your beloved as he ran towards you just as his blade pierced your abdomen. his scream rang through your ears when crimson spilled from your wound.

ah, it seemed that blinding your eyes wasn’t enough to keep yourself from thinking of his panicked expression and guilt ridden face.

then, everything went black. you weren’t sure how long you were out for. a few seconds, perhaps a few minutes? your entire body stung, as if you were laying in a tangle of thorned roses. one thing was for sure, you were dying.

you felt something soft under your head instead of the grassy surface the rest of your body laid on. “megumi…?” your voice sounded tired and hoarse. “is that you?” there was a brief period of silence that made you doubt his presence, but a hum from him confirmed that he was indeed still there. a smile tugged at your face even through all the ache.

“i can’t see right now. look up.” megumi looked up, and realised today was the beginning of a new moon. he could barely see anything. “could you tell me what the moon looks like?”

“a blood moon. it looks as if roses had bloomed on the moon.” liar.

“it’s not good to lie, megumi. but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“very.”

you didn’t exchange any words to each other for a period of time after that. by now, your breathing had calmed down, and everything around you seemed hot and cold at the same time. something in you told you to let go of your consciousness, and another part wished you’d stay awake longer to feel megumi’s touch. be a little selfish, you told yourself.

you shakily reached your hand up towards the skies. you balled up your fist, a part of your childish mind hoping you had caught a star.

megumi could hear his heart thumping in his chest, and he pulled your body closer to him. he thought to himself, even if there had been that satellite in the sky, his moon was going to stop shining soon. he couldn’t help but wonder if the stars in your sky had burnt themselves out.

maybe all of them, except for the one that willingly let the moon outshine it.

“y/n, can’t you use your technique to give yourself a better death?” megumi asked, his hand supporting the weak, quivering fist you held up, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

“i can,” you replied back without hesitation.

“but i’d have to erase everything that’s in my mind. and besides,” you flashed him a pained toothy grin.

“you’re all i really want to think of right now, megumi.”

by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.

fun fact: i actually invested sm into this fic i made sketches of the one of the curses

#signed by aireia!#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk imagines #megumi fushiguro x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #this took 11 days to write believe it or not #also the first thing i uploaded in 3 weeks #how is everyone :D

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specialagentlokitty · 2 months

Text

Hannibal x teen!reader - i would notice

Hi 👋, i absolutely loved your Hannibal lecter fic so I was wondering if you could do a Hannibal × teen reader with angst or where he maybe saves them from someone or from themselves? If not that's totally fine. - Anon💜

TW: mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts and neglectful parents

Therapy.

According to everybody that was the solution to everything, all your problems would be solved if you just sat in a room with a stranger supposedly telling them everything about you.

Things you didn’t want anybody else to know.

You didn’t want to attend your sessions, but your parents were paying a lot of money for you to see this therapist, so you went to your sessions.

Though you never really said much, which was something Hannibal picked up on.

“Sometimes I do have to wonder why it is you insist on coming to your sessions if you’re just going to sit here to do homework instead.”

You shrugged a little bit, looking up from where you were sat on the floor.

“I’ve gotta do it somewhere, plus my parents pay for these sessions, it’ll be a waste of money I guess.”

“Do you not think you need it?”

“Everybody has problems I just don’t see the point in talking about it, it won’t change anything.”

“It could make it easier for you.”

You shrugged again and stood up, bringing a work book over to his desk and set it down.

Hannibal took the book so he could look at it while you dragged a chair over to sit next to him while he read through your work.

“Have you finished everything else?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s just this. I don’t really get it so I thought I’d leave it until last.”

Hannibal nodded his head, taking one of his many notebooks, and he found one with your name on it and opened it.

Over the sessions he had become used to you using the time for your homework, asking him yo help you with whatever it was you didn’t understand.

It actually helped him learn a lot about you, about your possible home life since you didn’t seem interested in talking about whatever problems you were having.

Hannibal explained the problem to you, and he gave you a brief demonstration on how to solve it before giving you the notebook so you could try it for yourself.

“How is school going? Are you still having problems with some of the other students?”

“A little, but I think I solved most of them.”

He hummed a little bit, slowly nodding his head.

“How did you manage that? Did you take my advance and ignore them?”

“Nope.”

You grinned a little bit at your therapist and went back to your homework.

“Shoved a whole bunch of shaving cream and feathers into their lockers.”

“You do realise retaliation in such a way could could make this a lot more complicated for you. They could also possibly get you into trouble as well.”

“Maybe yeah I guess.”

“What did your parents have to say?”

“The usual nothing.”

Hannibal wrote that down in another notebook and he studied you for a moment.

Usually it was obvious why people were in therapy, usually he knew before they came to the sessions or they would have told him by now but you didn’t.

He was having to rely on everything he saw, everything you did and the very few things that you had said.

Your sessions were routine, going the same way nearly all of the of the time.

So he began to notice the change in your behaviour as time went on, it was slight, only tiny changes but he noticed.

You didn’t bring your homework anymore, you would just tell him about your day, the changes in your clothing, you seemed more withdrawn.

Then you began to miss sessions, the first he didn’t think about it, the second he was a little suspicious but when it came to the third and forth he knew there was something more.

So, when he opened his door to see that you weren’t sat in the waiting room he sighed, making his way to the phone to dial your number.

He waited as it rang, and eventually it rang off into voicemail.

Hannibal went through all his files until he found yours and he grabbed his keys and jacket as he left the office.

You were usually the last appointment of the day since you liked to hang around and just spend time with him, which he never added extra costs for.

Making his way to your listed address, Hannibal looked at the large house, very expensive looking and extremely well kept.

He parked in the drive and made his way to the door, knocking a few times, waiting.

The door was opened and you blinked a few times, stepping aside and gestured to the house so you could let him in.

“What brings you by doctor lector?” You asked.

You closed the door.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

Hannibal handed you his jacket so you could hang it up next to yours by the door, and you led him through to the kitchen where you were before he knocked.

He watched as you carried on cooking your dinner.

“I didn’t know you were coming but you can still have some of you want.”

“No, I’m alright. But thank you. I’m actually here because you haven’t attended your sessions for the past three weeks.”

You nodded your head, setting the spoon down, and you sat on a bar stool.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting to cancel them. I know you have a policy about cancelling and whatever the fee is for not cancelling my parents can cover it.”

“That’s not why I’m here (Y/N), I’m not here about fees for cancelling.”

You seemed a little confused.

“I’m here because it isn’t like you to not turn up to your sessions, I am also aware that you haven’t been attending school recently.”

“How’d you know?”

“I called them.”

“Are you even legally allowed to do that? Can they even tell you that information?”

You were defensive.

You weren’t happy that he had called your school and you were looking for a reason to pin something on him, anything.

