xari

la vi est belle

[l1anxue]

THAT’S THAT ME, ESPRESSO !

xari — born to live in a shoujo manga, forced to live in the real world ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ dreamy ravenclaw & a hopeless romantic, multifandom blog.

status: currently in hiatus rn until school stops being such a pain in the ass 😓

construction ahead… must be a busy woman.

LATEST WORKS: to burn for you | batfam greek au

more incoming soon. stay sweet, babes<3

[l1anxue]

to burn for you | greek au, batfamily

"i'm coming, wait for me! i hear the walls repeating.. the falling of our feet and it sounds like drumming!"

SERIES OFFICIAL MASTERLIST

GENRE ⸺ greek au | historical drama & romance

PAIRINGS ⸺ j. todd x reader | batfamily x batsis reader

based on this post !

inspirations from: greek mythology stories, epic the musical, hadestown.

to love is to know no bounds. to love is to disobey the gods, to risk the ending just for one last glimpse of the person who made life worth singing for. to love is to fall, to lose, to return. to love is to turn around, the way orpheus did.. never knowing if eurydice would follow, but still trying. because he loves,he loves, he dearly loves her.

and jason—jason todd, who was never meant to be a hero, born of a man’s unending lust and a woman’s desperation, a bastard with nothing but shame in his name, crawled out of the underworld with blood in his mouth and her name in his heart, just to return to his dearly beloved, (y/n).

to love, for him, was not gentle. it was ruin. it was rage. it was remembrance. he would burn cities, defy the fates, break every law of man and god just to hold her again.

to love is to know the gods will take everything. to fall into darkness. to crawl back, broken and burning, for a single moment in her arms.

to love is to betray, to burn, to become legend. to wait, to wander, to become a story whispered by stars.

because love knows no bounds. even when the tale ends tragically and no one wins, in the end, they have loved. and by telling the tale, we keep their story: jason and (y/n), eurydice and orpheus, persephone and hades, eros and psyche, their love, alive.

STORY SYPNOSIS:

when your father, king bruce of sparta, left to fight beside the justice league and your brothers were called away to rule distant kingdoms, and when jason todd, your sworn knight and secret love, left for war with a ring around your neck, you were left behind, all alone in a kingdom.

a girl-turned-queen, ruling in their absence, raising a three-year-old brother, and holding an empire together with steady hands. but peace never lasts for girls like you.. everywhere in the world, they hunt down girls like you.

the most beautiful woman in the world, blessed by aphrodite herself. but don’t let that deceive you. beauty is a curse. it invites obsession, envy, danger, not protection, never safety. the kind the gods write into their cruelest stories. ask psyche, ask helen, ask any woman the gods watched too long.

stolen from your home, your throne, your name by a suitor who mistook obsession for love, and a kingdom that dared believe they could keep you.

and if the world has learned anything from troy, it is this:

you do not take the beloved queen of sparta.

or the gods will weep. and your palace will fall. stone by stone, ash by ash, until only one truth remains:

“we will bring her home.”

CHAPTERS:

PROLOGUE ⸺ just a man “i’m just a man who’s trying to go home…” : of all the battles he’s fought, of all the wars he’s led, of the decisions he had to make, leaving his children was the hardest. bruce wayne, king of sparta, has not seen his kingdom in ten years, not since he placed a crown on his daughter’s headand whispered promises he couldn’t keep. the world may call him a king, a warrior, a legend. but beneath the armor, he’s just a man trying to go home.

COMING SOON !!

TAGLIST (currently open !! comment if u want to be added) ⸺

@celestialbooks @sept3mberchild @movrningstxrs @chiizuluvr @angzls @itzmeme @senatorpadmeamidala-blog @astrablacksworld @moirae-gg @arrozyfrijoles23 @avooza @ddeliajo @waltermis

xari’s diary: AAAAA I FINALLY STARTED THE STORY!!!! it’s rainy season here so i suddenly have all this free time and i decided to finally sit down, write out the masterlist, and start working on the full storyboards + plot!! i’m soooo excited for how this will all unfold!!

(p.s. if you’re not on the taglist yet idk why huhu 😭 i really tried to tag everyone who requested to in the og post but some usernames just won’t show up!! i’m so sorry pls forgive me )

REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED !! thank u, i hope u enjoy !!!

⸺ xoxo, xari

[l1anxue]

your batsib fic and bakugo fic have me sobbing at 3:41am in the morning. This is not okay, take accountability, i can’t be losing tears in this economy😔

AGHHH IM SO SORRYYYYY 😭💗 i was sobbing like a baby while writing those stories. i did NOT come out of it emotionally stable either 😭

[l1anxue]

this is me trying

✰ pairing: batfam x batsis! reader

sypnosis: you come home after a year in your senior high dorm, albeit with a heavy heart. your father, bruce is proud, alfred cooks your favorite meal, your family is happy to see you. but all you can think about is how you lost the honor roll, your passion, and maybe yourself. they say it’s okay. you wish you believed them.

a dedication to: for all the readers who are burnt out & trying their best. i love you. ♡

you’re not sure how long you’ve been staring at the floor.

maybe ten minutes. maybe thirty.

your school psychiatrist’s office smells like chamomile tea and printer paper. she keeps her voice gentle, even when your eyes keep drifting to the rain outside. you’ve been here for three sessions now, and every time she sees you, she asks you the same question:

“have you been resting?”

you lie. “yeah. a bit.”

your voice is hoarse, half from the lingering cough, half from everything else.

she doesn’t press, just writes something down in that notebook of hers and says softly, “you’ve been sick a lot this term.”

you nod.

“you haven’t attended classes in over a week.”

another nod.

“and when you do come in, your hands shake when you present. you said you’ve been waking up anxious. forgetful. losing interest in the things you love.”

you don’t say anything.

it’s not new. you’ve had these feelings before, but you thought you were past it. you thought you were okay. you told yourself you were okay.

you’re not.

“have you considered… visiting home?” she asks, her tone impossibly soft. “you don’t have to go forever. just a weekend. i know you think you’ll fall behind if you rest, but you’re not behind. you’re just.. exhausted.”

you laugh, but it breaks in the middle.

“i don’t want to worry them.”

“i think they’d be more worried if they knew how much you’re hurting now.”

you don’t answer.

because she’s right. and the truth is, you don’t feel strong enough to pretend anymore, not even in front of them.

you’re curled up in bed that night, hoodie zipped all the way up, panda plush pressed to your chest. your window’s foggy with rain. the campus is quiet, except for the sound of your phone buzzing.

he’s checking in again.

you pick it up, voice barely there. “hey.”

“hey, angel..” his voice says, warm and familiar, you swear you can hear his smile a little worried. “you sound tired.”

you smile even though you’re not sure it reaches your eyes. “i am.”

he asks how you’re feeling. you give a vague answer. he doesn’t press.

“you should go home for a while,” he says gently. “they probably miss you like crazy.”

you exhale slowly. “i don’t know…”

“what’s stopping you?”

you’re quiet for a beat. “i just… i don’t want to be a burden. not to them. and not to you and your mom either. you guys have done so much for me already and i just.. i don’t want to be too much.”

“you’re never too much,” he says, voice firm and kind all at once. “you’re a person who’s hurting. that’s not a burden. and i’m not keeping score. neither is my mom.”

your throat tightens. your eyes sting.

he lets the silence settle, then softens his voice: “if you want, i can fly you there myself. cut the trip in half.”

you let out a laugh through your stuffed nose. “i don’t think my dad wants metahumans flying into his city.”

he snorts. “ bruce wayne doesn’t like metahumans?”

“yup.” you say dryly. “he probably has ‘no metas’ tattooed on his property line.”

he laughs, and the sound warms something aching in your chest.

“well, i’ll fly stealthily,” he says. “hoodie on. no display of superhuman strength. he’ll never know.”

you smile, letting your head drop back against your pillow.

you laugh. for real this time. a breathy, tired little laugh that still manages to sound like sunshine.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet,” he says smugly, “you love me anyway.”

“unfortunately.”

he goes quiet, then murmurs, “you’re always welcome home. okay?”

you press your cheek into your panda plush and close your eyes.

“okay.”

…

you don’t think it’ll matter much. you type the message half-asleep, just as the rain starts hitting your dorm window harder.

“hi. i’ll be going home this weekend. probably for good. i’ve been sick for a while. see you.”

you hit send in the family gc. no emoji. no punctuation. just simple and quiet.

you don’t expect much. it’s just a message.

but less than five minutes later, there’s a reply.

the groupchat erupts.

boy wonder : YOU’RE COMING HOME??? 😭💙

jaybird : what do you want for dinner?

steph: I MISSED YOU SO BAD??

timmy turner: do you need anything? want me to clean your room? okay i won’t but i’ll try

cass: ❤️❤️❤️

duke of essex: tell me what movie we’re watching when you get back. i’ll save popcorn.

scary child: Good. The manor has been awfully quiet without you.

which, coming from him, feels like a handwritten love letter.

and then..

Bruce: You’re coming home?

he types it like he’s reading it over and over, like he can’t quite believe it. as if you just told him the most impossible thing.

because to him, you were gone. not lost, not dead. just gone. distant. and for a long time, he didn’t know if you’d ever want to come back.

but now?

now his baby girl was coming home.

you curl into your pillow that night, the message still open, your family’s excited replies still lighting up your screen.

outside, it rains harder. but inside, it’s warm.

you don’t know how you’ll face them. you don’t know if you’ll fall apart in their arms or if you’ll keep pretending everything’s fine. you don’t know if you’ll cry when alfred hugs you or when damian tugs you into a quiet, too-long embrace.

you thought dorm life would be freeing. and for a while, it was.

no footsteps echoing in marble hallways. no nightly sounds of grappling hooks or siblings stumbling in with bruises and tired eyes.

just your small bed, your own desk, your books, your own silence.

but the quiet eventually became too loud.

you miss them.. more than you expected to.

you miss dick’s hugs. how he’d always pull you in with a dramatic “my baby sister’s home!” even when you had just gone to the store. how his cologne smelled like something safe. something steady. you’d bury your face into his shoulder and pretend you weren’t silently holding back tears some days.

you miss jason. your partner in chaos. the one who knew when to just sit next to you in silence. he used to sneak you out for midnight joyrides, always yelling “no one makes you laugh like i do!” he was the first one who noticed when your laughter started sounding tired. he didn’t say anything. just gave you his leather jacket and said, “you can be tired around me, okay?”

you miss tim. tim who made you coffee during finals and sat through six straight To All the Boys movies with you even though he clearly didn’t care. tim who would mutter, “do we really need to cry over this again?” and then sneak a tissue to wipe his own eyes.

you miss damian.

you didn’t think you would. he’s quiet, sharp, sometimes distant. but he used to come into your room late at night without saying anything, just a blanket tucked under his arm, sketchbook in hand. he’d sit beside you while you studied, glancing at your notes and muttering corrections under his breath, even though it wasn’t his subject. you’d glance at his sketches. he always drew you like you looked peaceful, even when you didn’t feel it.

you miss cass. your older sister cassie who saw through you even when no one else could. she never pushed, never forced. just squeezed your shoulder gently when you were struggling. cass who you could confide in, cassie who loves you so much & danced with you in the kitchen when the others weren’t looking.

you miss duke and steph too! duke with his soft wisdom, steph with her infectious laugh and the way she always pulled you into dumb tiktok dances even when you insisted you couldn’t dance. steph who said, “we’re dancing until you smile again, c’mon,” and duke who’d say, “you know they’re proud of you, right? even if you’re not swinging around rooftops.”

you miss bruce, even when he made things worse by accident. like the time he asked, “why weren’t you at the recognition ceremony this year?” and you choked on your water and said something about a fever.

and he just blinked and nodded.

and you hated that you could still see it, the smallest, sharpest flicker of disappointment.

meanwhile, in the manor, alfred hears the muffled sound of bruce’s chair creaking.. followed by silence. a particular kind of silence.

“master bruce?” he asks from the hallway.

bruce looks up slowly. “she’s coming home.”

and that’s all alfred needs to hear.

within minutes, he’s already pulling out ingredients. your favorites. his heart moves faster than his hands. “miss Y/N is returning,” he hums to himself, smiling, slicing onions with precision. “oh, how we’ve missed her.”

he even calls lucius to ask where your favorite blend of tea was last ordered.

you’re already rehearsing your smile before you reach the manor gates. it’s a small one, curved just enough, eyes a little wide, voice full of light. it’s the one that says, i missed you, i’m okay, i’m fine.

its the same routine: straighten the spine, smile for your family, everything is fine, everything is cool.

all you need to do is breathe.

but your bag’s a little too heavy on your shoulder, and your heart is even heavier. last year senior high just started, and you already feel behind. your classmates talk about college apps and scholarships and futures with glitter in their eyes. you don’t even know what you want to do next week. the idea of planning your life feels like trying to breathe underwater.

you stare up at the manor, take a deep breath, and force your steps to be steady.

you already know who you need to be when you walk through that door.

you’ll be the cheerful daughter. the one who stayed out of the vigilante mess, giving up the batgirl mantle and living a life for herself, the one who took the dorms for senior high, studied hard, built a name. you’ll be the loving, energetic sister. the one who helps cass cook, who does tiktok & cry listening to taylor swift’s new songs with steph, who listens to dami rant about his books, who duke plays video games with on the weekends, who plays old music with dick and laughs at jason’s snide remarks. you’ll be fine. because you have to be.

and yet, the closer you get, the more your chest aches.

you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

like you’re playing a part in a play that doesn’t quite fit anymore. you press your thumb into your palm. hard. a grounding trick you learned a few years ago, back when things got really bad.

in the dorms, your sadness is quiet. it creeps in during laundry. it clings to your back during class. sometimes you cry in the shower because it’s the only place no one will hear.

sometimes you hold your stuffed toy - yes, you brought it from childhood and it smells like home. like alfred’s soap and your old sheets and the life you’re so scared you’re growing apart from.

you’re trying.

you are. but your hands shake when you present in class. your voice trembles. your teacher’s eyes glance at your paper with confusion because you used to be their top student. now you’re just fine.

and it kills you. you used to be so proud of your name. your legacy.

you remember sitting at your desk, staring at a math test you couldn’t understand, heart racing, hands trembling, mind blank.

you remember thinking: i should be better than this. i should be better. i should be proud of myself. but you weren’t. you couldn’t be.

you started breaking in the smallest ways. not enough to be noticed, just enough that it starts to pile. you forget your umbrella. you lose a quiz paper. you get an 86 on a subject you used to ace without even trying.

you tell yourself it’s okay. you’ve always been the resilient one. the “she’s got a bright future” one. bruce wayne’s daughter, the wayne who stayed out of the shadows. the one who made it out. student council secretary. the loved actress in every school play, sharp, dependable, kind. the daughter with the good reputation.

but lately… it’s been harder to fake it. your legs feel heavier when you walk into school. your throat tightens every time a teacher hands back a paper. you can’t speak during meetings without your hands trembling so badly that you have to shove them in your pockets.

your classmates & best friends still smile at you. “you’re amazing,” they say. “you’re so put-together,” they say. “you’re so amazing! you’re gonna be sosuccessful!” and you smile. you nod. you laugh. but something in you curls up every time.

because you don’t feel amazing. you feel like you’re faking it. like you’re seconds away from falling apart completely, and everyone’s going to find out how much of a fraud you really are.

you don’t tell anyone. you don’t want to burden them again. not after the last time.

you still remember it clearly. how you broke for people that never even cared in the first place, only using you for their own sick amusement. sobbing in the hallway. locking yourself in the bathroom. going home because you felt sick, because of the tightness in your stomach, alfred knocking gently, offering tea through the door. dick cracking bad jokes. cass hugging you without asking questions. bruce standing just outside your room, quiet. unsure. they were all there. and you promised yourself you wouldn’t make them worry like that again.

so now you keep it all inside.

the pages in your school books blur from the tears you refuse to cry. your room is neat, clean, organized because it’s the only thing you can control. you keep pushing forward. because you have to.

you still haven’t forgiven yourself for last year.

for losing the honor roll. for hearing bruce ask so casually why you weren’t at recognition day, like it couldn’t possibly be that you didn’t make it.

you stare at it. your name. your subjects. your scores.

not enough for the honor roll.

you sit on your bed, still in your uniform, phone buzzing quietly beside you with messages from your groupmates. you don’t move.

and now, you’re a little better. you’re still here.

you have friends now. you’re now the president of the performing arts club. you’re not drowning anymore, not really. some days, you’re even content. but other days like this one? you feel that old ache creep in. because even if you’re not broken, you still feel like a disappointment.

especially now.

because dick texted you last night with a dozen exclamation points, saying you had a real shot at valedictorian this year. he said he was so proud of you. that you were amazing.

and you wanted to believe him.

you really did.

but all you could think was, what if i fail again?

you’re scared to go back. scared you’ve changed too much. scared you’ll disappoint them again. but the moment you walk back into the manor? you step through the front door. and it’s all exactly the same.

dick pulls you into that same hug. cass tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. tim surprises you with a signed version of the summer i turned pretty books. jason slips your hand into his jacket pocket. steph squeals. duke grins and gives you a fist bump. and then, there’s damian. you don’t expect him to say anything. you almost don’t see him move.

but then he walks right up to you, hugs you not too long, not too short, just enough. “the house was too quiet without you,” he mutters.

and bruce? bruce stands at the edge of it all. not quite knowing what to say. he doesn’t say much.

he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time again. his baby girl. the one who made it out. the one who didn’t wear a mask, but still fought her battles. the one he was always, always proud of—even when he didn’t know how to say it.