“I work rather closely with the FBI, I asked for favour as this behaviour is concerning.”

You nodded your head, going back to whatever your were making and you set it all aside before sitting down on the stool again.

Hannibal was stood on the other side of the counter, flicking through the recipe pages that you had left laying around.

“Can I cancel my sessions?”

Hannibal glanced up at you.

“You can, but I’d still very much like to check up on you at least once or twice a week.”

“Why? I won’t be your patient anymore.”

“Because I know you’re harming yourself, I would like to understand why. What makes you think you need to do that to yourself?”

You froze, and you tugged at your sleeves a little bit, pulling them even further.

“I’ve know for a while, I was hoping you would bring up the subject but you seem to have no interest in talking about what you’re going through.”

Hannibal walked to your cooker, and he took over making your dinner for you while you just sat there staring at the counter.

“What’s the point, it won’t change anything.”

“It can help, but people can’t help you if you won’t let them (Y/N), in order to be helped you must be willing to accept the hand that is offered to you.”

“I can’t be helped.”

You pushed yourself away from the counter you were sat at and left the kitchen, making your way into the lounge instead where you just sat down.

You turned on the TV, putting on some random show and you kicked your feet up on the table.

Hannibal followed you, setting your plate on the dining table, and he walked over, tapping your feet away from the table.

“You can be helped, nobody is beyond help.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not, now come eat and we can discuss whatever it is you’re going through.”

You didn’t bother to argue, you went to eat your dinner while Hannibal left you to eat in peace.

He came back and he set a few tubs down on the table in front of you.

“All of these are prescribed to patients who suffer from depression. How long have you been taking your medication for?” He asked.

“About a year or two, I don’t know.”

He hummed, nodding his head.

“How long have you not been taking them?”

You glanced up.

“You have been filling out your scripts, but you have a whole collection of unopened bottles.”

“About half a year I guess… I don’t know…”

“Do you plan on doing anything with those bottles?”

“No.”

“So I can take them away from you and only leave the one you’re supposed to have?”

You nodded your head.

You didn’t have any use for the old ones that you never took, you just kept filling in the scripts to keep everybody happy.

That wasn’t how you wanted to go out.

No.

You had thought about this night after night after night, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Are you here alone often?”

“My parents work a lot, they’re usually away most of the year.”

He nodded his head, taking your mostly empty plate away when you pushed it away from you.

You followed the therapist to your kitchen, climbing back up on the bar stool as you looked at him.

“Can I take a look at your arm, I would like to ensue that you don’t need any further medical attention.”

You moved your arm closer to yourself.

“Alright, that’s okay. You don’t need to show me, but I do need to know if you’re taking care to prevent infection.”

“Yeah, I know about all that stuff.”

“Good, now since you refuse to come to our sessions I will come here. A few times a week to ensure that you’re taking care of yourself.”

He did.

He kept coming by, he would talk to you, try encourage you to open up to him.

The one thing he noticed is how lonely the house seemed to be, the lack of family photos, the lack of friends around to the lack calls from your parents.

Hannibal arrived at your house like always, the first thing he noticed this time was that there was two other cars in the driveway.

Making his way up to the door he knocked, and a man answered.

“Hello, is (Y/N) home.”

“Who are you?” The man asked.

“My apologies, I’m doctor lector, their therapist. (Y/N) didn’t want to come to the office anymore so we’ve been continuing sessions here, I assume you are their father?”

“Yes, and I don’t know where they are. Look, I’m busy, go check their room or something I have meeting.”

Your dad left the door open and Hannibal walked in, making his way up the stairs to your room and he knocked on the door.

When you didn’t respond he knocked again.

“I’m opening the door.” He announced.

He pushed your door open and looked around to see that you weren’t there either.

Sighing, he made his way back to his car and tried to call your phone once more, but you never picked up.

He decided to head back to the office, deciding that he’d try and find you again tomorrow.

Hannibal didn’t know about your hideouts, where you liked to go or even have a slight idea on where you would go.

And that’s where he found you, sitting in the waiting room, and he walked over, crouching down in the front of you.

“I’ve been trying to find you.” He said gently.

You looked up, and you sniffled a little bit.

“Why do my own parents hate me…?” You asked.

Your voice cracked, and you leant back, tilting your head back to try and fight the tears that were burning your eyes.

“Let’s talk inside.”

He stood up, opening his door and you walked inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Hannibal sat in the chair in front of you, offering you a few tissues which you took.

“What makes you think your parents hate you?”

“They’ve been home for two days… haven’t even spoken to me… haven’t even looked at me… it’s like I don’t exist…”

He nodded his head.

“I.. I.. it’s like if I died they wouldn’t even care… you know? They wouldn’t even notice…”

That was enough to catch his attention.

“Do you think about dying?”

“Sometimes… I know nobody would really notice.. life would carry on…”

“That’s not true.”

You looked up at him.

“I would certainly notice, life would be very different without you in it.”

You scoffed a little bit.

“You have to say that, it’s your job.”

“If you recall you left my services, it’s not my job to say that.”

Hannibal smiled slightly at you.

“I say it because I mean it, I do worry for you, I would notice your absence if you were to die, which is why I have to ask if you plan on acting upon this urge you have.”

“Sometimes but I.. I just can’t… you know?”

He nodded his head.

“I will admit this is rather concerning, I do have to wonder if for your own safety I have you placed in psychiatric care for a few days.”

“No! Please don’t…”

Hannibal thought for a moment, wondering what to do.

“If that’s the case then perhaps we can think of something else, in order to ensure your safety and a plan to help you through these feelings and urges that you are having.”

You nodded, agreeing with this.

The first step was for you to tell him everything you had been avoiding telling anybody this whole time, then he would come up with a care plan for you to help with your recovery and show you that you were important to this world

#Hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal imagine #Hannibal lector #hannibal lector x reader #Hannibal lector x you #Hannibal lector imagine

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kale-of-the-forbidden-cities · 3 months

Text

Just thinking about Fitz and Keefe. They're both so jealous of each other. It spiraled into more and more talking about fitz and vacker imperfections and stuff, enjoy :>

(I rambled out the draft on discord, but I did change a few things and add on a bit at the end, so if you feel like rereading it might make more sense now)

tw: breif mentions of ed, suicidal thoughts, and implied sh, but they're all like very brief and not descriptive just want to put a warning

Remember in Flashback when Sophie and Fitz were going all Fitzphie on Keefe's mind, and they found the memory of Alden telling Keefe he was proud?

Imagine it hurt so bad for Fitz when he watched that. Because Alden never says that to Fitz even when he came out on top, no matter how perfect he was, so why did Keefe get that kind of praise?

Keefe may have come out second to Fitz with Foxfire grades, but Fitz has always felt second to Keefe in everything. No matter how perfect he tries to be or how much of a people pleaser he is, it seems inevitable that everyone likes Keefe better anyway.

And how could they not? He's funny, he's messy, he's imperfect.

Fitz could never be like keefe. His family would hate him. But they still like Keefe better.

Alvar always liked Keefe better than his actual little brother. Even though Fitz looked up to Alvar more than anyone! He admitted that in Neverseen!

Alden told Keefe he was proud of him?? for coming in second? Even after all the studying and work Fitz put into being first, being top, being perfect, people always choose keefe, Which is one of the reasons Fitz was so insecure about Sophie spending a lot of time with Keefe while she and Fitz were dating, he was scared she was going to leave him for Keefe, like people always do, because he's just better. he's nicer, he doesn't lash out at people, he doesn't have as much pressure on him because he never cared about pleasing his parents.

AND SHE DID! Sophie did leave him for Keefe. Even though Fitz promised to take things at her pace. Even though he said he'd wait. But it was the match lists that ended up breaking them apart. But what was Fitz supposed to do?? Not care about the match? There had never been a Vacker bad match, and Fitz beign the first one, after everything Alvar did and how much all the Vackers already hate these five in particular, it would bring a whole new level of shame on the family. Not just him, but Biana and Alden and Della too.

Keefe is allowed to not care about this stuff, because he's not perfect. Fitz is so, so, so jealous of Keefe because he GETS TO BE IMPERFECT. HE'S ALLOWED TO MAKE MISTAKES. He's allowed to feel things.

Keefe's parents are awful, Fitz's parents are fine. Anytime Fitz dares to think "hey maybe my parents are manipulating or using me or putting unrealistic expectations on me" he also remembers that he has it GOOD. He's so lucky compared to everyone else. So he has no right to be upset about anything.

In Flashback, Fitz actually says something like this to Sophie: Sophie had to grow up with humans, Keefe has his whole thing with his parents, Dex was bullied for being the son of a bad match, Tam and Linh were banished… so he's had it easy! He has no right to feel sad when his life is just. so. perfect.

And the thing is, everyone thinks his life is perfect. Especially Keefe! Keefe is always talking about how the Vackers are perfect and lucky and he wishes he was one, when inside, Fitz would secretly rather be Keefe. Even with the whole everything with his parents, at least he doesnt have to be perfect! At least he's allowed to disappoint his parents, because theyre bad parents! And people always like him more. Without fail, Fitz has always felt second to Keefe. Every time he thinks he did good, people go to keefe for being imperfect.

Why did keefe get Alden's praise when he came out second in the level? Fitz barely slept to make sure he came out on top! If Fitz had gotten 98/100, he wouldn't be yelled at, but he'd get a disappointed talk. Why is it different with Keefe, who isnt even Alden's son, why does Alden like him more?

So Fitz ends up spiraling and obsessing more and more.

He can't be imperfect like Keefe, he wouldnt dare. So he does what he can to be as perfect as possible. Maybe he just needs to get a hold on his temper. Wait till he's behind closed doors to do anything but smile. Maybe he needs to eat less, get a perfect number on the scale. Maybe then he'll be good enough.

But he's never good enough.

Nothing he does will ever be good enough.

Keefe is reckless, imperfect, and messy. but even though Fitz does his best to not step a toe out of line, he does everything he can to be perfect...... They keep picking Keefe. without fail, no matter what.

Fitz knows he shohld accept defeat, accept that he'll never be good enough for anyone because of everything he's done to try to be perfect, but he can't stop trying.

He'll keep pushing himself, he'll stay up for hours studying, looking for clues about the Neverseen, going through Alvar's old room, he'll do ANYTHING for someone to say theyre proud of him. For someone to tell him that he did good, for once in his life, but they never notice.

It's never "Wow, you've been working so hard, good job!" or "You look good, did you lose weight?" or "Thanks for helping out, thanks for at least trying"

EVEN THOUGH HE DOES NOTHING BUT TRY. HE'S TRYING SO HARD

Instead, people are saying things like "You look awful, you've got bags under your eyes" (maybe he should put on some makeup to hide that) or "You never join us for dinner, it's like you hate us" (he does. he secretly hates his family so much) or "You've gotten so distant that you're ruining all your relationships with your friends and family" (what else is he supposed to do? they dont like him anyway)

He's driving himself insane over being perfect, only to have people like Sophie say that he's "too perfect." HE JUST CANT WIN!

He's not allowed to make mistakes, but maybe the worst mistake he made was being too perfect!

But how does he stop?

He can't. he trapped himself here. He's convinced he brought this on himself, but he cant get out of this cycle,

And nobody else will get him out,

Because he's not perfect enough.

If they havent noticed his struggling, maybe they dont care enough. But Fitz has gotten so good at hiding it. Nobody will notice until he passes out in the hall or just fucking kills himself because it's too much.

Fitz thinks, why is it that Keefe's allowed to be open about hating himself, and yet as soon as he makes the slightest self deprecating comment, he's suddenly "being dramatic" or "looking for attention"?

And we're back to talking about Keefe again.

None of this is Keefe's fault but he will still feel so so guilty. He felt Fitz's jealousy and hurt when they watched the memory of Alden saying he's proud of him.

Keefe and Fitz are constantly comparing themselves to each other, but by the end of the story, Keefe will be getting the help and support he needs to move on from it. Fitz never showed it and wouldnt dare admit it. So he does not.

Alden and Cassius both seem to prefer the other's son.

Even with Fitz and Biana. There's still a bit of jealousy there, because Biana is starting to seperate herself from her family, and start her own "Vacker Legacy," whatever that means.

After Nightfall, biana has grown more comfortable with herself, she is challenging what it means to be a Vacker, realizing that their family isn't all it's claimed to be. She has no shame in being her fun confident self, and crying when she needs to, and showing off her scars, while if Fitz showed his scars, he'd probably end up in a psych ward or something (or at the very least getting yelled at).

Fitz is jealous of Biana almost as much as he's jealous of keefe. She's never been quite perfect either, but it's always in a good way, isn't it? she's managed to keep her friends (not including the earlier books) and she used to be a bit of a jerk to people, so people can look back and see how far she's come.

Fitz has only gotten worse over the years, and he knows it. he hears what people say in the halls. their whispers hardly hide it. He's presented himself the way he wanted to be - perfect. But it gets harder and harder to hide his imperfections, and people only notice the bad things, don't they? They don't worry, they only judge.

Biana's probably dealing with her own issues, as everyone in the Vacker family does, but she can be more honest about it. She's starting to break the habit of plastering on a smile and saying everything's fine. She's working on her relationship with people. She's like reverse Fitz.