“welcome home.” he says. and his voice is soft.

he opens his arms.

you don’t hesitate.

you bury yourself into him, and for a moment, you forget about everything else. the pressure. the pain. the way your voice shook during every presentation. the nights you cried yourself to sleep in your dorm, wondering if anyone noticed you were slipping.

he doesn’t say much.

just,

“you came back.”

and you crumble.

he doesn’t pull away.

alfred is the one who gently slips in while the chaos of hugs and laughter swirls around you.

he touches your shoulder with his gloved hand, gentle, grounding.

“welcome home, miss,” he says with soft pride in his voice. “everything is ready, if you lot are hungry.” and you don’t realize how starving you are until he says it.

the dining table looks like something out of a dream. steam rises from every dish. your old favorites fill the air with warmth. someone even lit candles, and you don’t know who did it, but the little effort makes your chest ache in a way you can’t explain.

everyone piles in with you, no one wants to sit too far.

steph claims the seat beside you immediately, clinging to your arm like a koala. “my best friend’s back and no one’s taking her from me, got it?” she says dramatically, flipping her hair as if it’s a life-or-death declaration.

you laugh softly. it feels strange and familiar all at once.

on your other side, damian settles in, eyes sharp but softer than usual.

“titus is shedding again.” he starts, out of nowhere. “alfred said we need better brushes, but i think it’s seasonal.”

you smile at the way he talks to you. like nothing changed. like you never left.

you tell him about the volunteer hours you’ve been doing at an animal shelter in the city. how you helped rehome a three-legged puppy and cried the whole way back to your dorm.

“you’re sentimental,” damian teases. but he’s smirking.

“well my boyfriend has a dog.” you mention offhandedly, pouring yourself water.

and then the silence falls.

like a sudden record scratch in a room that was all laughter and clinking plates.

you glance up. dick’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth. tim blinks. steph stiffens beside you with a grin that’s way too sharp. jason leans forward like he’s already planning an interrogation.

“…what?” you ask, pausing mid-sip.

“boyfriend?” bruce says slowly, his voice deep with calm concern, or the calm before concern.

“uh yeah,” you say slowly, and your family looks like they’re moving in slow-mo.

jason is the first to speak: “who?”

“uhm.. mark. mark grayson.”

your family looks like someone just hit pause on the entire dinner table.

you can actually see the moment your family process it, like a glitch in the matrix. tim blinks. jason’s chewing freezes. duke’s eyebrows shoot up. cass just tilts her head, intrigued. damian’s grip tightens ever so slightly on his knife. steph lets out a dramatic gasp, then immediately slaps a hand over her own mouth. and dick? dick drops his water glass on his lap.

then tim.. bless him, or maybe curse him –despite bruce’s strict no phones at the table rule, is already typing.

he doesn’t even try to hide it.

“timothy,” bruce says, voice clipped.

“tim,” bruce warns, without looking up.

“it’s for research,” tim says seriously. “i’m just making sure she’s not dating a war criminal.”

“he’s not a war criminal,” you say quickly.

“then why does his name sound like one?” jason asks, stabbing a carrot aggressively.

“what does that even mean—”

“‘grayson’ is already taken,” damian mutters.

“i don’t think that’s how names work, little man,” duke snorts.

“where’d you meet him?” steph asks, eyes gleaming. “does he play guitar? is he tall? does he have a weird hobby?”

“he goes to a different school,” you reply. “and yeah, he’s tall. and nice. and kind of awkward, but in a sweet way.”

“he’s seventeen, right?” cass asks gently. “not, like… twenty-seven?”

“yes,” you laugh. “he’s my age, i promise.”

“did he ask you out over text?” dick grins.

“no, actually,” you say, a little proud despite yourself. “he asked me in person.”

they all freeze.

“…what.” jason says, narrowing his eyes.

“like with words?” tim asks, looking vaguely offended.

“yeah? we were at a school fair where our schools collided and he just… asked. stammered a bit. almost dropped his drink. but it was cute.”

damian actually lets out a sharp hmph, arms crossed. “bold. suspiciously bold.”

“okay but,” duke cuts in, “the real question is.. does he know you’re you? like… you know. us. all of this.”

you pause.

you smile sweetly.

and you do not answer.

“oh my god,” steph whispers. “he doesn’t know.”

“he’s gonna find out eventually,” jason says, grinning now. “probably when a rogue villain chases you during a date.”

“he’ll be fine,” you say, laughing. “he’s, uh… pretty resilient.”

tim narrows his eyes again. “…resilient how?”

you dodge. “hey, want more mashed potatoes?”

“you’re hiding something,” damian says flatly.

you smile at them, sunshine and sparkle. “aren’t i always?”

damian huffs under his breath, already plotting. “if he ever disrespects you—”

“you’ll decapitate him,” jason finishes. “yeah yeah, we know.”

“was that a confession of intent, todd?”

“don’t make this weird.”

steph gasps again, but this time it’s theatrical. “wait, is he cute? are we talking ‘teen heartthrob’ cute or like… nerdy boyfriend cute?”

“he’s just—he’s mark,” you say with a helpless little laugh, picking at your mashed potatoes. “he’s nice. he makes me laugh.”

“what are his intentions?” dick asks in a tone way too formal for a man wearing fuzzy socks under the table.

“jesus christ, you’re acting like i married the guy,” you groan as you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now - really smiling. it’s the first time in weeks you feel your chest light enough to laugh without guilt, and the sound of it fills the room like music.

“you guys are so dramatic,” you say between laughs. “he’s just a boy. and we’ve only been dating for three months. kind of. maybe. shut up.”

bruce is quiet, watching you carefully.

measuring. not judging. just… observing. like he’s searching for any sign that this is hurting you, not healing you.

but you’re okay.

and maybe for the first time in a while, he can see that.

“if he hurts you,” bruce says finally, “he’ll regret it.”

you grin. “noted. i’ll pass that along.”

the table erupts in noise again, and you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts. you can’t even remember the last time you smiled this much. the anxiety, the ache, the burnout, the guilt, melts away for just a while. you forget the grades, the pressure, the late nights crying in your dorm.

because right now, you’re just their beloved sister and daughter again.

cheerful. loved. surrounded by bickering idiots who would burn the world for you.

later that night, the manor sinks into quiet.

the manor settles into quiet. slow, gentle, familiar. the kind that only comes after full bellies and long hugs and love that stretches across rooms even when unspoken.

you walk slowly down the halls in your soft pajamas, your panda plushie under your arm. the faint sound of the wind brushes past the windows. your room glows with golden light.

you shut the door behind you, let your back press against it.

the dinner feels like a dream. your cheeks still hurt from laughing. your heart still feels full.

the door clicks softly behind you as you lean against it, in your soft pajamas, hair let down from the updo alfred helped you style for dinner. your makeup’s gone, wiped clean, and you finally look like what you are underneath it all—just a tired, heart-bruised seventeen-year-old girl trying her best.

your reflection catches in the mirror across the room.

the eye bags are deeper than they used to be. the smile lines don’t reach your eyes. your skin’s a little dull, maybe from all the stress, all the nights you worked past midnight only to wake up early again. all the pushing. all the pretending. you touch your cheek lightly, as if trying to recognize yourself.

you glance around the room.

your room, still untouched, still yours even when you thought you’d left it all behind. the soft fairy lights, the pastel pillows. the little stuffed rabbit on your bed from the time jason won it at a carnival. the faint smell of vanilla and fresh sheets. your signature scent.

it always smelled like you. a safe space. that’s what they always called it.

tim used to curl up on your fur carpet after all-nighters. how cass would paint her nails by your window. how damian used to sketch on your bean bag while pretending to “supervise” your studying. how steph would go through your closet, duke would lie across the floor with his legs up on the wall, and dick would fall asleep on your bed like he belonged there too.

jason once said, “your room’s the only place i can breathe.”

you slowly get up, dragging your fingers across your dresser, your bookshelf, the frame with the picture of you and cass at your first recital. and then you see it.

your panda.

your old plushie, still perched on your pillow like he never once stopped waiting. a gift to you from your mother, who passed, years back. she had sewn it together & told you that this panda will watch over you & protect you from all the troubles in life.

he’s worn down now, his button eye a little looser, the fur around his nose gently matted but he’s still him. still soft, still loyal. still yours.

your throat tightens. you pick him up slowly, gently. hug him to your chest.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve missed this until you’re there, knees tucked under you, panda in your arms, cheek pressed to the familiar, velvety softness of your favorite pillow.

and for the first time in months, you let yourself just breathe.

you don’t cry. not tonight.

but the ache is still there, quiet and heavy, the kind that never fully leaves.

the pressure. the expectations. the little voice whispering that you’re not enough, not anymore.

but for now, just tonight, you get to forget it.

you’re hugging your plushie panda close, knees pulled up to your chest, back pressed against your old headboard. the room is dim, lit only by the soft golden glow of fairy lights above you and the moon outside your window. the familiar weight of your pajamas wraps around you like armor, but even here, in your own room, in your favorite bed, the ache hasn’t gone away.

you pretend the panda makes it better.

you pretend the blanket over your legs keeps it all out. the fear, the exhaustion, the part of you still hurting from everything no one else saw.

then there’s a soft knock.

no pressure in it. just presence.

then.. a noise.

a soft shuff.

then a muffled whisper. then the distinct sound of titus sneezing.

you blink, turn to the door. you don’t even have time to answer before the door cracks open and someone pokes their head in.

and there they are.

the whole family. lined up like kids caught doing something they shouldn’t.

it’s funny, in the weirdest way. you can feel the tension. like they’re waiting for you to snap, to yell, to cry. like they’re bracing for the version of you who used to slam doors and storm off and break a little more each day.

but you just…

you blink.

“hey, y/n,” dick says gently. “we, uh… we brought something.”

all of them, piled in the hallway. arms full. faces unsure but hopeful.

cass steps inside first and sets down your old stuffed animals, arranging them in a perfect little line by your bed. steph follows, dragging in a basket of snacks and whispering a quiet “we got your favorites.” tim’s cradling a tangled mess of fairy lights like it’s a newborn. duke holds a big fluffy blanket like a flag of peace. jason’s carrying pillows under each arm and already stepping over your rug with boots still on. damian walks in last, holding two of your old sketchbooks and a spare bow for your panda, pretending he’s not emotionally invested.

bruce is there too, just behind them. arms crossed, eyes soft in a way they rarely are. he says nothing, but you don’t miss the way he surveys your room like he’s trying to memorize it. like he’s glad to see it hasn’t changed. like he’s glad you came back to it.

“what… are you guys doing?” you ask, blinking in confusion, panda clutched to your chest.

tim grins a little, awkwardly. “we’re building a fort.”

“a what?”

“a fort!” steph confirms, pulling your comforter off the bed and flinging it over the back of a chair.

“you’re not allowed to decline.” duke says, already fluffing up the bean bag. “it’s law of the bat.” he grinned

“i didn’t vote on this law,” damian mutters, dropping the sketchbooks by your bed.

“you never vote on anything,” tim shoots back, already plugging in the fairy lights. “because every time we try, you challenge someone to a duel.”

damian scowls. “i only do that when the voting process is flawed.”

“you tried to stab me because i voted for pizza.” tim deadpans.

“it was pineapple!” damian snaps.

you can’t help it, you laugh. just a little. a small sound, muffled into your panda.

it’s so stupid. so them.

they’re in your room like they never left.draping sheets between your shelves and your desk, hanging lights on makeshift curtain rods, arranging snacks and pillows like it’s the most important mission they’ve ever done.

even bruce helps. he kneels without a word, adjusting the angle of the blanket so it hangs better over your dresser. he doesn’t say anything, but his presence is steady. grounding.

it’s steph who notices your silence first.

she comes over quietly, kneels in front of your bed, and pulls you into a hug without saying a word. she doesn’t ask what’s wrong. she doesn’t need to.

you sink into it. panda squished between you both.

and when she pulls back, she cups your cheek and says, “we love you, okay? even when you don’t talk about it. even when you think you’re being ‘too much’ or ‘too distant.’ we’re not leaving.”

your eyes sting.

and then tim places a small usb on your nightstand. “this has your schedule, sleep tracker, hydration reminders, and gentle motivational quotes i personally curated for you.”

“oh my god, she’s not a tamagotchi,” jason snorts.

“she’s stressed,” tim says, exasperated. “i’m trying to help.”

“it is kind of sweet,” duke adds. “creepy. but sweet.”

damian rolls his eyes. “i could’ve written better motivational quotes.”

tim raises an eyebrow. “really? enlighten us.”

“‘disgrace is temporary. weakness can be sharpened into a blade.’”

steph makes a face. “that’s literally what batman said to us once before making us run drills in the rain.”

“i stand by it.” damian mutters, crossing his arms.

you wipe your eyes with your sleeve and laugh more freely this time.

once the fort is finished, they all pile in. there’s barely space, but no one cares. jason’s shoulder presses against yours. dick’s lying across three pillows like a starfish. steph’s curled up by your legs. cass is next to bruce, holding a cup of hot cocoa. tim is adjusting your laptop at the foot of the bed to stream a movie. damian sits closest to the edge, arms crossed, already stealing snacks.

the lights are dim. the fairy lights glow like stars. and there you are, tucked between them, your panda still in your lap, heart still heavy but not unbearable.

no one says “we’re proud of you” outright.

but you feel it.

in the way duke keeps checking to make sure you’re warm, the way bruce brushes your hair back gently before sitting back. in the way tim handed you gummy vitamins knowing how much you loved them, in the way steph hugs you like she means it, in the way damian brought your sketchbooks and didn’t make a scene about it, in the way jason keeps nudging your arm like he’s making sure you’re really there, the way dick keeps glancing at you and smiling like he’s seeing his little sister again-really seeing her.

it’s quiet for a while. the movie starts. you don’t know which one it is. you don’t care.

you glance around the room, the blanket draped like a roof over your heads, the way they all sit together like puzzle pieces, like they belong exactly in this space, in this moment.

and you feel it. that small, breaking thing in your chest.

your eyes sting again, but it’s different this time.

you whisper, “thank you.”

no one responds out loud.

but steph grabs your hand. tim nudges your foot with his. damian gently places your panda’s bowtie around its neck.

and then—

tim, completely deadpan, says:

“by the way, i ran a full background check on your boyfriend. we need to talk.”

the room erupts.

“tim!”

“bro. seriously?”

“oh my god she’s blushing—”

“i knew he was an alien.”

“i want to fight him.”

“you can’t just investigate her boyfriend, man!”

“wait—is he even your boyfriend? are we calling him that?”

“so like.. is it in the wayne bloodline to have a relationship with an alien?”

“can i threaten him? just a little bit?”

you cover your face, laughing so hard your stomach aches.

and in the middle of the noise, the warmth, the love..

you think to yourself:

i’ll make it to graduation.

not because the pressure’s gone. not because the future suddenly makes sense. but because they’re here.

and for the first time in a long time,

you believe that’s enough.

…….

xari’s diary: aaaa this one’s really self-indulgent. it’s been a month since the first day of senior high and… i don’t know, i just feel so tired. so disappointed in myself lately. like no matter how hard i try, it’s never enough. and even though i smile and laugh with people, there’s still that heaviness that never quite goes away. the feeling of setting standards for ourselves yet never even reaching that standard.

so this fic is dedicated to not only myself, but to all the teenagers that used to burn bright but are now burning out.

a comfort fic.

for the ones who feel like they’re falling behind. for the ones who used to shine so bright but now feel dim. for the ones who miss who they used to be, and are scared they’ll never feel that way again.

you’re not alone. you’re not failing. you’re trying.

and that means more than you know.

thank you for reading. i hope this story gives you a moment of peace. just a moment where you can breathe and remember: you are loved. exactly as you are. ♡

[l1anxue]

imagine being the eldest daughter of king bruce wayne of sparta.

your birth was a celebration—born in the capital of sparta, gotham. a celestial event marked by meteors streaking across the night sky, the temple oracles claiming aphrodite herself had kissed your forehead. the people of gotham called you the beauty of sparta, the jewel of the kingdom, beloved and adored. wherever you walked, petals followed. your voice could calm storms, your laughter brought crops to bloom.

they said you were the most beautiful woman in all the known world. not just for your face, but for your soul.

you were crowned young—not queen, but heir. gifted silks from the east, bathed in oils from the west, your flower crown delicate, hand-woven, adorned daily eventually turned into the very crest of your line: golden, regal, with wings shaped like a bat’s.

your father, bruce, once the mightiest of warriors, was no longer just a king, he was a member of the justice league, a sacred order of the greatest kings and queens from far-flung kingdoms: queen diana of themyscira, king arthur of the seas, king clark of krypton.

and so, when war threatened the world of men, your father left.

his duty, he said.

his vow, he whispered to you, with hands rough from battle gently cupping your face.

he kissed your forehead and left his crown in your hands.

you were eighteen. and alone.

your brothers were far from home. dick, your eldest, married off to queen koriand’r of tamaran, ruling beside her as prince consort, his heart gentle, his strength unmatched. tim, off to claim the lands his mother’s bloodline had left behind, sharp as steel and silent as shadow.

and then there was damian.

your baby brother. your sun. only three, then. a prince born from war, too young to know pain, too precious to be left behind. his mother talia, led another kingdom far from sparta, closest to the underworld with her father, the catalyst of it all, a diplomatic mission ended in an affair creating your little brother.

so you became his world. mother. sister. queen. all in one breath. raising him to become a good man, to be a warrior of the mind, to become a future king that would lead this kingdom, so that when there’s a problem, he’d know the answer.

you ruled. you taught. you smiled when the suitors came knocking, their hands heavy with gold and promises.

but your heart was never theirs to take.

because it already belonged to a boy named jason.

jason todd. born of nothing. son of no name.

he was a street thief when your father first saw him. no older than seven, wrenching iron from the king’s own carriage. and instead of condemning him, your father knelt and offered him bread.

a few days turned into years.

and suddenly jason was training beside your brothers.

a commoner raised among royalty.

he was rough-edged, wild-eyed. but with you? he was quiet. soft.

you shared your books with him. your secret garden. your laughter.

and slowly, without ever saying it aloud, he became yours.

your sworn knight. your protector. your secret love.

when war came calling, jason answered it, like your father. like your brothers.

he left you with a ring. his mother’s. a simple iron band tied to a chain.

“i’ll come back to you,” he said. “as soon as the war’s won.”

and so, you ruled the kingdom alone.

with alfred by your side—loyal, aged, kind and damian growing stronger by the day, sparta stood firm under your hand.

you were a just queen. a fair ruler. your people loved you.

but love… love brought danger, too.

adonis. a name that once meant nothing, a boy you and jason once called friend.

he came from foreign lands, noble-born, clever, charming… at first. he arrived in your nation in hopes that your father would take him under his wing & was deeply upset when he favored jason over him. and so, resentment grew as he is stuck in a nation he wasn’t familiar with.

and obsession wears many masks.

you noticed it slowly. the way he watched you. the way he lingered. the way he hated jason, though he never said it aloud.

and when you rejected every suitor, when your hand remained untouched by any other… he snapped.

as the years have gone by, you grew older, and so whispers started..

so you issued a challenge.

if any man wished to marry the queen, he would first have to survive your father’s training.

the very same trials he put his sons through. brutal. legendary.

they all tried.

and they all failed.

and still, they whispered. schemed. turned bitter.

until one night.. under cover of darkness, they took you.

adonis and his men.

your guards slaughtered. your room desecrated.

your crown stolen. your song silenced.

you vanished. like helen took paris. taken from your homeland.

you were stolen.

your brother, damian, who went on a diplomatic to his mother, returned to find the palace desecrated, sacked like troy. the throne room bloodstained and cold.

your crown lay shattered at the foot of the dais.

alfred trembled.

the wind itself seemed to scream your name.

your family came home.

imagine the way the skies darken the moment they return, like the gods themselves turn their eyes toward the house of Wayne.

lightning cracks across the heavens as bruce wayne, king of sparta, steps foot onto the marble steps of his palace—no longer pristine white, but blackened with soot, dusted with blood. his eyes are hollower than they were ten years ago, but something sparks behind them once he sees the flowers on your windowsill wilted and untouched. your crown missing from its shrine. your song no longer sung.

his hands curl into fists. the silence is deafening.

and then alfred speaks. voice brittle, spine bowed, like a pillar finally cracking under the weight of guilt.

“they took her, sire.”

imagine damian, only thirteen, but already with fury in his blood and shadows in his step. they call him the prince of blades, forged by grief, raised by a sister he called mother, queen, home. he stares at the blood trail left on the throne room floor, jaw clenched, sword unsheathed.

“i will kill them,” he says, not for the first time.

tim looks at him, older now, calm but coiled like a storm. the quietest of the brothers, always watching. but it’s always tim who pieces together the web, who finds the threads and tightens the noose.

dick says nothing. not at first. not until he places a hand on damian’s shoulder and kneels beside the throne. the place where you sat. the place where you ruled in his absence. his little sister — now the memory of silk gowns and flower crowns, gone.

“we will bring her home.”

imagine jason.

he does not speak when he returns. not until he sees your favorite garden torn apart. not until he finds the necklace he gave you, your engagement ring, abandoned, cracked, lying atop a shattered vase.

he picks it up with shaking hands.

and then the fire returns. the same fire he had when he was a street boy, teeth bared to the world. the same fire you soothed with soft words and pressed palms.

but you’re not here to calm him now.

“give me a name,” he says.

“adonis,” alfred tells him. “adonis of corinth.”

a prince-turned-madman. jason remembers him. remembers the way he lingered too long near your presence. the way you always brushed off his stares, turning instead to jason with that smile of yours.

and now—

he sharpens his blades. dons his armor. not the polished steel of royalty, but the blood-red of vengeance. every inch of him screams wrath. he was born in fire. raised in battle. and now the world will burn for you.

imagine the house of wayne. scorned, grief-stricken, angry.

bruce, summoning the remnants of the justice league, now fractured and tired but still loyal to him. old gods rising from the ashes of old wars.

dick and tim, uniting their kingdoms. tamaran’s fire and the drake family’s might, standing behind the black banners of gotham.

damian, leading the war scouts, sending ravens to the underworld if he must.

and jason, who doesn’t speak of what you were to him, only acts. only kills. only carves his promise into the battlefield, etched with every enemy slain.

while you, the queen in chains, sat on a throne not yours, in a palace that did not know your name as they try to break you. you do not break. you did not scream. you did not weep. you waited.

because you knew that your family will come back for you with fire & blood.

history is laid out right in front of us to never repeat, we have seen this tale before. a beauty taken. a kingdom defiled. a thousand ships launched. a city, burning. but we, humans, remain blind - our pride louder than our memory.

we forget. or worse—believe we can rewrite fate.

and the gods flip a coin to see how this tale will end this time.

(inspired by the iliad, greek mythology & epic the musical so i bought the song of achilles & it brought me back to my greek myth/epic the musical hyperfixation. aaa this has been in my mind for months now & only got to finalize it this time after multiple drafts 😭 anywayss i’m gonna sleep now school’s back tomorrow, hope u enjoyed <3)

OFFICIAL MASTERLIST IS NOW UPLOADED HERE:

[l1anxue]

THE BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE

✰ pairing: clark kent x (y/n) (l/n)

sypnosis: clark kent as your best friend! and maybe something more…

warning(s): slowburn | mentions of abuse | toxic relationship (not with clark!) | comfort | healing | mild angst | slight suggestive content

xari's diary: author’s note: so i just started reading better than the movies as well as watching smallville for the first time & was inspired to write this !! gosh tom welling is so dreamy i might faint. reader is liz coded cus i love liz smm !!

"i just can't come between them, they've got their own thing!"

⌜ ⌝ ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; in between by gracie abrams

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who you were inseparable with from childhood. You were always there for each other, whether it was climbing trees, sneaking into each other’s rooms, or just sitting on the front porch talking about your day. No matter what, you could count on Clark to always be by your side, the best friend you could never imagine life without.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who watched every romcom with you, pretending to hate rewatching Pride and Prejudice but secretly loving the smile on your face as you explained the hand touch for the thousandth time 

“It’s not just a touch, Clark. You don’t get it!” You'd argue, and Clark would roll his eyes, but he’d always listen intently, enjoying your passion for the smallest of details. Those were the moments he cherished the most

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who loves you for the way you carry yourself, the way you were just so... you. He had always admired you. Not t just for how you looked, but for the way you walked through life with such grace. You didn’t need to try hard to be noticed, because you naturally stood out. The ribbons in your hair, the soft colors in your wardrobe, the little things that made you, you. They were a part of you that Clark had loved for as long as he could remember. Every time he saw you, those ribbons were like a small piece of his heart, tethered to the memory of the girl who had always been there for him, no matter what.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who melted the first time you ever called him sweetie, thinking it was just a one-time thing. He tried to brush it off like it didn’t mean anything… but felt his heart clench every single time the nickname slipped out of your mouth like it belonged to him. Now he wholly believes that his middle name is Clark ‘Sweetie’ Kent.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who has fallen deeply in love with you… It wasn't just friendship anymore. Every laugh, every touch, every look felt different. Clark’s feelings for you had evolved in ways he couldn’t ignore, but he was too scared to admit it. Every time you looked at him with those soft eyes, his heart raced. But he stayed quiet, always the loyal best friend, never wanting to mess things up.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who noticed how you started drifting away when you started dating your ‘boyfriend’ It was subtle at first. You’d still laugh with him, still talk, but there was this unspoken distance that seemed to widen the more you became involved with him. Clark couldn’t help but feel left behind, watching you change into someone else to please your boyfriend.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who sees you change yourself just for a boy... How you changed everything about yourself, everything you loved about yourself, just for a boy. He watched as your wardrobe transformed from those pretty pastel dresses and ribbons in your hair to a more “mature” style, more fitting for your boyfriend’s tastes. It hurt him to see you lose parts of yourself, parts that used to make you, you.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who hated seeing you become someone you weren’t. Dulling your colors, dimming your light, turning down the volume of your heart just to please someone unworthy.ghed less and hung out less because your boyfriend didn’t like your “girly” side.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who despises your boyfriend but never says anything so he could keep your friendship. Every time you’d talk about him, how great he was, how you were so in love, Clark had to force a smile. He hated the way your boyfriend treated you, the way he made you second-guess your own self-worth. But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He wanted to be there for you, even if it meant swallowing his pride and watching you go down a path he knew wasn’t right.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who is forced to see you distance yourself from him just for your asshat boyfriend. It was painful to watch, seeing you pull away, less and less time spent with him. You didn’t need him anymore. You had him, the boyfriend who didn’t deserve you. And Clark? He was left in the shadows, the friend who always would’ve been there for you, but it felt like you didn’t need him anymore.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who bit his tongue when he overheard that same boyfriend brag to his friends, “Yeah, she’s totally my type. Chill, lowkey, not into all that love stuff.”

And Clark—Clark had to physically stop himself.

Because (Y/N) (L/N), unromantic?The girl who daydreamed entire love stories in class? Read and wrote fanfiction every time she watched a film with a conventionally attractive man? Who made scrapbooks for her dream wedding before turning 15? Who had polaroids of her friends and her dog taped to her wall like a shrine to every person she’s ever loved? Gosh, He must’ve gotten the wrong (Y/N)!

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who knew something was wrong the second he heard yelling outside your house.

He hadn’t even meant to stop by. He was just driving by — muscle memory from all the times he used to pick you up, walk you to your porch, wait until your light turned off just to be sure you were safe. He shouldn’t have been there. He told himself he was over it. That you had chosen someone else.

But then he heard your voice. Cracked. Shaky. Not you.

And then the thud.

Clark’s feet were already moving.

He saw it happen: your boyfriend’s hand against your face. Too fast. Too real.

You stumbled back, gripping your cheek, eyes wide. And the worst part? You didn’t even look surprised.

Clark didn’t think. He didn’t have to think.

His fist connected with your boyfriend’s jaw so hard the boy went flying into the lawn. Clark stood over him, eyes dark, fists clenched. “You ever touch her again—”

"Clark!" you cried, running up to him, grabbing his arm. "Clark, stop!"

Your boyfriend coughed, blood at the corner of his mouth. “The hell, (Y/N)? You letting your boyfriend handle your problems now?”

You froze.

He scoffed. “Guess you’ve been screwing him behind my back the whole time.”

And that’s when your voice broke.

"I never cheated on you," you whispered, eyes shining. 

Clark took a step forward, ready to hit him again, but you pulled him back — voice trembling. “Clark. Go.”

“What?” His voice cracked.

You looked at him, tears threatening to spill. “Please. Just go. I—I can’t do this if you’re here.”

For a second, he didn’t move. He just looked at you and at the bruise already forming on your cheek, at the way you held yourself like you were trying not to fall apart. And he hated that he couldn’t fix it.

But he listened. Because he always did.

He nodded. Quietly. Left you standing on the porch as the rain began to fall.

And even though he left, he didn’t stop watching from the truck until you went inside, locked the door, and turned off the lights.

Because he couldn’t leave you completely.

He never could.

BEST FRIEND CLARK!  who lost you slowly. To phone calls you didn’t answer. To texts left on read. To polite smiles instead of bright ones.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who almost gave up hope… until one night, long after midnight, he woke to the sound of knocking and the soft patter of rain.

And there you were.

Soaked to the bone. Hair wet, leather jacket clinging to your frame. Looking small and broken on the Kent porch.

You whispered, “Hi,” then blinked up at him “Hey.” He smiled softly and god - did you miss that smile. He mentioned for you to enter, bringing a towel to cover your wet frame. It didn’t take long until.., “I’m sorry.”

You cried – sobbed – as you apologized for pushing him away. Told him how stupid you felt. How you let someone change everything about you. How it started when you were fourteen, and you thought it was love, but it was manipulation. Loneliness. Fear.

“He made me think I was too much. Like being me was something to fix. And I just… I didn’t want to lose anyone else. So I let him dim me. I let him turn me into someone I don’t even like.”

And you looked up at him, expecting him to be angry. Or disappointed. But he just-

He just pulled you into his chest, letting your soaked hoodie stain his shirt, and whispered: “I’m just glad you came home.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! whose heart broke the night he heard your story. how you were only fourteen back when you met the guy and he was seventeen, turning eighteen that year, how that boy made you believe love meant shrinking yourself to fit inside someone else’s pocket, how he taught you silence was safer than honesty and that being chosen meant enduring instead of being adored, how you had to earn kindness like love was something to suffer through, how he never even gave you the dignity of a label and always said he was “waiting for the right time,” and Clark just sat there, fists clenched and throat burning, thinking how the girl who used to dream of love and fairytales had been tricked into thinking it had to hurt and all he could do was wrap you in his arms and whisper that none of it was your fault, that you were never supposed to bleed just to be loved.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who never let go of you that night. Who sat with you on the couch, wrapped in blankets and safe, and let you cry until you were emptied out and finally fell asleep on his shoulder.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who finally let himself hope again when he saw you the next morning - barefaced and blinking in the sunlight - whispering, “I missed you so much.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who went still when you reached for his hand and held it. Not like a friend would. But like someone remembering where they belonged.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who helped you fall in love with yourself again, little by little. who told you he missed the smell of your perfume, the click of your heels on the driveway, the way your laugh used to echo across the barn when you told him about your latest crush.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who wasn’t ready when you started calling him sweetie again, the way you used to, so soft and warm that it made his entire body go still.