Fitz fears he's going down a similar path of destruction to Alvar, but he counters those fears by being Alden's perfect golden boy like he was always supposed to be. Alden has such a hold on Fitz, he'd do anything for him if Alden worded it right. Ever since he was a kid he always knew he'd do anything to please his parents, even if it was potentially dangerous. But nobody has seemed to even bat an eye when they hear how young Fitz was when he went to the Forbidden Cities. So he must be overreacting, right? Because how could Fitz's childhood be anything less than perfect?

See, when Sophie started learning a little bit about Fitz's past and how things were actually not perfect in the Vacker house, she started to ignore him more and more. She had her other reasons, but to Fitz, it seemed like she was seeing how imperfect he really was, and he's not everything she hoped for. So he panics, and does his best to prove to her that he is the perfect boyfriend she wanted, but it didn't matter anyway because... she. liked. Keefe. better.

And Fitz hates himself so much for wishing he was keefe because Keefe has it so bad with the legacy thing, he hates how he wishes his parents were worse so he didn't feel so guilty every time he made a mistake that would disappoint them.

Not one person in Fitz's life has ever chosen him first. With everyone. There's always someone they love more.

Della loves Biana more, Biana chooses her friends, Sophie chose Keefe, Keefe chose Sophie.

Alden seemed to favor Keefe, or his work, or even just the ways he uses Fitz instead of loving him as his son or as a person. Maybe that's why Fitz is so desperate to listen to Alden, to please him, because he's the only person who seems to even care, even if he only cares when he's doing good or being perfect.

Alvar would choose Biana or Keefe over Fitz any day, even before the betrayal. Fitz still looked up to him, despite his vague dislike for Fitz. He likes Biana better because he thinks she'd understand better what the Vacker legacy is, Because FITZ IS PART OF IT. HE'S ADDING ONTO IT, WHATEVER IT IS!

Yep that's all I have, feel free to add your own ideas :3

tags:

@fitz-avery-vacker @autistic-daydreamer

#kotlc #kotlc fitz #fitz vacker #kotlc vackers #kotlc alden #alden vacker #kotlc alvar #alvar vacker #kotlc della #della vacker #kotlc biana #biana vacker #kotlc headcanons

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yawnzzznnn · 6 months

Note

Can you do a yandere quackity alphabet pls chupapi mew manure 😍😍😍❤️

♚Quackity yandere alphabet♚

♚Special thanks too: the dumb ass who requested this, Quackity

♚Note: legit my first time ever writing for quackity....

♚TW: yandere themes : toxic relationship : mentally ill Quackity : obsession : possessiveness : death : mentions of murder : cursing : dark themes : brief mention of suicide :

♚DISCLAIMER: do not read this if you are uncomfortable with yandere themes I have other works you can read or if your into kpop/kdramas don't hate on this no one is forcing you to read this if you are sensitive don't read this THIS IS ALL A WORK OF FICTION DO NOT ATTEMPT ANYTHING YOU READ IN THIS POST if someone is doing some of this stuff to you contact the police immediately DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 16!!!

10-28-23

A - allowing (how allowing are they?)

I feel like he's not as though as others would be, so he'll allow you to go outside, but he has to be there as well.

B - blackmail (did they blackmail there s/o?)

No he didn't, in his eyes your fragile, almost baby like, he didn't wanna do anything to harm you.

C - carving (do they carve there name into you? And where?)

No he doesn't, no matter how pissed he is at you, he refuses to harm you in anyway.

D - Dangerous (how dangerous are they?)

On the danger scale Quackity is about a 6, he's not super dangerous but he can be.

E - Exposed (How vulnerable are they when it comes to their s/o?)

Once he knows you're not going anywhere, he'll be more sensitive and, talk about personal things and, seek comfort in you.

F - favorite (there favorite place on there s/o)

Probably your hair....he loves playing with your hair.

G - Game (are they using there s/o as a pass time?)

Absolutely not, you're too fragile for that.

H - Hell (what's the worse they've done to there s/o?)

even tho, not as extreme as other yandere's would do, the worst he's done is lock you in a room for a week.

I - Ideals (what's there future plans with there s/o?)

Probably to keep you with him as long as possible, he doesn't want kids, he feels you won't be able to make it through child birth.

J - Jealousy (how jealous are they?)

On the jealousy scale he's about a 7, like he gets jealous and will kill the other person but once he sees you he forgets everything.

K - Killing (how many times will they kill for there s/o)

As many times as it takes.

L - Love (how in love are they?)

Head over heels in love with you, he fell in love with you the first time he saw you.

M - (how messy are they?)

He's very clean when he does his killings, he doesn't want you to find old blood.

N - No (what will they not allow there s/o to do?)

Go anywhere without him, it's his main rule.

O - Obsession (how obsessed are they?)

On the obsession scale he's about a 9, he does have pictures of you all over his walls. (not just the bedroom)

P - Possession (how possessive are they of there s/o?)

He'll let you wear what you want and, hang out with whoever, just don't break a rule and you'll be fine.

Q - Quit (if there s/o dies would they find someone else?)

If you die he dies.

R - Regret (do they feel guilty for the things they've done?)

When he sees you cry over something he's done, then he will remorse for the things he's done, but other than that nope.

S - Stamina (how long will they put up with there s/o acting up?)

Not long at all, the second you start acting up he'll put you in your place.

T - Tears (how do they feel about seeing their s/o scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?)

He hurts more than you, once he sees you doing anything of the sorts, he'll stop everything immediately.

U - Unique (would they do anything different from the classic yandere?)

Other than letting you actually have a life that's not revolved around him, not really.

V - Vice (what weakness do they have for there s/o?)

When you get emotional, he can't stand it, unless its a good kind of emotional.

W - Wit’s end (would they ever hurt their s/o?)

Physically? No, Mentally? Absolutely.

X - Xoanon (To what length would they go to win their s/o over)

He'll go as far to change himself, physical appearance included.

Y - Yandere (what kind of Yandere are they?)

He's laid back, he allows you freedom, but as I mentioned, he always has to be around you.

Z - Zzz (Do they sleep around there s/o?)

Of course! He wanted to prove to you, he's completely normal and nothing wrong or messed up is going on in his head.