“Sweetie, can you hand me the screwdriver?”

He fumbled it and nearly dropped the whole toolbox.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t stop thinking about the way your shirt rode up when you reached to change the lightbulb in the kitchen, the sliver of your waist exposed. He thought about it way too often.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who laid in bed that night, hand in his hair and somewhere else..  sighing your name like a sin, whispering, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

BEST FRIEND CLARK!  who daydreamed about how your skin would feel under his hands, how you’d sound whispering his name in the dark. How you’d look underneath him, flushed and smiling.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who stared too long when you changed into one of your floral dresses again, the ribbon tied delicately in your hair.

“You look like… you again.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who can barely breathe when you start wearing your sundresses again. Who nearly passes out the day you show up with a yellow ribbon in your hair again—like it never left.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. Who held back when you patched up the gash on his brow, your fingers gently brushing through his hair.

“You scared me, sweetie,” you whispered, dabbing at the dried blood.

His whole body tensed. That word again.

His name in your voice made him feel like Clark — not the alien, not the outsider, not the Smallville freak. Just Clark. Clark who still can’t believe he gets to wake up next to you. 

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who finally gets to tell you the truth, realizing he can’t hide his feelings anymore It was one of those walks in the farm and you were wearing a yellow cardigan under your white dress. And as he looks at you, he just can’t help but love you.. And in that moment, Clark couldn’t hold back anymore. He confessed. “I’ve been in love with you for years, (Y/N).”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who watches you look at him in shock, then smile softly, finally realizing what’s been there all along For the first time, you saw it. The yearning in his eyes, the desperation for you to finally see him, not as your best friend, but as the one who’d been silently loving you for so long. And when you smiled, his heart soared.

“I’ve loved you for years,” he told you, voice hoarse. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you laughed, blinking back tears. 

“Because you were happy… or I thought you were.” 

“Clark,” you whispered, stepping closer,

 “I am at my happiest when I’m with you.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who feels you kiss him for the first time, his world crashing into itself with the force of it. The second your lips met his, all the years of longing, of silence, were gone. It was like he was breathing for the first time, drowning in you, in the taste of your lips, in the way your hands cupped his face like you’d always been meant to.

BEST FRIEND CLARK WHO BECAME BOYFRIEND CLARK THAT NIGHT.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who was your first real boyfriend, he said it a hundred times. Called you his. Made sure you knew it, made sure to reassure you.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t get it through his head that he got to kiss you now. That he could touch you, hold you, worship you, and never have to pull away.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who still fumbles and blushes whenever you flirt with him.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who whispers your name into your neck like a prayer every time you fall asleep in his arms.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who’s still your best friend. Who still watches Pride & Prejudice with you, who still kisses your hand like it’s sacred. Who still smells the soft floral perfume lingering in his room and smiles, because you’re back. You’re really back.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! now stands beside you as Chloe and Lana tease you both for being such a cliche. “A living romcom” they’d tease. the quarterback and the cheerleader, the slowburn everyone saw coming, the angst-ridden pining,  undeniable love story that bloomed from long nights on the farm to whispered confessions and inside jokes only you two would understand to intimate conversations that only the two of you could hear. The both of you were like a matching heart necklace, the one where it’s another half of the heart and it will only connect once the other piece is there, as if the universe had always planned it this way.

“I saw it coming from a mile away!”

“You owe me 10 bucks, Chloe.”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who takes you out on dates all the time, whether it's pretending to “study” at the Talon while sneaking glances at you over his textbook, driving you out to the barn just to stargaze in quiet comfort, or showing up outside your house with flowers and that crooked smile just to say, “I missed you, (N/n).”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who takes you in his arms again and again, unable to stop making up for all the lost time. Whether it was in his room, in the barn, or just in the middle of a quiet evening, Clark didn’t care. All he knew was he had you now, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who pressed you into the wall, lips hungry and hands curling around your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who moaned your name like he was starved for you, whispering, “You don’t know what you do to me”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who paused just long enough for you both to laugh in between kisses because god, you were still best friends, and you always would be

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t stop kissing you.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who makes love to you tenderly, slowly, letting you feel how much he cherishes you. The first time you made love wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was soft, full of tenderness and reverence. Clark treated you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who laughs with you, still best friends, even as lovers. As the two of you lay together, breathless and tangled, you couldn’t help but laugh. You were still you, still the same goofy best friends who watched movies and got into trouble. Only now, everything felt different in the best way possible. “Can’t believe we waited this long,” Clark said, and you grinned. “Yeah, well, I guess we were a little slow.”

BOYFRIEND CLARK who knows he didn’t save you but helped you save yourself.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who made you believe in love again, as the two of you lay in his bed, you never belonged anywhere else but here,with him. He was daylight, the boy who had always been your home; he was warmth, he was daylight,and then he leaned in.. 

“I love you."

[l1anxue]

how bad do u want me | natalie scatorccio x reader

“Cause you like my hair, my ripped-up jeans, you like the bad girl i got in me.”

SUMMARY: After a quiet conversation with Coach Ben in the wilderness, you come to a realization about yourself that you’ve been avoiding for a long time - you’re in love with your best friend, Natalie Scatorccio.

warnings: nsfw, smut with plot, slight angst!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The fire was dying again.

You and Coach Ben sat across from it, the silence thick between you. Most nights, no one really talked anymore. But tonight—tonight felt heavy, like something needed to be said. You were chewing on a piece of dried something (you didn’t ask), half-listening to the hiss of the flames when he broke the silence.

“You ever been in love?”

The question felt like it came out of nowhere. You blinked at him. “What?”

He gave a tired shrug. “It’s the kind of question you think about a lot out here.”

You stared into the fire for a long time, the heat kissing your cheeks. “No,” you answered too quickly. Then, quieter: “At least, I don’t think so.”

Coach nodded, then said gently, “What about boys?”

“I dated some, but my heart was never really in it.”You shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest. “It’s always been like that. I tried. I kissed them. I let them take me out. But it just felt like going through the motions. Like I was acting out a scene someone else wrote.”

He looked at you, not with judgment but with something like… curiosity. “So what does feel real to you?”

Your heart stuttered. The answer lived right there, under your tongue, ready to spill. And once you started talking, it didn’t stop.

And someone came in your mind.

Natalie.

You let out a long breath and started speaking, your voice softer than usual.

“When me and Natalie were younger… I don’t think I ever realized how much I needed Natalie. But there was always something between us, something I could never quite explain.” You paused, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. "When we were at my house, my mom would always be downstairs, cooking or doing something. And Natalie and I would go up to my room, lock the door, and just... be together."

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to find the right words. “We’d lie there in my bed, close, too close sometimes. I’d press my legs against hers, feeling the heat of her body next to mine.”

“I think I always knew, even back then, that I wanted more. But I didn’t know how to say it, how to make it real.”

Coach Ben stayed silent, watching you as you spoke. His presence was comforting, and yet, there was a pang in your chest as you relived those memories.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You and Natalie were sitting on her bed in the dim light of her room, the air thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and the faint aroma of her cheap perfume. The faint sound of music played low, something from the ‘80s. Queen, maybe? You weren’t sure, but the static from the speakers added to the feeling of everything being just a little bit hazy.

She was sprawled across her bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily, her ripped jeans showing more skin than you'd care to admit. Her black eyeliner smudged just slightly, as it always did, and her messy hair framed her face in the way it always did—like she didn’t care, but still somehow looked like she owned the room.

You were sitting a little too stiffly beside her, in your usual outfit of pink, a fuzzy sweater and white skirt with a flower hairclip on top of your head. A stark contrast to her—the good girl, the one who was always so... perfect.

You were used to the way people looked at you both, always wondering how the two of you ended up as best friends. You were opposites in every way. You were the quiet, perfect girl, the one who sat in the front of class and smiled politely. She was loud, messy, always caught up in something she shouldn’t be.

Still, here you were. Side by side, as you always were. Yet tonight, something felt different. You could feel it in the air, that shift that always came before something bigger, something you weren’t ready for but knew was inevitable.

“I don’t get why you hang out with me, (Y/N),” she muttered, her voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. She turned her head, her eyes searching yours for something—maybe an answer. "I'm trouble, you know that, right?"

You glanced at her, biting your lip. You always hated when she said things like that. Like she wasn’t worth it, like you weren’t worth being around her.

“You’re not trouble,” you said, though your voice was quieter than you intended. “You’re just... complicated. But I like complicated.”

She snorted, a sharp sound that made your heart flutter in an oddly comforting way. “Yeah, sure. You like it ‘cause you’re perfect. You’ve got everything together. I’m just a mess.”

That ache you were feeling deep in your chest earlier felt heavier now. The gap between the two of you was always there, but tonight it felt bigger, harder to ignore. You looked at her again, really looked at her. Natalie—your best friend, the one who you’d known for years, who knew you better than anyone else ever could.

“Maybe I like you because I’m not perfect,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And I don’t want to be.”

There was a long pause as Natalie processed your words. She tilted her head slightly, watching you closely, and then a small, almost sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You’re so good to me, cupcake,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest at the nickname. That nickname. She only ever called you that when she was soft, when she wasn’t trying to hide the part of her that was vulnerable, even if she didn’t always let herself show it.

“I’m not... I’m not good,” you whispered back, your words shaky. You wanted to say more, but the words were stuck in your throat. "You... you’ve been through so much. And you—"

But Natalie cut you off with a shake of her head, her expression turning serious. “You’ve always been good, (Y/N),” she said, her voice like gravel. "You just don’t see it. You always help me, no matter what. You keep me from falling apart."

Her words hung in the air, and you could feel them pressing down on you, making everything feel heavier. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to let me in, you know? You can—"

“I’m not going anywhere,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly more forceful than before. She moved closer to you, her leg brushing against yours as she did. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, making your pulse quicken.

The closeness was something you both had always shared—laying side by side, pressing your legs together when you watched movies, when you talked about everything and nothing. But tonight, with everything hanging in the balance, it felt like so much more.

You stared at her for a long moment, the words you wanted to say stuck on your tongue. But then she spoke again, her voice quieter, more vulnerable this time.

“Promise me something,” she said, looking down at your intertwined legs. “Promise me you’ll never leave me. No matter how... messed up I get.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

The air between you two felt thick now, like something unsaid was hanging there. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud yet. You couldn’t tell her what you were really feeling, not when the world seemed so uncertain.

You were so different. She was so different. And yet, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere but right here with her.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me once,” you admitted, pulling your legs closer to your face.

“Said it was practice."

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Madonna crooned from the cassette player, half-muffled by your bedroom pillow.

Like a virgin… touched for the very first time…

Natalie was sprawled next to you, one foot crossed over the other. Her flannel was sliding off one shoulder, eyes smudged with the kind of liner she never wiped off before crashing at your place. She had a joint in hand, laughing at something stupid you’d said about math class.

“Wanna practice?” she asked, not looking at you.

“Practice what?”

She raised a brow. “Kissing.”

You thought she was joking. But then she rolled over onto her side, facing you, close enough to smell the weed and grape soda on her breath.

You hesitated. “Okay.”

She leaned in like it was nothing. Like you were the one being weird about it. Her lips brushed yours, soft, slow, as if she’d done it a hundred times.

You didn’t even move at first. You just felt it—this terrible, perfect spark crawling up your spine. You kissed her back, and it felt like falling. You wanted to cry, and you didn’t know why.

When she pulled back, she grinned.

You wanted her to do it again.

And she did, again and again.

When she kissed you, it wasn’t playful. Not really. It was slow, searching. Her tongue moved against yours like she was memorizing it.

Later, she had pulled back, breathless, eyes darker than the night.

“Damn,” she whispered. “They don’t kiss like that.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me again, later,” you told Coach, your voice cracking. “A bunch of times. And then she touched me.”

You didn’t mean too say it out loud, but it was already gone. Out in the cold air, hanging there like smoke.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It had been late, after another party, when she’d stumbled into your car, laughing. Her eyeliner smeared, her voice sticky sweet with whiskey.

“You’re always so soft,” she murmured, leaning against you in the passenger seat, cheek pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re always so loud,” you said back, trying to steady your voice even though your hands were trembling on the wheel.

She laughed and turned her head, eyes glassy, breath warm on your skin.

“You ever think maybe I’m loud ‘cause I don’t wanna hear myself think?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t. Just drove her home in silence, the quiet between you almost unbearable.

That night, she left her bedroom door cracked open like she always did when she didn’t want to sleep alone. You followed, heart hammering like you were doing something wrong.

You helped her change. Her skirt was hitched too high, her shirt sliding down one shoulder. When she sat on the edge of her bed, legs loose and lazy, she reached for the strap of your sando, tugging them, letting it leave your shoulder.

“Wanna practice again?” she whispered, lips brushing yours.

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing. “Yeah,” you said, and kissed her.

God, you kissed her like it would be the last time. Like it had to count.

It started soft. Your lips, her tongue, the way she cupped the back of your neck. But she tasted like smoke and sugar and something that burned, and soon your sando was half off, her hands under your bra, skimming the bare skin of your sides.

She touched you like she meant it. Like she’d been thinking about it.

Her hand slid beneath your waistband, fingers grazing the elastic of your panties. Your hips jolted.

“Natalie…” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea.

She paused, eyes locking with yours. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head.

Her fingers dipped lower, slow and careful, until she brushed against the wet heat of you. You choked out a sound, half gasp, half whimper.

“God, you’re already soaked,” she said, voice low and rough, almost reverent.

She kissed your collarbone as she slid a finger inside, then two. Her touch was practiced, but gentle. She curled them just right, dragging them slow, deep, the heel of her hand pressing firm against your clit. You buried your face in her neck, biting down to muffle the moan tearing from your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. Her fingers worked you open, curling and stroking, coaxing you toward the edge until your thighs were shaking, your back arching, your hands twisted in her sheets.

You came like that, trembling in her lap, forehead pressed to hers, a quiet sob catching in your throat.

She kissed you after, messy and slow. Then she pushed you gently down onto the bed and climbed between your legs.

“Wait - ” you started, but her mouth was already there.

She kissed your thighs first, soft, dragging her teeth across the skin. Her hands pushed your legs open, steady and sure. And then-

Her tongue. Warm, slow, deliberate. She licked a long stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, teasing, tasting.

You cried out.

“Natalie -”

She moaned against you like she was drunk on it. Like she wanted to ruin you slow.

And she did.

The last thing you remembered before the flashback burned out was the sound you made. loud, raw, real - and the way she looked up at you from between your legs like you were something sacred, as she enjoyed

You never noticed but the way she looked at you, it was love.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You looked down at your lap. Your hands were shaking.

“It was my first time,” you admitted.

Coach Ben nodded, listening intently.

You thought that was it—that the conversation would taper off into silence like everything else here did. But then he looked at you again, steady and quiet, like he was waiting for something to click.

“Maybe the love you’re looking for,” he said gently, “has always been in front of you. Waiting.”

You froze.

The fire popped. Your heart did too, in a different way.

He said it like he knew something you didn’t. Like he’d seen it in the way Natalie passed you her joint with soft fingers. The way she always sat just close enough that your knees touched. The way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t looking - tired, tender, like she didn’t know how to say don’t go.

“Maybe,” he added, “you’ve just been looking for it in the wrong people.”

Your throat burned. You didn’t have an answer.

Just Natalie’s name echoing through your chest like a secret you’d been too afraid to tell out loud.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe she’d always been right there.

Waiting.

And as you return to the cabin the, faint rise and fall of Natalie’s breathing as she lay curled up on the cot, her face relaxed in sleep.

There was space next to her, an empty spot on the edge of the blanket, clearly left for you.

You smiled softly to yourself, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to you.

As you moved closer, the cool night air from the door fading behind you, you hesitated. You knew what you were feeling now. You couldn’t ignore it anymore. You couldn’t hide from the truth.

Coach Ben’s words echoed in your mind—Maybe the love you're looking for has always been in front of you, waiting. You thought about it again, about how, all this time, you’d been searching for something that was never really gone.

It had always been Natalie.

You gently eased into the space beside her, sliding your arms around her waist and pulling her close. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her body fitting into yours like it was always meant to. You hugged her tightly from behind, feeling the warmth of her skin seep into yours.

And in the quiet of that moment, you realized what Coach Ben had meant. You’d been looking for love in all the wrong places, convinced that there was something out there for you, when all along it was right here. Right in front of you. Waiting.

Natalie.

The love you’d been searching for, the love you had been too scared to admit, was already yours.

And as you held her close, the world outside the cabin seemed so far away. The noise, the chaos, it all faded to nothing. All that mattered was the warmth of her body in your arms and the gentle sound of her breathing.

 Coach Ben had been right after all.

THE END

[l1anxue]

my hero | dante x reader

(dante sparda x reader | can be set in DMC'S game universe or anime! inspired by re4.)

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

When Dante was hired to rescue the daughter of a powerful, fortune-telling family, he expected someone pristine. Proper. Maybe soft-spoken, mysterious, and grateful to be saved.

Not... this.

He had slayed demons—multiple demons, mind you, just to reach the creepy, crumbling church where you were kept. Solved a ridiculously hard puzzle, nearly got impaled by a swinging axe trap, and had to put up with the scent of brimstone and rotting pews the whole way.

And this is how you  greeted him?

With a candlestick. To the chest.

Dante staggered slightly, looking down at the now-bent bronze stick protruding from his jacket. His eyes flicked up to the girl standing in front of him, panting, your expression twisted in panic. Her eyes were wide. He could practically hear your heart racing.

“Not the hello I was expecting,” he muttered, yanking the candlestick out of his chest and tossing it aside with a clatter. The wound was already closing.

Honestly, you were kind of a sight, even if your first impression was... intense. He glanced between you and the photo your had given him. Same eyes. Same pouty lips.

Definitely her.

“Who... the hell are you?!” you snapped, stumbling back and dropping to the floor, scurrying away like a terrified cat.

He placed a hand on his hip, unimpressed.

“I’m Dante. I’m here to save you.”

“No, you’re not! You’re-you're one of those things! You’re here to finish the job!”

Dante sighed. “Your father hired me to save you, princess. You can chill.”

But you weren’t having it. You grabbed a piece of broken wood like a sword and aimed it at him, still shaking.

“That’s it.”

Before you could react, he darted forward with lightning speed, hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, and threw you over his shoulder.

“Put me down! I swear to God - let go of me! This is kidnapping! You animal!”

“Yeah, yeah. Screaming won’t help your case.”

You flailed and kicked and pounded your fists against his back.

“I’m going to curse you! I’m going to curse your entire bloodline!”

“Aw, that’s cute,” he said with a smirk. “You think I haven’t already been cursed.”

And with that, Dante walked out of the church, the echo of your outraged shrieking following behind him as he carried you straight into your unwanted rescue.

He already knew this mission was going to be a pain.

But hell if it wasn’t going to be entertaining.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Okay... maybe you weren’tthat bad.

After he explained the situation to you—albeit while covering your mouth mid-scream—you started to calm down. A little. And after he saved you from, oh, multiple demon attacks, you finally stopped stabbing him with random objects.

Now, you followed his lead like a wary cat, tiptoeing behind him through the ruins of a quiet village. At first glance, it looked abandoned. Peaceful. But you knew better. Dante had warned you, some of the villagers weren’t villagers at all.

Demons. Disguised. Watching.

You stuck close, barely breathing.

Suddenly, Dante stopped and motioned toward a metal trash can.

You blinked. Confused. “What?”

He kept his voice low. “Hide.”

You looked from him… to the trash can… then back again.

“Seriously?” you hissed.

He turned to face you, clearly baffled. “Yes. Seriously. No choice, princess.”

You groaned and dragged your feet toward the bin like it was your destiny.

“This is so disgusting,” you muttered under your breath. “Ew. Ew. Ew.”

Dante smirked as he heard the faint, pitiful complaints from within. Then, without missing a beat, he drew Ebony and Ivory from his holsters.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

Gunfire erupted just as you hunkered down. Inside the trash can, you flinched at every bang, every crack, every roaring screech from the demon horde. Then you heard it:

“WOOHOO!”

You couldn’t help it,you laughed. A wacky wohoo pizza man saving your life? Not exactly what your cards had predicted. But fate clearly had a wild sense of humor.

The noise outside started to fade. Silence crept back in. Your heartbeat rose.

What if it wasn’t Dante who opened the lid next?

But a moment later, the top popped open and there he was—grinning like a devil who just cleaned house.

“You good there, princess?” he teased, but there was something softer in his tone now. A flicker of concern.

You sighed, brushing your hair from your face.

“Not the best, but it can do.”

He chuckled and offered a hand, easily lifting you out and carrying you from the filth like a damn knight in blood-stained leather.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re near the castle. We’re almost out. I’ll have you back to your pops in no time.”

You looked up at him, something warm blooming in your chest. You clasped your hands together.

“Dante?”

He glanced back. “Hmm?”

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

He paused. Just for a moment.

“No need,” he said casually, turning away again. “It’s my job. Come on now—time’s valuable.”

And off you went.

You, the trash-can princess.

And him, the demon-slaying, woohoo-yelling knight.

Yeah… maybe you guys were a nice team.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were cursed, a demon’s blood was injected inside you while you were unconscious.

One moment, you were walking beside Dante through the castle’s silent halls, chatting about exit plans and the next, your feet froze.

Your body stilled.

“Hey,” Dante called casually from ahead. “You good there, Princess?”

He turned, eyebrow raised. But when he took a step toward you, your hand shot up, swift and deadly. Before either of you could react, your fingers wrapped tightly around his throat.

The grip was monstrous. Not yours. Not truly.

“The girl… is mine,” a voice growled through your lips. Hollow. Unrecognizable. You watched in horror, unable to scream, to cry, to stop.

Dante choked beneath your hold, eyes never leaving yours even as he struggled. He could’ve fought back. He should’ve. But he didn’t. He was afraid of hurting you.

Then just as suddenly, the grip loosened. Your knees buckled and you collapsed, only to be caught by warm, steady arms.

“W-What… happened?” you gasped, blinking rapidly.

Dante smiled at you gently. “Nothin’ much, princess. It’s good to have you back.”

Now, the two of you were in the underground levels, taking a breather in one of the rare safe zones. A “save point” you called it, after one of the video games you played. A friendly mercenary from above had set up a dummy shooting range and Dante took to it like a kid at an arcade, blasting each target with confident ease.

And your cheers? They only made him better.

“Woo! Ten in a row!” “Nice shot, cowboy!” “Is this your secret stress relief?”

Your laughter echoed off the stone walls and Dante couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. He never thought babysitting a rich girl would be this… fun.

He wasn’t gonna lie, it felt nice, having you around.

But behind your claps and witty quips… something was stirring.

As he reloaded for another round, he noticed the silence. No clapping. No teasing remarks.

He turned, and there you were, staring at your hands. Your expression was distant. Haunted. The veins beneath your skin looked darker. Angrier. Your smile was gone.

“Hey,” Dante called softly, walking toward you. “You good, princess?”

You looked up at him, guilt swimming in your eyes.

“I hurt you,” you whispered.

“You had no control over that.”

“But still!” you snapped, frustration breaking through. “What if I do lose control? What then?”

You looked around the area, eyes glassy. Tears were beginning to pool, and you hated it.

“I’m sorry, Dante…” Your voice cracked. “I’m just… so scared.”

His eyes softened instantly.

“When that happened… I was there. Inside my body. Screaming, but no one could hear me. It was like… like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from!”

You stumbled forward, leaning into his chest. He didn’t hesitate—his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly, protectively.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your quiet sobs, and the steady beat of his heart.

Then he smiled into your hair and whispered:

“You’re the strongest girl I’ve known, (Y/N). What you did back in the castle while I was trapped and unable to reach you? You handled yourself like a damn pro. You’re gonna beat this. I know you will.”

He gently pulled back to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I’m gonna bring you home safe.”

Your eyes met his.

For once, the fear inside you faded just a little, replaced by something warm. Trust. Hope. Maybe even something more.

“Now come on, don’t you wanna try this shooting game?”

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It had taken over.

Veronica. It was the name of the demon that had fully consumed your body, turning you into a twisted mirror of yourself. Black veins streaked across your face, eyes glowing an unnatural red, your voice dripping with venom as she mocked Dante with every word.

But the hardest part wasn’t the speed of her attacks. It wasn’t the razor-sharp accuracy or the maddening, taunting laugh echoing in the chamber.

It was you.

You,whose body Veronica now wore like a trophy, was why Dante hesitated. Each bullet, each strike, each blow brought him closer to ending the fight… and possibly hurting the one person he didn’t want to lose.

You, who had laughed with him in the darkest of places. You, who was the clear representation of why he saves humans. You, who made even a devil feel a little more human.

Then came the moment.

Veronica, grinning wickedly, spotted the flicker of hesitation.

“Jackpot,” she hissed. “So this is the weakness of Sparda’s son…”

She lunged for him—fangs bared, blade raised—but she stopped.

She froze.

From inside the shell, you fought. Screaming in silence. Pushing against the darkness. Your hands trembled mid-strike, and your knees gave out. Her control faltered.

“No… no!!” Veronica howled in rage.

As Dante effortlessly slices through the demons, his eyes never leave you. He could feel it, too, the pull, the connection, even though you were trapped inside that monster. But now, he had you back. You were fighting for control, resisting the demon’s urges to hurt him, and damn, if that didn’t make him proud.

The demon smirked, but it faltered when it realized you weren’t backing down. Dante grinned, his confidence returning like a wave crashing over him. "That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he entered his Devil Trigger, the power surging through him.

The demon howled in defiance. “NO! I am the queen of everything! I WILL NOT FALL!”

Dante shot a look full of cocky confidence. "Yeah? Well, guess what? You’re about to get dethroned."

With one final slash, the demon’s body was sliced in half. You fell, but before you could hit the ground, Dante was already there, catching you in his arms. You blinked, your vision blurry, then you smiled up at him, warmth flooding your chest.

“D-Dante…?”

He smiled. “Gotcha.”

You blinked at him, dazed, but safe. Then you grinned weakly. “My hero.”

“Good to have you back, princess. I missed you.”

You looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Yeah?”

Before he could answer, static crackled through his comm. Lady’s voice cut in.

“You’ve got exactly five minutes before this place goes boom. Underground tunnel. Vehicle’s waiting. Move your asses.”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Buzzkill.”

He looked down at you again, cocky grin back in place.

“Well, what do you say, princess? Care for one last ride?”

You smirked, brushing hair from your face. “I’d be honored.”

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The jet ski roared across the water, moonlight shimmering off the waves. You screamed in exhilaration, clinging to Dante’s back as the wind whipped through your hair.

Finally, he slowed, stopping right in the middle of the vast, open sea. The stars above were glittering. Everything was still.

Dante leaned back slightly, looking over his shoulder.

“Not bad, huh?” he said with that familiar cocky lilt.

You chuckled breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

“What a crazy first date.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You consider this a date?”

You hummed. “Mm… yeah. I mean, you picked me up, saved my life, took me for a ride—kinda romantic.”

Dante chuckled, low and smooth. “Damn. Guess I’ve still got it.”

Then you leaned forward, close to his ear.

“You’ve been putting in work all day, Dante. How about some overtime? I’m sure you’ll enjoy this shift a lot more.”

He tilted his head slightly, that cocky smirk growing.

“I don’t think that’s in the company handbook... but to hell with it.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he twisted the throttle, sending the jet ski speeding ahead. “Hang on tight, princess.”

The engine roared, and the two of you shot forward, the water crashing around you as your arm found its way on his waist. Dante’s grin widened, his satisfaction palpable, especially when he glanced at you, a loving look in his eyes.

So this is what his father felt when he fell in love with his mother, Eva.

And Dante knew it all too well..

He hit the jackpot with you.

[l1anxue]

i will fall in love with you over and over again | katsuki bakugo x reader

summary:

Your quirk was meant to save lives, but with every revival, it slowly chipped away at your memories. Ochako smiled brighter, Deku lingered longer, and Katsuki stayed—always stayed.Even when you forgot his name. Even when you forgot him.

warnings: major angst, memory loss, spoilers!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The first time it happened was when you revived Katsuki’s deceased cat.

You were children then, barely old enough to understand the weight of life and death. But when he found you crouched by the creek, his small hands trembling over the lifeless body of his beloved pet, his voice was already hoarse from calling your name.

“Please,” he choked out, red eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Do it. Just…just bring her back.”

You stared at him, uncertain. The raw desperation in his voice made you second-guess whether this was really the same Katsuki who shoved you off swings and tugged on your pigtails.

But his voice cracked again, and you gave in.

Tiny hands trembling, you knelt beside him, fingers brushing against the cat’s cold fur. You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know if it would work. You were too young, too inexperienced but the light of your quirk flickered faintly between your palms.

And suddenly, she stirred.

Just for five minutes.

The cat let out a weak meow, nuzzling into Katsuki’s trembling hands. His chest hitched with a choked sob as he cradled her, burying his face in her fur.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay, girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He hugged her tightly, arms curled protectively around the frail creature.

And when the light in her eyes slowly dimmed once more—her small body going limp in his arms—he pressed a final, tear-soaked kiss to her head.

Then he turned to you.

Without a word, he threw his arms around you, clinging to you as though you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. His fingers fisted the back of your shirt, shoulders trembling violently.

But your eyes were dull.

Blank.

Who… was this again?

Your fingers twitched faintly at your sides, your gaze vacant as you stared over his shoulder. There was warmth against you—the faint dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt. But you felt nothing.

When he pulled back, his red, swollen eyes searched yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice cracking slightly.

You blinked slowly. Tilted your head faintly.

“…Huh?”

Confusion flickered briefly across his face, but it was gone in an instant. He forced a shaky grin, nudging your forehead with his.

“Idiot,” he muttered hoarsely, ruffling your hair. “You look wiped out.”

But the faint crease between his brows lingered. And he stared at you a little longer than before.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Over time, Katsuki learned the cruel price of your quirk.

How ironic.

The ability to heal and revive—the very embodiment of hope—was also your slow undoing. A power so heroic, yet its cost so merciless.

In order to save someone, you had to lose pieces of yourself. Slivers of your heart. Fragments of memories you once held dear.

And Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder—once you were pushed to the limit, would you forget everything?

Would you forget him?

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Izuku’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud, sending dust and pebbles scattering across the broken bridge. His fingers scraped along the jagged pavement, knuckles bloodied from the fall.

He groaned softly, clutching at his shoulder as he slowly pushed himself up.

“Dammit…” he hissed through clenched teeth, wincing at the sharp sting pulsing through his arm.

But before he could rise, you were already by his side.

“Don’t move, Izu.”

Your voice was light, a soft, reassuring hum as your hands hovered over his injuries. A faint golden glow flickered between your trembling fingers, spilling warmth over his torn skin. Slowly, the bloodied scrapes faded—the broken bone mending beneath your touch.

Izuku sucked in a sharp breath as the pain dulled, his muscles loosening slightly.

But instead of relief, his chest tightened.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist before you could continue.

“You shouldn’t use your quirk in times like this.” His voice was low but firm, his green eyes narrowed with concern. “You know how it affects you, (N/N). I can handle myself just fine.”

You forced a sheepish smile, brushing him off with a lighthearted laugh.

“Don’t worry, Izu!” you chirped, your voice too bright—too forced. “This is just me practicing for when I become a hero… I have to get used to it someday, don’t I?”

You meant it as a joke, but the faint quiver in your voice gave you away.

Because even now, you could feel it—the subtle sting behind your eyes, the faint disorientation creeping in at the edges of your mind.

It was happening again.

But you pretended not to notice.

“Idiot.”

The sharp voice came from behind you, laced with unmistakable irritation.

You barely had time to turn before Katsuki’s shadow loomed over you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His voice was low, cutting, but you caught the faint tremor in it.

“The dumbass is right,” he muttered, jerking his head toward Izuku. His crimson eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t waste your efforts on shit that can be fixed easily.”

You blinked at him.

And before you could say anything, Izuku let out a low, incredulous scoff.

“Wait—did you just agree with me?” he asked, staring at Bakugo with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Bakugo’s scowl deepened instantly. His glare snapped toward Izuku, eyes blazing with irritation.