#qsmp quackity #quackity smp #quackity #quackity x reader #quackity x you #quackity x y/n #yandere content #yandere #yandere quackity #dsmp x reader #qsmp x reader

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c4ttheart · 5 months

Text

yuta okkotsu x gn!reader wc 700

TW mentions of sh, suicide. angst with an attempt at humor

his soul is feeble, crunching underneath your shoes like the earth you walk on. his heart is even weaker, it has been tossed, thrown and pulled apart by your hands.

but he stays, because you are the only real thing he has ever known. he stays, because he loves you. and he stays, because he knows that at the end of the day, it is your presence he yearns for. what he doesn’t know, is if you feel the same.

yuta okkotsu is fragile, nimble and most definitely comparable to a grain of sand. he is easily influenced by the wind, swaying and changing shapes whenever he is asked to. he is also insignificant, laying amongst his peers on a beach.

you are everything he is not. you are kind, and gentle, and impatient, and your mind is built like a fortress, unable to be broken when constructed. if he is the sand, then you are the sea. and gojo probably is the seagull. (he drops his shit on yuta whenever he feels like it.)

yuta likes flowers. he isn’t particularly fond of daisies, but he enjoys picking petals wondering if you love him or not. he finds that he likes a lot of things. you are one of them.

you have an odd way of showing your affection, squeezing his arm when you are overly excited, digging your fingernails in his skin or having random bursts of energy even when he knows you slept very little that night. he doesn’t mind the temporary marks or the walls shaking due to your little jumps, as long as he gets to see you grin like you have just discovered what living feels like.

but he is so, so wrong, because you do not live, you survive. although yuta is attentive, he fails to see the signs when he is too engrossed in not letting red seep through his cheeks when you look at him.

he fails to notice the meaning of the « i’m tired » you let out, or the scars on your upper thighs. he fails, and fails, and fails again. can he even do anything right ?

the grain of sand he has become is engulfed by the waves crashing upon the shore, silently nestled in the water, away from the light, away from all sense of rationality. he is far, far gone, drowning but not really. he doesn’t mind being cut off from the surface, the oxygen his survival depends on, because at least he is being sweeped around by your body of water. it is only when he is tossed upon the beach and his lungs receive much needed air that he connects the dots.

a letter is neatly positioned on his desk, perfectly angled and flat against the wood of the table. the writing is neat, and he wonders for a brief moment if the epitome of perfection themself has written this. his eyes go wide when he sees the familiar name and signature on the bottom, scanning over the paper to catch brief mentions of « sorry » and « i can’t do this any longer. »

his legs take him away as he rushes through the halls, daisy petals falling from his pockets, all uneven pointing to the sign that you love him not. he sprints, tumbling into corners and walls as if an angry maki was running after him. it is only once he is in the secured presence of gojo does he let himself take a breath, and his knees go weak.

he cannot bear the truth, pools of tears flooding from his eyes. he realises timberlake was right, you can cry rivers.

when yuta okkotsu reaches his room again, he swallows, and his breathing becomes ragged. his fingers skim along the paper, tracing every outline of every word you have written. his vision can only make it past the title before it becomes blurry, miserable sobs making themselves past his lips.

he stops once again when he has reached the ending. he reads the last sentence over and over until he is sure he can hear your voice reading it for him in his head.

« sincerely yours (because that’s all i’ll ever be), (name). »

you’ll always be his, and he will always be miserable. after all, he is just a grain of sand.

me 🤝 major character death and making the love interest loose sense of rationality

im gonna b 100% honest im not sure of the meaning of half the words i wrote but ermm lmk if u want the suicide note bc i alr have half of it written down

#jjk x reader #yuta okkotsu #yuta #jjk #angst #jjk angst #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #jjk okkotsu #jjk yuta

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manyrandomfandoms · 2 days

Text

tw: brief mentions of miscarriage and suicide attempt

the dichotomy of the level of stakes in each episode of Downton Abbey will always be funny to me. Some episodes are like

“Thomas is on the brink of being fired for being gay”

“it’s the actual World War I”

“Sybil could very well die in childbirth”

“Bates has been arrested for a murder he didn’t commit”

“one of the staff caused a MISCARRIAGE of someone from Upstairs”

“Thomas has been found half dead in a self-inflicted bloody bathtub”

And then other episodes are like

“Will Carson let the staff go to the town fair”

“who will win the flower competition”

“The cooks dropped the chicken on the floor”

“Sybil is wearing pants”

“Branson is still fraternizing with the Downstairs”

#The stakes of Downton Abbey #Makes me laugh when I think about it #‘Cause you know you’re just as invested at the flower competition as you are at the war #Downton abbey #thomas barrow #sybil crawley #mr carson #tom branson #mr bates

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lewkwoodnco · 6 months

Note

Hii I wanted to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song "How you get the girl." With them being friends and her being there when he opened the agency. All of them are on a case, and she almost gets ghost touched, so the drive home is very intense, then Lockwood gets mad at her for being reckless, she doesn't want to argue with him so she just goes to sleep crying, the next week Lockwood avoids her, and he sees a nightmare about her dying, so he pushes her even further away. She thinks that he is in love with Lucy because he is avoiding her and spending more time with Lucy. So she leaves the agency, and Anthony doesn't stop her because he thinks he is doing the right thing for her. Lucy and George miss the reader because they're very good friends, so they persuade Lockwood to tell the reader how he feels and bring her back, but Lockwood doesn't listen because he thinks it's for the better. Meanwhile, the reader gets very depressed because she misses them. After months of missing them, she can't do it anymore and tries to drown herself, but Lucy and George find her, so she gets angry at them and leaves. Lucy and George tell everything to Lockwood, who can't do it anymore. So he goes to the reader's house to confess and get her back.

How You Get the Girl - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: wooooo I’ve taken a long break from angst and this fic scratched all my itches hheheheh and in honour of 1989 TV!!! TW brief suicidal mentions but I try not to go into much detail, and goodnight god I need to sleeeeep wc: 4.8k

The four of them were in a cemetery, tasked to tackle three confirmed Lurkers. They were grateful it wasn't more, what with only half of them having decent Sight, but she was starting to feel bored, prodding the pebbles in the soil like some makeshift game, penned inside her iron chains near the gate. Lucy was also inside a different set of chains, but hers was inside the cemetery, where all the action was, and where she could somewhat help to look for the Sources. She had been more than ready to be the one standing nearer to the gate, but she was better at scaling walls so it was only logical to have her be the one inside in case...in case something went wrong with the gate.

Still, if George's yelling was any indication, they'd just found the second source, so it wouldn't be much longer now. They'd find the last source, pack up, and leave this dimly lit place which made her stomach churn.

"Where's the last one? I don't -" Lucy's scream tore into the night sky, cutting Lockwood off. She nearly fell over her rapier as she stumbled to her feet, hands growing clammy as she squinted through the cemetery's fog. She had never heard Lucy scream, let alone one filled with so much terror. Her mouth felt like rubber as she listened for something, anything, but was deafened by her heart pounding in her ears. Nothing. It was eerily quiet, as if none of them were there. She called out to her friends. Still nothing. She tried not to think about the last time Lockwood had been this quiet on a case. Turns out, he wasn't quite as chatty when bleeding out from a gunshot wound. Something similar must have happened now. His knees were probably buckling under himself right now, exhaling his last breath, as she stayed behind her chains like a coward. She heard a forlorn whisper - her own, even though she didn't register herself speaking.

"Lockwood. Lockwood?"

He was dead. She didn't know why, or how, but in that moment she knew for a fact that he was dead, or dying, and no one could bear to tell her. Sod the chains.

She tentatively stepped out of the circle, swallowing as her nausea increased tenfold. The crunch of the gravel beneath her boots seemed too loud for a night as quiet as this. The silence emanating solidified with every step she took, until the absence began to feel like something tangible. Her thoughts were running ahead of her, taunting her, preparing her for the worst sight imaginable. George with his head smashed upon? Lucy with her throat slashed? Lockwood, impaled on his own rapier?

She felt a prickling at the back of her neck, the kind that comes when a Visitor is too close. She lashed behind herself clumsily, rapier suddenly as bulky and unfamiliar as it was years back. She’d been in far more life-threatening situations, and yet now was the time she chose to have all her skills fly out of the window.

She felt a harsh jerk at her left elbow, and for the second time that night, she had an unpleasant swooping sensation of uncertainty twist her stomach. Fire spluttered inches from her face and she flinched, bumping into Lockwood, whose fingers had slipped from the crook of her elbow to her wrist. He looked around wildly, pulling his rapier back defensively, before she heard an unpleasant screech as her ears popped. Panic seeped out of her as she readjusted to the real world, becoming increasingly aware of his grip on her pulse. His hair was messed up and the side of his face glittered with soot, but he seemed too busy struggling with something himself to speak. He looked just as disconcerted as she felt, but the longer he observed her with trepidation in his eyes, she felt that it had more to do with her than the Lurkers.

“They...found the source?” She asked breathlessly, anything to break the silence.

“...yes.” He bit out, and she was thrown off by the venom in his voice. There was something different about him, something surlier. George gave a shout from behind and Lockwood snapped out of it, letting go of her wrist and moving away. By the time her wits had sufficiently returned, he was already finishing up some paperwork and George and Lucy had just finished loading their supplies into the cab. She tried to catch Lockwood's eye as he walked towards them, but he seemed to be aggressively avoiding her gaze. The crushing feeling was back. The cab ride was no less easy.

“Were you ghost-locked?” Lucy had picked up that something was off and she had the foresight to sit up front with the driver, while George was stuck between them. Lockwood, being Lockwood, wasn't about to wait until they reached home to start on her.

“No.” Couldn’t even see the bloody thing, she wanted to add, but she felt it wouldn’t help her case.

“Drawn out by the visitor?”

“No.” She felt the hot prick of shameful tears behind her eyes as she cradled her forehead. What had gotten into her? She had been embarrassingly paralysed for no good reason, rapier slack in her hand like an amateur trainee who couldn’t tell one end from the other.

“You of all people should know to stay within the chains. You know how little you can see. This isn’t your first Lurker - “

“I heard noises, and some screaming, and then it was dead quiet. I thought something terrible had happened.”

"What screaming?" It was harder for Lucy to follow the conversation from the front, but she still tried earnestly.

Her response died at her lips as she caught George's equally confused glance. The realisation dawned on her unpleasantly. Of course no one knew what she was talking about. There was no screaming. She should have known better, she did know better: Lurkers were notorious for causing visual and auditory hallucinations. Lockwood didn't wait for an answer, and pressed on heatedly.

“Even if she had screamed, your first instinct is to abandon your only form of protection? You’re not a newbie, L/N. So why I am I having to spell this out for you?”

“Spell what out for me?” It was a little more vicious than what the rest were accustomed to seeing, especially since very little of Lockwood riled her up this much after working with him for so long. But he hadn’t referred to her by her surname for years, and it stung.

“You could have died! You nearly did die. Never, have I ever seen a disregard for personal safety so deplorable. Really, what were you thinking?”

She rests her head against the cold window, the rattling a welcome relief to her pounding head, her exhaustion finally catching up to her, her words like loose marbles on her tongue. “I…I don’t know. I wasn’t- I was just…I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly.”

As far as misunderstandings went, theirs never went this far. Lockwood was an open book to her, and where he was stubborn she was even-tempered enough to knock some sense into him before things escalated this far. But this was new territory. She had never seen him this angry before and certainly never towards her, and she was too weak to shoulder his anger bravely. She could see the irritation behind the tension in his shoulders as he stabbed his rapier into their rapier stand near the front door, and felt her heart fold within itself even more. He jerked towards her like there was something he wanted to stay. A million words and feelings raced across his face. She opened her mouth, willing her fatigued mind to say something to patch the rift.

“I’m sorry.” She held her breath. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Any other day, he would have sighed, maybe held off for a second or two, before pulling her into a half hug or ruffling her hair, and dragging her to the kitchen. Because where Lockwood was smooth and charismatic, she was clunky with words and sometimes she couldn’t find the right ones. But with Lockwood, she didn’t need to. He would take one look in her eyes and pluck the thought out with devastating grace. It was her and Lockwood, Lockwood and her, forever scampering to each other’s rooms across the hallway to tell the other about their latest inane thought, until George yelled at them to quit it.

But today was not any other day.

“If you pull a stunt like this again…I don’t know if I could trust you enough to stay safe on cases.”

Her voice was an ugly croak. “…what?”

“Y/N…I cannot, in good conscience, entertain or enable you in this-this suicidal-“

“Lockwood, it was an accident. You know that, right?”

“That’s besides the-“

“You can’t possibly think I did this on purpose!”

“I don’t know.”

His eyes dropped, and she felt tears stinging her eyes again. “You...don’t...know.” She echoed him distantly, turning over each syllable on her tongue carefully, voice as hollow as his. “You don’t know…what? You don’t know…me?”

Flashes of the life they built together ran through her mind. Patiently dusting the frames that cluttered the walls. Broaching the idea of starting an agency. Standing hours in line at DEPRAC to register said agency. Going to Arif’s for the first time. Weeks of singed hair and smoky air as they relentlessly shortlisted the most cost-effective suppliers for their kits. Getting over her first breakup and watching him laugh as she swore off dating forever. Cycling indoors on a rainy afternoon just for the hell of it, while George nagged at them incessantly. Buying a cake the day their paperwork was approved and it being smeared on DEPRAC’s certificate within a minute of it being cut. Getting yelled at by Barnes for the first time. Getting injured for the first time and having him excessively fuss over the cut. Arguing about their noses while waiting for their cab in the cold after a case (he insists they’re the same, and she disagrees, partly because she isn’t sure if she could handle knowing that). Framing their first (less than complimentary) news article. Him putting the kettle on in the mornings so that it’s just the right temperature by the time she comes down to the kitchen.

Somewhere along the line, she became acutely aware that the glow she felt watching him nibble at toast in bright spirits after a long case wasn’t completely normal, but then she forgot, because it didn’t matter at the time. But now it felt like it should.