“Shut up, dumbass!” he barked, fists clenching slightly at his sides.

Izuku’s lips parted slightly, brows knitting faintly in surprise. But then—just barely—he smirked.

“You agreed with me,” he taunted softly, his voice deliberately teasing.

Bakugo shot him a withering glare, his jaw clenching sharply. His hands twitched, sparks crackling faintly at his palms.

“Say it again and I’ll throw your nerd ass off this bridge.”

But Izuku only grinned wider, his eyes glimmering with barely concealed amusement.

And even as the two bickered—hurling threats at each other with all the ferocity of childhood rivals—you knew.

You could see it in the way they lingered close. The way they subtly kept their bodies angled toward you. The way their eyes kept flickering back—searching, wary, worried.

Because they both cared.

And you smiled softly, even as the edges of your mind blurred slightly. Even as you knew you were losing another sliver of yourself.

But you didn’t say a word.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The use of your quirk became more frequent as the three of you entered U.A. The missions grew harsher. The battles bloodier. And with them, so did the people who worried for you.

You were stronger now. Sharper. Your control over Reverie was improving—you could heal faster, revive longer. You were starting to master it, refining the edges of your power with each mission.

But the cost remained the same.

The memory loss never left—it simply grew quieter, more patient. Lurking beneath the surface, gnawing at you slowly.

It would take everything eventually.

You knew it.

And so did they.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Your hands shook faintly as you pressed your palms over the woman’s bloodied chest. Her breath was shallow, fading fast, but you didn’t stop.

Golden light flickered from your fingertips, mending the torn skin, sealing the wound. You poured every ounce of strength you had left into her frail body, coaxing her pulse back to life.

You felt your quirk pulling at you—taking from you. You could feel it in the sharp sting behind your eyes, in the dull ache spreading behind your temples.

When you pulled back, the woman’s chest rose steadily, color returning to her face. She clung to your hand, her fingers trembling as she murmured a tear-soaked, broken “thank you.”

You smiled faintly.

And then you staggered, vision tilting slightly. Your knees threatened to buckle, the weight of exhaustion making your limbs heavy and sluggish.

A faint warmth trickled down from your nose.

Blood.

You stared at the crimson droplets falling onto your trembling hands. It took you a moment to register what was happening.

“Hey—hey!”

Ochako was by your side in an instant, her hands gripping your arms tightly, steadying you. Her brown eyes were wide, round with worry as she stared at the blood smeared across your upper lip.

“(N/N), you’re bleeding!” Her voice was tight, barely above a whisper. “You need to stop—”

But you shook your head, a weak, lopsided smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m okay,” you rasped softly, forcing a breathless laugh. You could taste the iron in your mouth, but you still smiled. You lied.

Ochako’s brows furrowed deeply. You could see the tremor in her hands as she cupped your face, wiping the blood from your lip with the edge of her glove. Her hands were shaking.

“Please, just rest,” she begged softly, her voice breaking slightly.

But you didn’t.

You carried on with the mission.

Despite the dizziness threatening to pull you under, despite the way your hands trembled faintly, you didn’t stop.

You pressed your bloodied hands against another fallen civilian’s chest, reviving them for five fleeting minutes.

Enough time to let their loved ones say goodbye.

You moved onto the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Because they deserved their goodbyes.

And if it meant sacrificing another sliver of yourself, you would do it without hesitation.

The man’s sobs echoed through the broken city street, his knees hitting the cracked asphalt with a hollow thud. His arms trembled as they clung to the small, lifeless body in his lap, the delicate frame of his child. Her limbs hung limp, eyes half-lidded, robbed of their light far too soon.

You had brought the child back with your quirk, just for five minutes. Enough time for the father to say goodbye.

But when she awoke, she screamed.

And the father, through tears, held her anyway.

“It’s okay… I’ve got you,” he whispered, rocking her as if he could shield her from the agony she was reliving. “Daddy’s here. I’ve got you, baby.”

The girl’s cries faded into broken gasps. She stilled in his arms before slipping away once more. Cold and lifeless.

You staggered backward, legs trembling beneath you. Something sharp cracked behind your eyes, a splintering sensation as if a fault line had split in your skull.

The world turned blurry.

When you blinked again, the sobbing man was a stranger. The charred street, unfamiliar. You stood there, lost in the very place you were supposed to save.

Katsuki’s voice cut through the fog.

“Hey! Hey, look at me!”

His voice was rough, sharp with urgency, but his hands were steady as he grabbed your face, thumbs pressed to your cheeks, grounding you.

Your eyes were unfocused, glassy with confusion. You didn’t know where you were. Who you were. But his voice was loud. Familiar. Real.

“Focus, dammit.” His forehead pressed against yours, sweat-damp hair clinging to his skin. His breath was uneven, but his voice was steady. Low. Rough. “It’s me. Come on, (N/N). Stay with me.”

And just like that, you were back.

Your chest heaved sharply, a gasp catching in your throat as your mind slowly pieced itself together. Your name. Your quirk. Your mission. His voice.

Bakugo held you in place for a moment longer, his grip firm but careful. His breathing was shaky against your temple. And when you looked into his eyes, wide with something raw and fragile— he was scared.

He almost lost you.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Then it started becoming more evident as you became the intern of a hero that owned a hospital. As her intern, you were tasked to heal patients, and if you were given the permission to, revive a patient for five minutes so their loved ones could say farewell. The heroine you were interning for, Lady Sakuko, knew the limitations and didn’t want to risk you and so you stuck with healing.

But some families begged you.. And you couldn’t say no.. It was cruel to do so.

And so you paid the price.

It started with training exercises. Lost memories slipping through your fingers. Sometimes it was minor, a name you couldn’t place, a route you couldn’t recall. Sometimes it was bigger.. Fading details of your past, faces you swore you knew but couldn’t recognize.

Your childhood best friend, Izuku, noticed first.

You were in the common room when he passed you a glass of water, his green eyes soft with concern.

“Hey, you okay? You kinda zoned out earlier.”

You stared at him blankly. “Huh? When?”

He hesitated.

“During training,” he murmured gently. “You didn’t dodge when I called your name.”

You blinked slowly at him, confused.

You didn’t remember.

His eyes softened with worry, but he forced a bright smile, brushing it off with a chuckle.

“Maybe you were just tired,” he said lightly. But the concern in his eyes lingered, even when he turned away.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You didn’t remember your favorite cafe

Ochako suggested stopping by after classl. Her voice was bright, casual, trying not to sound worried.

“Hey, wanna grab those cream puffs you like? You always get that matcha latte too.”

You blinked at her, confused.

“What café?”

Her smile faltered slightly.

“You know… the one by the park? You love that place.”

But you didn’t remember.

You stared at the tiny shop across the street, its warm glow spilling out onto the pavement, but it meant nothing to you. No familiar scent. No sense of nostalgia.

Ochako covered it quickly, her voice bright and casual.

“Oh! Maybe I’m mixing it up with someone else’s fave,” she laughed lightly. “Wanna check it out, though?”

You nodded absently, but you could feel her gaze lingering on you the entire time.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You can’t sleep.

The rooftop is cold, the wind nipping at your skin, but you don’t move. You stare out at the city, its flickering lights blurring faintly at the edges of your vision.

You hear footsteps behind you, heavy and familiar. When you glance over your shoulder, you expect to feel a flash of recognition.

But you don’t.

The blond boy strides over with his hands in his pockets, his eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. His presence is strong—almost too much. He carries himself like he owns the entire sky.

He stops beside you, eyes narrowing slightly. “You didn’t go to your café today.”

You stare at him blankly. You don’t answer.

He turns toward you fully. His voice lowers. “What café?”

His crimson eyes falter ever so slightly. His knuckles go white in his pockets.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, he scoffs faintly.

“Tch. It’s a shitty place anyway,” he mutters. “Too sweet.”

You don’t know why, but your chest aches.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The hospital wing is too small.

Cots are pressed against every wall, medical supplies scattered haphazardly across tables. Blood stains the once-white sheets. The air reeks of antiseptic and scorched flesh.

You sit by the cot of a fallen soldier, his blood pooling onto the sheets, soaking through the thin fabric. His eyes are glassy—vacant. His fingers twitch once, and then still.

“Please…” his wife whispers from the other side of the cot. Her voice is thin, trembling. “Please, save him…”

You don’t hesitate.

Your hands, slick with blood, press down on his chest, trembling as the familiar warmth of your quirk pulses through your fingertips. Light spills from your hands, golden and dim, sinking into his ruined flesh.

He gasps sharply. His eyes snap open, and he screams.

You don’t flinch.

You hold his hand as he thrashes violently, as his body relives every wound he has ever suffered. As he sobs and clings to his wife’s trembling arms. As she cries and holds him, even as he begs for it to stop.

Five minutes.

You stay with him until he goes still again. His wife kisses his cooling lips, her sobs raw and broken. She holds him close, even though he is cold.

You slowly stand, legs trembling. Your head throbs violently, and your vision briefly tilts sideways. Your hands shake so violently you barely manage to wipe the blood from your cheek.

“(N/N)!”

You don’t register the voice at first. The words are muffled, distant, until a pair of arms suddenly wrap around you.

Ochako.

You blink slowly, trying to focus on her face, but her features swim and blur. For a brief, disorienting moment, she is a stranger.

Her hands grip your arms tightly, her voice trembling. “You’ve been overworking yourself at the hospital… (N/N), you should remember to pick who you revive. You can’t save all of them.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “But I can.”

Her eyes burn with tears. She shakes her head weakly. “And it’s taking a toll on you!” Her voice cracks as she tightens her grip. “You’re my best friend, (N/N)… I know that it’s selfish… but sometimes… people go.”

Her voice breaks on the last word.

You just stare at her, your breath shallow. You want to hold her. To promise her you’re fine.

But you don’t.

Because you can’t remember if you are.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You’re slipping.

You can’t remember your name. You can’t remember the mission. You can’t remember why you’re here.

But you know you need to keep moving.

Your legs shake as you stumble forward, your body screaming in protest. Each step feels heavier, each breath shallower, but you don’t stop.

You press your trembling hands to the bodies littered across the battlefield, summoning every ounce of power left in you.

You revive them.

Again. And again. And again.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe. You just do.

And then you find him.

His body is crumpled against the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His gauntlet is cracked, sparking faintly with remnants of his quirk. His hand lies slack around the grip. His eyes are closed.

You don’t know who he is.

But your heart shatters.

You fall to your knees beside him. Your fingers tremble violently as you press them against his chest. His blood seeps into your skin, warm and sticky, but you don’t care.

You don’t understand why you’re crying. You don’t know why it hurts so much.

But it does.

Your hands shake so violently you can barely summon the light. It flickers faintly at your fingertips, sputtering weakly. You’re too far gone. You barely have anything left.

And still, you pour everything into him. Every drop of strength, every broken piece of yourself, every memory you don’t even have anymore.

“Please,” you choke softly, voice cracked and trembling. “Please, just… come back.”

You’re not sure if you’re speaking to him, or to yourself.

You press harder, ignoring the searing pain in your arms, the tremor in your shoulders. Your vision blurs with tears you don’t understand, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks.

And then he gasps sharply, his eyes flying open with a sudden, broken breath.

You let out a strangled sob.

His chest heaves with shallow, ragged breaths. His eyes—crimson and glassy—flicker hazily to you, unfocused and wide with confusion. Blood clings to his lips, his skin pale from blood loss.

But he is alive.

And then you smile.

Tears slip down your cheeks, your eyes blurry, but you smile anyway. You let out a shaky, broken laugh, soft and breathless—because he’s breathing.

Your trembling fingers brush over his blood-matted hair, pushing the damp strands from his face. Your hands linger, trembling faintly against his skin.

You stare at the face you don’t recognize.

But somehow, somehow, it still feels familiar.

Your voice is barely above a whisper, soft and fragile, breaking faintly over the words.

“I think I loved you before.”

Bakugo Katsuki allows himself to cry.

Because you still do.

Even if you don’t remember.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The war was over.

The scars it left behind were not.

U.A. slowly stitched itself back together. The halls were quieter now. The seats emptier. The classrooms once filled with voices and laughter now carried a somber stillness.

But you were alive.

And so were they.

You sat by the window in the classroom, the sunlight spilling weakly across your desk, warming your hands. The soft murmur of your classmates lingered faintly around you, their voices dull and distant. You watched them quietly. The way they moved, the way they smiled, the way their hands trembled slightly when they thought no one was looking.

They were familiar strangers.

You knew their names because they told you. You knew their faces because they showed you old photos. You knew their stories because they sat beside you and spoke softly, laughing through their tears, hoping you would remember.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

No matter how hard you tried, it was all blank.

You stared down at your notebook, the lines empty. The words wouldn’t come. Your fingers trembled slightly against the pen, your chest tightening with something sharp and suffocating.

You clutched the pen harder.

And then you heard someone sniffle.

You glanced up, eyes widening slightly.

Ochako sat beside you, her hand pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the small, broken sound. Her eyes were red, tears clinging to her lashes, falling despite her best efforts to hold them back.

You blinked slowly, confused.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered softly, your voice cracking faintly. Your eyes flickered around the room. Izuku, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, trying to smile for you. Kirishima, clenching his jaw as his hands fisted faintly on his desk, his knuckles white. Mina, her face buried in her arms, shoulders trembling softly.

And then you looked at Katsuki.

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t look away.

There was no pain on his face. No tears. No trace of sadness.

Just tenderness. Raw and steady.

You stared at him with so much love, like your heart remembered what your mind had forgotten. Like somewhere, in the hollow of your chest, you still knew him.

And you tried so hard.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to remember—to claw through the blank spaces, to tear through the fog—desperate to find even the smallest flicker of a memory.

But nothing came.

Just empty, aching silence.

You pressed your palms against your eyes, your shoulders trembling slightly. A broken sob caught in your throat, and you shook your head sharply, voice small and broken.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out softly. “I’m so sorry. I—I can’t remember. I—”

You covered your face with your hands, hot tears slipping between your trembling fingers. You tried to stop them, tried to breathe through the suffocating weight in your chest.

“I’m trying so hard,” you whispered shakily. “I want to remember, I do. But I—I can’t. I can’t remember any of you.”

Your voice cracked painfully as you lowered your hands, your eyes desperate and glassy. You clutched the fabric of your shirt over your chest, knuckles pale from how hard you squeezed.

“And I’m so sorry…” your voice broke completely, trembling and raw, “for forgetting you.”

And then you felt warmth.

Arms wrapping around you.

Steady. Strong. Familiar.

You felt Katsuki’s hands cradle the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, holding you gently against his chest.

Your trembling hands fisted weakly into his shirt, clinging to him, your tears soaking into the fabric. You shook faintly in his arms, and he just held you tighter.

He pressed his lips softly against the crown of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, but gentle. “You don’t have to remember.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face deeper into his chest, tears falling freely.

He stroked your hair softly, his voice breaking faintly as he held you closer.

“We’ll just make new memories together.”

You hiccupped softly against him, and his arms tightened faintly around you.

“We have time,” he murmured against your temple. “We have forever.”

And so you broke completely in his arms.

Because even if you didn’t remember who he was, you still knew him.

THE END.

[l1anxue]

you are in love ! | caleb x reader

“you can hear it in the silence, silence, you can feel it on the way home, way home, you can see it with the lights out, lights out. you are in love, true love..” - taylor swift

Caleb had no idea how he ended up here.

One second, he was your personal chef, casually cooking your favorite meal in his Skyhaven apartment, teasing you whenever you snuck a bite before it was done. The next, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, makeup brushes and palettes scattered around him, letting you use him as your personal mannequin.

How did this happen? He didn’t know. But he didn’t say no. Of course he didn’t.

He huffed a low chuckle as you dusted a soft pink blush onto his cheeks, your brows furrowed in concentration. He could feel the warmth of your fingers brushing against his skin with each gentle stroke.

“Enjoying yourself, huh, pipsqueak?” he teased, arching a brow, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a lopsided grin.

You shot him a look, entirely unamused. “Stop moving! You’re gonna ruin it!”

Without hesitation, you grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks slightly, and tugged him closer. His breath caught. You were so close now.. Your noses almost brushing, your eyes narrowed in determined focus.

His heart did a somersault.

You were completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. You always were. To you, this was just fun—a silly little project, your favorite hobby combined with his endless patience. But to Caleb, it was something else entirely.