He swallowed with a resolute set to his jaw that told her he wasn’t going to change his mind anytime soon. She felt a tremor run through her hand, a sudden urge to reach out and clench the lapels of his coat, to hold on to the misty silhouette of a friend who was quickly dissolving into thin air.

And then he was gone, and she was alone, and the rift deepened and gaped its visceral jaws in front of her, threatening to swallow her whole. She numbly got dressed for bed, forgetting about the slice on her forearm until she dragged it across her sheets. It smarted, but there was a comfort in the irritation and rawness.

That night, she dreamt of bicycles rolling along on hardwood floors, the shadows the library fire cast in the grooves of Lockwood's face, and rough walls she couldn't scale. She didn't know when she started to cry.

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

"So we all slept like shit. Good to know."

George walked into an uncharacteristically silent kitchen. Lucy was glumly stirring her tea, Lockwood favoured the newspaper over breakfast that morning, and she had a plate of buttered toast in front of her that she kept forgetting about. "At least the two of you had the chains for, er, most of it."

"Please. It was just as bad inside the chains. I kept hearing my teammates die over, and over, and..." She covered Lucy's hand with one of her own, gently removing her spoon.

Breakfast was a sorry affair, and the rest of the week didn't fare much better either, and things reached a breaking point on Sunday. Lockwood shut himself up in the library to get their files and invoices straightened out. There we go, another first: first morning they didn't speak a word to each other. Lucy was busy with rapier practice and George went off to the Archives, so she decided to head out for some fresh air. She came home around lunchtime. George wasn't back yet, but she couldn't hear the jets going off in the basement. She crept upstairs, her stomach twisting at the sight in Lockwood's room.

He was seated on his bed, concerningly pale, talking to Lucy in a low voice. The scene looked so intimate she felt like an intruder just watching them. She tapped on his door, and their heads jumped apart.

"Everything okay?" She tried to keep her tone light, but Lucy's grave face and Lockwood still pointedly looking away didn't help. Lucy gave him a not-so-subtle kick and he grimaced. Her face fell.

"Sorry, I...didn't mean to intrude."

"No, no, it was nothing. We were just talking about yesterday's case. Right, Lockwood?"

"I'll just go -"

"Luce, mind helping me pack the chains?" He held out a duffel bag. The duffel bag he always gave her, not Lucy, to pack the chains. To her credit, Lucy didn't seem much happier than her either, and she snatches the bag from him in a huff. As Lucy walks away, she wonders what it must be like to be loved by Anthony Lockwood. He stands up and starts to shift around his room, fiddling with odds and ends; but curiously, he hasn't asked her to leave.

"I can't - " Her words failed her, but she gritted her teeth and forced them out anyway, the hard edge in her voice giving way to a weak whisper. "I can't stand this. You can't keep freezing me out."

"I don't know what you're talking about. What I do know is that we have a job at 135 Manilla Street and if you don't feel up for it..."

She didn't finish his sentence. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She wasn't going to play into his emotionally manipulative hands like putty. Lucy awkwardly walked out of the room.

"...maybe you shouldn't come."

For the first time in nearly 18 hours, he finally looked at her, but nothing could have prepared her for the contempt he held.

"Don't be ridiculous." "Of course I'm coming."

"Actually, I was just discussing this with Lu-" A heavy boot chucked from the attic narrowly missed Lockwood's head. "I came to the decision, after talking with Luce, that maybe it's best you don't come tonight. I don't want a repeat of yesterday."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, because I'm coming. This is my job." Lockwood didn't seem to appreciate that in the same way she did. She was distantly aware of George calling out into the house, and Lockwood slammed the stack of books he was gathering onto his desk in response. Anger seemed to be the only emotion he could express after last night.

"Why can't you just listen for once? Why must you always be so...so difficult?"

"I'm not some possession for you to do with as you please! You yell at me, ignore me, scorn me, now lock me up just because you've decided you don't want to look at me?"

"Enough." There was a warning hidden in the tone of his voice as he started to close his door, but she wasn't done. Some fragmented fracture of Lockwood still cared about her, cared about his awful behaviour, and by God was she going to shake that out of him.

"What do I care? Keeping secrets behind locked doors is all you're good at anyway."

He froze just as the door was a fraction of an inch away from closing, a deadly quiet settling over the house. Even the rustling in the kitchen stopped.

“Look, I didn’t want to have to this.” Oh, he’s most definitely seeing red now. “But I am your employer, Miss L/N, and it is for me to decide which cases you do or do not go for.”

"So...this is just what we're going to do for the next...forever? I'll never go on a case again just because you have some weird problem with it? I'll just -" She let out a harsh bark of laughter, suddenly manic with panic. "I'll just leave then, shall I? Get out of your hair, for good?"

"I didn't say that."

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t do this, Lockwood.” Her breath was coming in embarrassingly agitated now. Was the air thinning? Her head was spinning like she might pass out. She pushed against the door with ore force than she needed, meeting surprisingly little resistance. He was standing woodenly, eyes unseeing, and yet she felt that was the most honest he had been since the previous night. She looks at him, and for the first time, she wonders what he’s thinking about.

"Fine. Be like that, then." She wants to reach out, beg him to want her to stay, but instead she pulls herself away. She opens drawers and cabinets and pours clothes and misery into her worn suitcase. Lucy stands hopelessly in the doorway and George is whispering something furious to Lockwood, who just watches her stonily. A part of her feels stupid, as stupid as the night before, like she had lost some race in taking this long to realise she was hoping, praying, waiting for nothing. As she leaves, George searches her face and pats her shoulder awkwardly. When she reaches the front door, a movement in the shadows makes her jump.

"He's just being an arse. You know that. Just wait a few days. Please.”

Lucy. Sweet Lucy. Sweet, well-meaning Lucy who was better than the lot of them. She was going to miss her the most. She told her as much, but Lucy didn’t seem amused.

“You don't have to leave." She pulled Lucy into a hug, keeping her bitterness barely at bay.

"Oh, Luce. What else can I do?"

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

She lives in a cold, cramped flat at the edge of civilisation, away from anyone's eyes. Away from Lockwood's cold, dead eyes. Some days she reads the paper, and every time she tries to force herself to read it as Lockwood would. She stays in the bed for the first week, but her savings are only so little, and eventually she starts working again. Too frail to set out as an independent agent, she signs on part-time with Fittes. She doesn't bother to get to know her teammates. Kipps is unexpectedly kind to her in ways he would rather die than acknowledge. She doesn't stick around long enough to get checked up by their medics after cases.