Because God help him, the way you were looking at him: lips pursed slightly, lashes dipping low as you struggled to steady your hand while attempting to apply eyeliner—he thought he might actually lose his mind.

There was something so affectionate about it. Just you, painting his face with all the gentle familiarity of someone who had known him forever. You didn’t even realize how tender you were being.

And he just sat there. Letting you. Because he didn’t want it to stop.

When you finally leaned back, you clapped your hands together with giddy satisfaction, your eyes lighting up like you’d just discovered a new galaxy.

“Tada!” you beamed, raising your arms in triumph. “You’re the most beautiful boy in Skyhaven!”

But Caleb wasn’t looking at his reflection.

No, the most beautiful thing in the room was right in front of him.

It was the way your eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when you smiled, the way your laugh—bright and breathless—filled the entire space. It was the warmth in your gaze, the way it softened when you looked at him, not realizing how much of himself he could see in your eyes.

And in that moment, he knew.

He was in love. Completely, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

And he didn’t need a mirror to see it. It was right there—in the way his hand lingered at your wrist when you reached for another brush, in the way his gaze kept drifting back to your mouth, and in the way his heart ached just from watching you.

But he didn’t say anything. He just let the moment hang between you. Tue warmth of your laughter, the easy comfort of being close to you.. because he was too afraid to break it.

Instead, he smirked faintly, falling back on old habits. On the teasing, the banter, the safety of your friendship.

“Beautiful, huh?” he drawled, leaning back against the couch, his lips twitching upward. “Don’t let it get to my head, pipsqueak. I might become a full-time model after this.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder as you let out a breathless giggle. “Yeah, right.”

And Caleb just laughed along with you, pretending he wasn’t unraveling at the edges. Pretending that he wasn’t already yours in every way that mattered.

Pauses, then says: you’re my best friend… you knew what it was

He is in love

[l1anxue]

baby brother | megumi fushiguro & fushiguro reader ft. gojo satoru

warnings: slight angst, (y/n) lowkey projects her trauma.

[ anora series over here ! ]

“MISS (Y/N), LOOK HERE!”

The camera flashes were relentless, but you were used to them. You had many years in your life where you had train yourself had you to smile just right, angle your body to perfection, make it all seem effortless. And it was, mostly. Even now, in a designer dress that cost more than your rent before, standing in front of hundreds of flashing lights, you barely felt a thing

You had just finished another runway show and tonight was the afterparty. And as expected, many photographers and paparazzi’s were waiting outside for you and your fellow colleagues.

You tilted your head before shifting your pose again. Your smile was dazzling, the kind that made photographers rush to capture it. And the kind that made Gojo Satoru burn with desire back at your home.

“You’re a natural!” one of them shouted.

Yeah. You were.

Your phone buzzed in your hand as soon as you stepped away from the cameras, and you exhaled in relief when you saw Tsumiki’s name light up your screen.

“Hey, Miki.”you answered, slipping into a quieter corner.

“You looked so pretty!” she gushed. “I was watching the live stream. That dress? Oh my god. And I know you hate wearing heels, but you pulled them off.”

You frowned, adjusting your gown. “Tell that to my feet. I think they lost circulation an hour ago.”

Tsumiki laughed, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, chatting like nothing had changed. But then—

“Speaking of suffering,” she said, voice taking on a teasing lilt, “you won’t believe what Megumi just told me.”

Your smile dropped. “What happened?”

Tsumiki hummed, drawing it out. “Someone asked him out.”

You froze.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She giggled. “Relax! He didn’t say yes or anything. But you should’ve heard him. He was so awkward about it.”

Your mind was already racing. Someone asked Megumi out? Your Megumi? Your baby brother?

No. Absolutely not.

“I have to go,” you said urgently. “I need to handle something.”

“Don’t do anything crazy!” Tsumiki warned.

But you had already hung up.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Satoru was just as horrified as you are. But at the same time, he was having too much fun.

“She asked him out?” he repeated, sprawled across your couch with a dramatic gasp.

“Yes,” you muttered, furiously scrolling through Megumi’s social media. “And we don’t know anything about her. What if she’s—”

“A normal teenage girl?” Satoru deadpanned.

You shot him a sharp look. “What if she’s not?”

He smirked, watching you pace. “You know, if you’re gonna stomp around like that, you might as well do it on a runway.”

You ignored him, too deep in your spiraling thoughts.

Big mistake.

Because Satoru sat up, gaze raking over you with a desire to pounce on you like a beast looking at its meal, and then he said—

“Actually, scratch that. You walking in that dress? I almost came.”

You stopped in your tracks, your mouth agape

at what he just said. “Huh?”

He smirked. “What? You looked great. Not to mention the way your boobs bounced? Makes me wanna gatekeep you, babe.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Your menance non-showbiz boyfriend who supports your modeling career.” He reminded, a lopsided smile appearing on his face. “You know you’re lucky you’re with me. If it were other men they’d be too insecure to let their women out in the wild.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are so unserious.

“And yet, you love me.”

“Tragic, isn’t it?”

He gasped dramatically. “You wound me baby.”

You sighed, dropping onto the couch beside him, still scrolling. “We need a plan. We need to know who she is before this gets out of hand.”

Satoru grinned, propping his chin on his hand. “What are we thinking? Interrogation? Bugging his phone? Tailing them?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you so good at coming up with these?”

“I had some experience back then with me and my buddy Shoko.“

“Clearly.”

“So she asked him out.. Not him?” he repeated, eyes wide as he leaned dramatically across your couch. As if Megumi would ask out a girl.

“Yes,” you muttered, arms crossed as you scrolled through Megumi’s social media, trying to find any trace of this mysterious girl. “And we don’t know anything about her. What if she has bad intentions?”

“Like I said.. She’s a teenager,” Satoru repeated.

“So? I was young too!” you shot back, voice colder than intended. Satoru flinched at that, and you instantly regretted it, sighing. “I just… I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

He stretched, cracking his neck. “Alright, what’s the actual plan?”

You exhaled. “Tomorrow, we observe. If she tries anything sus—”

Satoru’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “We eliminate her?”

“No.”

“Boring.”

“We just… make sure Megumi’s safe.”

He grinned, watching you fondly. “You know, you’re hot when you’re scheming.”

You shot him a look. “Do you ever stop flirting?”

He winked. “Not with you, sweetheart.”

And despite your annoyance, you laughed. He maybe is an annoying brat but he’s your annoying brat.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

This was not your finest moment.

You and Gojo were currently hiding behind a tree outside Megumi’s school, watching as he talked to a girl—the girl.

“This feels illegal,” Gojo whispered.

“You feel illegal,” you shot back.

He gasped, clutching his chest. “You wound me again.”

You ignored him, narrowing your eyes at the girl. She looked normal. Cute, even. But that meant nothing. People thought you were normal, too, before—

You shut down the thought immediately.

Gojo nudged you. “She laughed at something he said. Do you think it was a joke?”

“Megumi doesn’t tell jokes.”

The two of you squinted harder.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this with you,” you muttered.

Gojo grinned. “And yet, here we are.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Busted.

Megumi knew.

Later that night, he sat across from you and Gojo at the dining table, arms crossed.

“You followed me.”

Gojo gasped, utterly offended. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re terrible at being subtle. And because Hahara saw you hiding behind a tree.”

Your ears perked at the name he mentioned. “Hahara?”

Megumi sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes. Hahara, my friend.” He emphasized, making you feel even more guilty. Satoru held your hand and rubbed it to comfort you.

“I know why you did it.” His gaze softened slightly. “But I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but—

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, meeting your eyes. “You’ll always have me.”

Your throat tightened.

“Always?” you asked quietly.

Megumi gave a rare, soft smile. “Always.”

And just like that, you could breathe again.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“AWW HOW SWEET!” Satoru cried out and held his hand in his chest like he was witnessing the most heartwarming moment of his life. His lips wobbled dramatically, and his stupidly bright eyes glistened with tears.

You knew that look.

“Gojo,” Megumi warned.

Too late.

“GROUP HUG!” Gojo lunged at the both of you.

Megumi barely had time to react before Satoru tackled both of you into his suffocating family hug, smothering the both of you in his shouldrr.

“Get off.” Megumi grumbled, trying to push him away.

But Satoru only squeezed harder, his stupidly long limbs locking the both of you in place. “Nope! This is a moment! A precious sibling moment! I can feel the love!”

“Let me go.”

“You’re so grumpy, Megs.” Gojo sniffled, voice thick with exaggerated emotion. “Just say you love us, and I’ll let you breathe.”

Megumi scowled, arms pinned awkwardly between the both of you. “I’d rather suffocate.”

Gojo gasped. “(Y/N), did you hear that? He doesn’t love us.”

You patted Megumi’s head mockingly, joining in your boyfriend’s ploy “Heartbreaking. Truly.”

Megumi gave you the dirtiest look.

“You’re both insufferable,” he muttered, before shoving Satoru off with all his strength. Satoru yelped, dramatically flopping onto the floor like he just fought a battle with the king of curses and fell.

“My own baby brother-in law..” he cried out. “Betrayed me. I don’t think I can recover.”

Megumi turned to you, deadpan. “Please dump him.”

Satoru gasped. “(Y/N), don’t listen to him! He’s just going through his edgy teenage phase!”

You smirked, standing up and ruffling Megumi’s hair. “Sorry, Megs. You’re stuck with us.”

Megumi groaned, but you saw the tiny, reluctant twitch of his lips.

Gojo sprang back up, immediately draping himself over your shoulder. “And you’re stuck with me, baby.

Megumi stood up, grabbing his plate. “I’m going to my room.”

“Megumi, wait—”

SLAM.

Gojo pouted. “He’ll miss us when we’re gone.”

You chuckled, leaning into his warmth. “Yeah. He will.”

[l1anxue]

ANORA ~ gojo satoru x fushiguro reader

[ inspired by the movie anora ! ]

“ crawling back to you … ” - anora playlist on spotify !

WARNINGS:

- suggestive content, angst, mentions of sex work

In a world that treats them cruelly, (Y/N) Fushiguro & Gojo Satoru finds peace within each other.

SUMMARY:

You, (Y/N) Fushiguro, had always put family first. After being forced to grow up too soon after your father abandoned you, you dedicated your life to giving your siblings the best life, sacrificing your own happiness for their own happiness and safety. Love was a luxury you couldn’t afford—especially after the heartbreak that left you wary of ever trusting someone again.

But when Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer of your generation, waltzes into the life of you and your siblings with his infuriating smirk and boundless power, he challenges everything you thought you knew. He sees past your walls, past your burdens, and into the heart you swore no one would touch again.

EPISODES

EPISODE ONE: LOVE ME LIKE YOU DO, GOJO SATORU

- to the world, Gojo Satoru is the strongest but to you? He is yours.

EPISODE TWO: TO YOUR SISTER, WHO IS ALWAYS BY YOUR SIDE

- megumi fushiguro swears to protect his sister the way she protected him when he was a child.

EPISODE THREE: DO I WANNA KNOW?

- the hardships of the oldest fushiguro, and how gojo satoru mends her broken heart.

EPISODE FOUR: BABY BROTHER

- (y/n) fushiguro’s maternal instincts are triggered when someone makes a move on her baby brother

[l1anxue]

do i wanna know? | gojo satoru x fushiguro reader

trigger warnings: major angst, slight fluff, mentions of sex work, suggestive content.

EPISODE 1: GOJO’s POV

EPISODE 2: MEGUMI’s POV

The past clings to you like a ghost—silent, invisible, but always there. It lingers in the spaces between your ribs, the corners of your mind where shadows stretch too long. Some days, you think you’re free. Other days, it reminds you that you are not.

Tonight is one of those nights

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Gojo makes pancakes on Sundays. He sings off-key in the kitchen, swaying as he flips them, and you sit at the counter, watching him like he is something unreal. Sometimes, he throws batter at you just to hear you laugh.

“You’re a menace,” you grumble, flicking flour at him.

“Ah, but I’m your menace,” he grins, eyes twinkling behind his shades.

You roll your eyes, but there is warmth in your chest, something quiet and aching.

-

The past does not disappear. It clings, digging its nails into the soft parts of you, reminding you that no matter how much time passes, no matter how far you run, you will never be free of it.

There are nights when you wake up gasping, flashes of the bad life coming back. Even in a warm bed, in a home filled with light, the cold never really leaves your bones.

But then there is Gojo.

And Megumi.

And Tsumiki.

There are arms that hold you when you shatter. Voices that call you by name—not like you are something to be owned, not like you are a burden, but like you are someone worth loving.

Some days, that is enough. Other days, it is not.

-

But healing is not linear.

You’re kissing him now, warmth pressing against warmth, fingers tangled in his hair. His hands are gentle, reverent, holding you like you are something precious. And for a moment, you let yourself sink into it.

Then—something shifts.

The past rushes in, cruel and unforgiving. A touch that was once safe suddenly isn’t. A voice from long ago, a memory you can’t escape—

No, no, no.

You shove him away violently. Your chest tightens, breath coming too fast, too shallow. Your hands shake, but before you can stop yourself, you are swinging at him, hitting him again and again, sobs wracking your body.

“Don’t touch me—don’t fucking touch me!”

Gojo doesn’t move. He doesn’t stop you. He takes every hit, every ounce of pain you throw at him, his expression unreadable. And then, when you finally collapse, exhausted and trembling, he catches you.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, steady. “You’re safe with me.”

Something inside you cracks.

Gojo doesn’t tell you that you’re overreacting. He doesn’t try to fix you or make promises he can’t keep. He just holds you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

“You don’t have to suffer anymore.”

-

You remember hunger. The kind that twists deep in your stomach, a hollow ache that becomes part of you. You learned not to ask for food. Learned that to need anything was a weakness.

You remember the cold. The way your fingers went numb in the winters, the way your breath formed little clouds in the dark. You remember curling in on yourself, arms wrapped around your middle, pretending that you were small enough to disappear.

You remember hands that took without asking. A voice that whispered promises in your ear, telling you that you were special, that you were his. You had believed him, once. You had let yourself hope.

And then, like all the others—he left.

But Gojo is not like that. Not like him. And everyday is a constant reminder that someone loves you, because Gojo Satoru never misses a day to tell you those 3 words.

“I love you.”

-

You remember when he asked you to move in.

It was late, the city lights spilling into his apartment, painting his white hair within the midnight sky. You had been sitting on his couch, knees pulled to your chest, exhaustion pulling at your bones.

“Move in with me,” he had said, so casually, like it wasn’t the single most terrifying thing in the world.

You had scoffed. “Why?”

Gojo tilted his head, grinning. “Because I’d miss you too much otherwise.”

You had laughed, shaking your head. But something in your chest ached.

Because he meant it.

-

Some days, you are happy.

Some days, Gojo convinces you to dance in the kitchen, socked feet slipping against the tiles as he twirls you in circles, laughing when you glare at him. When Megumi and Tsumiki come home from school, you make dinner together, your little found family filling the space with warmth you never thought you’d have.

And in the midst of your happiness, you whisper to Satoru, “Promise me we’ll stay like this forever?”

And he smiles at you genuinely, a smile you would trade the whole world for.

“I promise.”

And for the first time, you believe a man’s promise.

Because with Gojo Satoru, your heart is protected.

[l1anxue]

to your sister, who is always by your side | megumi fushiguro x sister reader

warnings: major angst, slight fluff, mentions of sex work.

can be considered as a part two to [this story!]

MEGUMI has never been good with words.

Not when he was a child watching you work tirelessly to keep food on the table. Not when exhaustion was obvious in your face. But you never showed it to him and Tsumiki. Instead you smiled at them, as if they were the only things in the world that mattered. Not even when he wanted to tell you how much he admired you, how much he loved you—because words never seemed enough.

But Megumi has always been good at watching.

He saw everything.

Even the things you tried to hide.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were just a child yourself, forced to become something you never should have been. A mother, a protector, a provider. All because your father decided to drown himself in his sorrows after the death of your mother. You didn’t have cursed energy. No technique to keep you safe. No weapons, no powers, nothing but your own body and sheer determination.

And yet, you carried the weight of the world for him and Tsumiki.

Megumi wasn’t supposed to know how you got the money.

You never told him.

You never wanted him to know.

But he saw.