She returns to her dimly lit cavern and clumsily bandages her cut alone with none of his attention to detail. She drags her palm weakly across her eyes and tries to remember her friends' faces. Did Lucy's bob end at her chin, or her clavicles? How big were the lenses of George's glasses? Lockwood is a mist that colours her new life. Turns out, life is a lot more depressing without George's propensity for intellectual name-calling and Lucy's aggressively positive spirit. Sometimes she catches herself taking her tea the way Lockwood does, and she wonders where Lockwood ends and where she begins.

She goes to sleep wishing she had never met him, and wakes up with a million things to tell him. She sees the occasional silhouette wandering the street as she draws her curtains and lets her heart pretend it's him. She fumbles with her love for him, not knowing where, or how, to put it down. Day in and day out, her yearning threatens to consume her entirely.

One night, after a case at a bridge over the Thames, she runs into George and Lucy, and it's the most alive she's ever felt since she left. They want to hear about her but she brushes it off immediately: she wants to hear everything and anything about 35 Portland Row and its inhabitants.

"He's bloody awful lately. He's too quiet, and he keeps staring out of windows like he's waiting for something, even at night. George had to knock him out with cough syrup to stop him from coming tonight; he's wasting away. Of course, George occasionally forces some food down his throat and wrestles him into his bed every once in a while, but..." Lucy worries her bottom lip and she feels her stomach sink. "I don't know how much longer this can last."

"I keep telling him to reach out to you -"

"Reach out to me? Do you know where I live?"

George exchanges a look with Lucy. "Well, not exactly, but it took Lockwood all but half a day to find out. Not that he'll tell us. Coherent speech is...it's becoming a bit of a struggle for him. Either way, I have no idea what's keeping him from apologising when he's clearly so cut up about it."

After they leave, she replays the conversation in her head while waiting to be dismissed, trying to extract as much meaning as she could from their words. She thinks about the dark apartment waiting for her. An empty flat. An empty life. Before she realises, she's neck deep in the Thames, a step away from walking off the sea bed. Freedom from this pain, from these shackles which bound her to earthly woes, was deliciously close. She closes her eyes and takes the final step, water rushing in to dull her hyperactive senses.

But the peace didn't last long. Suddenly, she felt hands hauling her out of her cool sanctuary, and desperate panting coupled with water splashing. The water in her lungs hurt and she felt like a sack of potatoes. After much painful gagging and coughing, she gathered her wits. Lucy was apprehensively leaning over her, and she could hear George agitatedly pacing and muttering behind them.

"I thought you looked weird. Your eyes were too bright."

"...dead man walking. I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna rip his throat out..."

"Come home with us, Y/N. Just for tonight. Please."

She looks at Lucy, suddenly furious at her for interfering. What did she know? This wasn't some small tiff where she and Lockwood could just hug and make up. She was better off without them. She dodges Lucy's concern and outstretched hand, shakily rising to her feet.

"If it was as simple as coming home, believe me - I would have returned a long time ago."

"Y/N..."

"I don't need you looking after me! I'm fine alone. Just go home, Lucy." Shame was beginning to fester inside of her. "Just go home."

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Hell is beating at her windows when she wakes up. The rain comes down hard and fast in sheets, and for the first time, she feels grateful to have this roof, however old, over her head. She curls up at her window with a large cup of coffee, watching the heavens rage.

Suddenly, her head jerks towards the front door. She listens carefully for a moment, but only hears the wind howling through some hidden draft. And yet, her feet are walking her towards the door. She feels it in her bones the way she hasn't felt it since that fateful night months back. Something new is waiting for her.

She opens the door to a drenched man with his fist poised, ready to knock. It takes her a few blinks to reconcile the image of the man in front of her with the Lockwood she now only hazily remembered. They hadn't been exaggerating; he really did look awful. His skin was dull and stretched grotesquely over his bones, and his eyes look positively bruised. He was aggressively shivering in the rain, no umbrella in sight. She instinctively stepped back and he gratefully entered, rubbing his hands together for some warmth.

"Are you insane? What are you doing here?"

"I know what happened last night."

She subconsciously withdrew within herself. "George told you?"

"Lucy, actually. George and I haven't been on the best of terms lately, but, as of now, he's stopped speaking to me entirely."

"Ah." A small part of her flickered sympathetically. She remembered how much George meant to Lockwood, and vice versa, but the memory felt so unused, as if it were from a different life.

If he notices how dismal her flat is, he doesn't let on. In fact, he only seems interested in looking at her, drinking her in like a man starved. She allows it, but only for a while, and only because it's too big of a relief to have him standing here, larger than life, right in front of her. Starving, yes; sleep-deprived, yes; but very much alive.

"Come now, Y/N. Don't look at me like that."

"It's been a very long six months. I'll look at you however I want."

He sighs and shifts her chair closer to her and, as if inspired by some sudden bout of insanity, takes her hand, but doesn't seem to know exactly what to do with it.

"Lucy and George have been yelling at me to tell you the truth for ages now, but...I was too afraid. I was a coward. But after my earful from George last night...I realised you were just as scared as I was. Probably even more, all alone. And I'm trying to find it in me to be brave enough for the both of us." She listens cautiously, too burnt to fully believe.

He laces his fingers into her own, and brings it up to his face tenderly. "Remember how it used to be? Me and you, you and me. Just the two of us against the rest of the world." He fiddles with his pocket, and she hears a crinkling of brittle newspaper. It's their first picture in the papers. George, with significantly fewer wrinkles, is standing off to one side. Lockwood is trying and failing to look professional, which probably has to do with the way she's thrown her arms around his neck and is pressing a half-kiss to his cheekbone. She couldn't help it; she was just so proud of him. That's the photo to gets her to smile for the first time in months.

His own smile wobbles as he watches her, then slides off entirely, leaving behind an Anthony Lockwood that looks much older than his years.

"I don't know what I was thinking that day. I had a really bad string of nightmares that week where...where your lips would be blue and your pulse long gone by the time I reached. It was such a close shave, I can't help but think..." She wants to reach out and smooth the crease in his brow. "What if I were a second late?"

"But you weren't. Isn't that all that matters?"

A glimmer of a smile skimmed his face. "Yeah, well, Lucy told me as much."

"Smart girl."

"But I didn't listen. I tried - god, I tried - but I couldn't. I thought you would be safer without me. So when you started saying you'd leave, this awful seed was planted in my head, and I was angry, but also madly in love with you, and I didn't know how to say any of it."

A tear falls on their joined hands. "That evening really messed me up, Lockwood. It screwed with my head big time."

"I know." There was a rush in his voice that mirrored the same kind of rush that had flitted through her body for the past six months. "And I don't expect you to ever forgive me. I'll spend the rest of my life fixing the damage I've done. But...but...if somewhere down the road...you find it in your big heart to forgive me and my sins...I might just love you. No more secrets or locked doors; I'm done with them. Y/N L/N, I'm ready to love you wildly and freely."

First time she didn't absolutely hate him saying her last name.

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