He saw the bruises you tried to cover up with makeup. The way your hands trembled when you counted yen under dim apartment lights. He saw how you winced when you thought no one was looking, how you took too-long showers as if trying to scrub something away.

And one night—one night he really saw.

He had been looking for you. You were late. It was past midnight, and the pit in his stomach had turned into something unbearable. He had never been good at listening, but when you told him to stay home, he usually did.

Not that night.

He found you in the alley near your job.

You were wearing something that barely covered you, heels that made you stumble when you walked. In your hands—yen, more than he had ever seen before.

You were crying.

Silent, ugly sobs. Tears streaming down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the money like it was both a blessing and a curse.

Megumi didn’t know what to say. He was just a kid. Just a stupid, powerless kid.

You noticed him before he could run away.

And in that moment, you looked so small. Just like him.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Maybe you were going to lie to him. Maybe you were going to tell him something stupid, like how everything was okay.

But Megumi wasn’t a fool.

And you.. you had never been a good liar.

So instead, you gave him a broken, tearful smile.

“It’s enough for rent,” you said, voice hoarse. “Tsumiki can have new shoes now.”

Megumi didn’t respond.

Something inside him.. Something so deep and ugly.. twisted until he thought he was going to be sick.

That was the night he swore.

He swore he would become strong.

That one day, you wouldn’t have to suffer for them.

That one day, he would be the one to provide for you.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Then Gojo entered your lives.

Megumi expected to hate him.

And he did.

At first.

The white-haired idiot was annoying, always grinning, always teasing. He had the emotional maturity of a child, and Megumi wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug look off his face.

But then he saw you with him.

Saw how you laughed around him, how the weight you always carried seemed a little lighter. How, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just surviving—you were happy.

Gojo was loud, obnoxious, and an idiot.

But Gojo also adored you. The same way he adored you.

He knew that just like him, Gojo burn the whole world if it meant your happiness would be forever, if it meant you’d be at peace your whole life.

And he had money. More money than Megumi knew what to do with.

Which meant—

You never had to go back to that.

Megumi would never say it out loud, but that was the moment he stopped hating him.

That didn’t mean he stopped finding him annoying.

One night, as Gojo was rambling about something stupid and you were smiling, Megumi muttered under his breath, “He’s annoying.”

You snorted. “Tell me about it.”

Megumi sighed, looking at the man who had somehow wormed his way into both of your lives. “But I’m glad he makes you happy.”

Your expression softened. You reached out, ruffling his hair like you always did. “That’s all that matters, huh?”

Megumi didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. You already knew.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Shibuya was burning.

Megumi ran. His hands trembled, his breaths came too fast, but he kept running.

His phone was still pressed against his ear.

“Where are you?” His voice was rough, breathless. “Just tell me where you are—I’ll come get you.”

Silence.

“Please.”

Another beat of silence, then—

The faintest inhale, shaky and weak.

Megumi’s grip on the phone tightened. “Hey. Stay awake. I’m almost there.”

Somewhere, Gojo was trapped.

Somewhere, you were—

His mind was screaming.

This isn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to be safe. You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near this.

He should’ve made sure.

He should’ve protected you.

He should’ve—

“…Megumi.”

Your voice was faint, barely above a whisper, but it shattered him.

“I—I’m right here.” He swallowed down the panic rising in his throat. “Just—just stay with me, okay?”

But you didn’t answer.

And for the first time in his life, Megumi didn’t know.

Did you—?

No.

No, he refused to believe that.

You had always been by his side.

Even now—you had to be.

Right?

[l1anxue]

love me like you do | gojo satoru x fushiguro reader

LIFE IN THE JUJUTSU WORLD has always been chaotic with Gojo Satoru is at the center of it all.

To the world, he is the strongest, the honored one, the one to bring peace to the Jujutsu World. To you, he is simply Satoru.

To you, he was just that boy who came to save you and your siblings from the life your deadbeat father had given you. You could still remember the day you met. Your brother, Megumi, started rambling about some random weird guy outside the apartment you were renting. Said that he looked like a creep and was annoying.

The first time you met, he was already legendary. Stories of his power preceded him—how he rewrote the very rules of battle, how no one could lay a hand on him. You expected arrogance, for him to look down on the both of you - after all, your father was notorious. Thank god you had your mother's last name.

However none of that happened. Instead, you were met with a man who whined about sweet treats and pouted when you denied him a second helping of dessert.

"(Y/N)-chan, you're being mean!" He whined, pouting as he placed both his hands on his cheek. Gosh he acts more like a kid than Gumi!

"Those are for Megumi and Tsumiki! If you want more ice cream, go buy some!" You berated, placing your hands on your hips making you look like an angry mother scolding her child.

Everyday he visited, never missing a day. He arrived by 3:30 PM and he came with desserts, food and even clothes for the three of you. When he found out about your living situation and how you had to work three jobs in order to give your siblings the life that they deserved, he proposed an idea.

"Would you like to live with me?"

And everything was history.

-

"You know, you're not as scary as they say." You mused, watching as he slumped over the table, groaning dramatically.

Tonight was another one of those nights where you and Satoru would sit by the balcony of his house. Megumi and Tsumiki are asleep by this hour, leaving the two of you alone with nothing but your thoughts and each other.

Satoru peeked at you from behind his blindfold, lips twitching. "That's because I like you."

You smiled. "Lucky me, then.

-

Satoru carries the weight of the world on his back. He acts like it's nothing, grinning, cracking jokes, shouldering every burden with effortless grace. But you see it—how heavy it all is.

The loneliness of being the strongest.

When he returns from missions, eyes weary beneath his blindfold, he doesn't need words to tell you how exhausting it is to be him. You simply take his hand, pull him into the quiet comfort of your shared space, and let him be.

With you, he is not Gojo Satoru, the untouchable sorcerer.

With you, he is just Satoru.

He leaves his sunglasses on the table, leans his head on your lap, and exhales like he can finally breathe. On the bedside table was a picture of the four of you at a beach vacation. Satoru smiled when he caught glimpse of it.

"You're my favorite person," he murmurs, tracing lazy circles on your wrist. "You know that?"

You smile, brushing his hair back. "You're mine, too."

His lips curve, softer this time. "Good."

Gojo Satoru is everything—limitless, powerful, untouchable.

But here, in your arms, he is yours.

"Promise me we'll stay like this forever?" Gojo raised his hand for you to hold it and you smiled, reciprocating the action.

"I promise."

With you, Satoru Gojo is at peace.

[l1anxue]

ROMANCING MR HALF-DEVIL | Vergil X Original Character

CHAPTER TWO: Traces Of The Future, Alessa

SUMMARY: Alessa Vera is a dreamer. She’s dreamt of many things to come for many times, believing that all of it is just a one big nightmare… but what if it isn’t?

"They're in danger, daddy I saw it!"

"What are you talking about Alessa?”

Alessa Vera was a dreamer.

She knew that when she was born, she was going to follow her mother's footsteps to stardom. She had no idea of the true life of her father, the true history of their family.

She had dreams of extravagance, of the future, of her future self.

She imagined herself on the stage, performing exactly like her mother, selling out millions of records and making people happy. Its what she ever wanted, to make other feel positive.

For little Alessa, helping others was the best thing a person could ever do. Little did she know, she had abilities that would exactly allow her to help, just not in the way that she expected.

But one day, things changed. Her dreams went from falling to a tunnel to... weird and realistic if you put it in simple context.

It was a nightmare, a regular dream and a paralysis demon all at once.

It first happened when she was 4, before she and her older brother met Sparda and his family. She remembered falling asleep to one of her father's tales of hunting down demons, a habit that they do even now.

She could feel her body surrendering to her restless dreams as her eyes fluttered shut. A few minutes later Alessa grumbled, having been woken up not even an hour in her sleep. She was ready to hit Hector when suddenly, she realized that she wasn't in her room nor her home.

Her heart started beating fast, not used to the unfamiliar surroundings. Where am I?

"Hector, Mom, Dad?" She opened the door and called out through the halls, afraid of what may await her in this place.

It took a few minutes without her family's response that she finally started walking around the place, though lightly, as to not alert what could probably be monsters around. As she wandered around, she realized just how massive the place is. It wasn't a house, it was a castle! And she was all alone... Maybe Daddy thought that we should have a family trip and they didn't bother to tell me? (How weird.. Hector would probably do something to make me cry or wake me up if that were the case.) The castle was very beautiful, the tapestries and designs were placed intricately - though the aura was lonely, making her wonder who or if anybody ever lived here. Little Alessa would have probably enjoyed it and even thrived in being there if it wasn't so.. Grim.

It felt so real, as if she was actually in there. And maybe she was? She couldn't tell anymore. The first thing she did was explore the castle. Nobody was there anyway and who would dare hurt her? Her father's the most powerful human in the world! Just one strand being misplaced would result in the evil demons getting their butts kicked!

As she turned a corner, she noticed a blade sticking out on the wall. It has lightning thingies in it. A part of her, the rebellious part of her, wanted to touch it but fortunately enough, the sensible part in the four year old's mind won, remembering her mother's scolding: "Don't touch things that aren't yours, Li!"

Leaving the sword behind, little Alessa walked around humming her mother's favorite tune, strolling as if she owned the place. When she finally got comfortable in the lonely halls of the palace, someone.. or something started crawling on top of her.

At first she didn't notice it until one of its webs fell in her hair. The young girl slowly looked up to see what it was and saw the monstrous creature looking up at her with malice and full intent on doing something to her.

She froze in her place, scared. As if moving was going to trigger the spider's cruel thoughts. But if she didn't do anything, it would get her either way - easier.

Run.

She felt her feet move on their accord, instantly doing everything to get away from that horrifying creature.

"Daddy, help me!" The poor girl cried out. The thing

being so cruel as to tease the little girl around the hallways. At first it would follow behind - and then it would climb up to look at her to frighten and terrify the girl even further - and then it would stop, approaching slowly and still keeping up to show that if it had gotten bored, it would have gotten the girl easily.

Alessa could feel the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes, wishing that she'd have been crying over her brother's teasings, or father's stories, or mother's scolding. It had been chasing her around and no matter what she did, she couldn't run from it. Where are you daddy? you said you would protect me!

Her eyes widened when she saw a red door just around the corner. This is my time to escape!

The young girl ran as if her life depended on it - maybe it does, its still unclear whether or not it is a dream after all, only to bump into a young girl and falling. "Ow!"

"Alessa.. Please.. Save me.."

Suddenly a group of marionettes blocked her way, leaving her no chance to escape or save the young girl.

...

When she had woken up, she was screaming and crying. Her father immediately burst to her room, followed by her brother and mother.

"Alessa! Dear God.. what happened?" Her father looked so worried.. so tired that she almost felt bad for waking him up. She looked at him with fear, having a hard time breathing. "Okay.. Its okay, baby..try to breathe, okay? You're here with us now." Her father rubbed her back gently and slowly as to help her calm down.

"What happened, Li? Are you okay?" Her mother sat on the edge of her bed, her hands massaging her left leg to help easen up the little girl's panic. "Love, can you tell me what you dreamt of that scared you this much?" His father asked calmly and she nodded - her eyes still wide. "I.." She remembered it all too well, like it did happen to her, like she was there but she couldn't speak, as if something was keeping her. She couldn't let it out, like it was being restricted.

"I..."

"A-"

"Alessa?"

"S-"

"Spiders. A castle. Serah."

The last name - she didn't know who, came out of her mouth.

"Serah?" Her brother asked, leaning in to get closer to his sister, placing his hand on her forehead to check if her temperature was normal. "She's burning up, ma."

Their mother nodded before turning to her husband with a mean glare, the husband unaware and a tad bit scared as to why she was looking at her like that. "What?"

"Did you tell her one of your many tales again before she went to sleep?" His eyes widened and turned to look at his son instead, giving his wife the answer she needed. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "You scared her in her sleep!"

Safe to say, she was afraid of spiders and heights after that.

After that, she had many more dreams - sometimes it was confusing, sometimes it made sense but whenever she'd try to explain it only small bits come out. The dreams never made sense and it scared her. It frequented her life so much that it resulted in her older brother to sleep in the same room as her to keep watch, and when she finally told a tale about how she once saw herself getting forced to marry one of Mundus' devil generals did her parents finally realize that something was wrong, and that they needed to seek help for the poor child's peace of mind.

"A dreamer. That's what she is." The man in front of her said, he looked Victorian, out of place. Like he didn't belong in this current era or timeline.

The Devil Sparda was his name, she heard her father call him. A supposed character from one of her father's bedtime stories for her right in front of her, alive and breathing.

And he was.. Being nice to her surprisingly.

He had two kids as well: Dante and Vergil

"You, little Alessa, is a special little thing." He smiled and Alessa couldn't help but only blink. Special. It was a word that she always heard, be it her father or mother telling her that she was their special little girl to her tutor complimenting her with her ability to pick up easily on anything. But this.. hearing that word come from The Devil Sparda, the one who changed it all and saved humanity - it truly made her believe, she was special.

“Here, a necklace. To lessen the dreams that could break your heart..” A pendant with a golden star, it was beautiful, a gift from Sparda, a necklace forged by her ancestors! So her dreams wouldn’t be as horrible.. and yet..

This time, she didn't dream about any of that. Instead, she dreamt of a house. No, it wasn't just a normal house. It was a familiar one, one she had been in before. She was sure that if she was awake then she'd recognize it!

The house was burning. And.. her father was there. With a white-haired boy... Dante.. Where's Vergil? Where's Auntie Eva?

"Psst."

"Alessa."

"Alessa!"

Bonk!

That woke the little girl up. "Ow! What the hell Hector?!"

Hector shrugged, throwing the pillow out of Alessa's reach so she couldn't use it against him. "You wouldn't wake."

She rolled her eyes and sat up. "What time is it even? You do know that I have school tomorrow, correct?" She irritably asked, rubbing her eyes to stop her sleepiness.

"Vergil's here. Dad brought him in a few hours ago."

"And Dante?"

"…”

"Your dreams, they were wrong."

"No - its not! It wasn't Vergil, it was Dante! It was Dante that I saw - “

"And its Vergil that Dad brought here, not Dante. Let it go Alessa, what matters is that Vergil is safe and here with us.” Hector cut her off and Alessa’s shoulder slumped. It couldn’t be true.. It didn’t matter to her who was safe or what, what she truly cared about is the three of them getting back alive, and they didn’t.

"How is he?" She asked, her voice soft and delicate like porcelain, as if one touch from her brother would break her and release the puddle of tears that she was holding back.

Hector shook his head and there was silence. The two of them didn’t know what to do or what to say. They were gone, Dante and Eva. And Vergil… God, how would he feel?

The footsteps grew closer and the two Vera siblings looked at each other immediately, a light bulb on the top of their heads. “Shh.” Hector signaled to Alessa as they slowly walked to their door. The door creaked a tad bit and Hector winced when hearing it.

She could not see much except Vergil’s white hair, always pushed back now reaching his shoulders damped with blood with her father’s coat covering his fragile body.

“Forgive me for what happened Vergil..” She heard her father say.

“You’ll be staying with us from now on, your father protected my family for the longest time so now its time to repay the favor.” Vergil did not reply but he did nod. What could he be thinking?

Their father opened the door for him and for a moment, he turned to the corner where the Vera siblings’ room resided in, and their eyes connected.

So much pain, so much suffering.

Alessa shuddered as Vergil looked away and entered the room, the two unaware that for a while, this would be the last time they’d see the white-haired boy.

“Vergil, its dinner time! Head on down so you could eat, your food will get cold!”

One.

“Verge, its been days since you’ve last eaten! You’re gonna get sick if you stay there! You should eat, kay? We’re waiting for you downstairs.”

Two.

“Verge, your food is outside your door, you can take it once I’m gone. Please eat, everyone’s getting worried.”

Three.

“Still no response?” Hector asked, leaning on Alessa’s bedroom door.

“Nope.”

“He’s still grieving, Aly. Maybe he’s not yet ready.”

“I know but..” She trailed off and Hector moved away to sit down on Alessa's bed and pats the other side to motion Alessa.

“What is it?” He asked and Alessa sighed. Fiddling with her fingers, she readjusted her sitting position and looked at her brother. “I.. I don’t know.. I just feel like he doesn’t like me.”

“Why?” Hector asked.

“I know it sounds silly but even before everything went down, he always seemed to avoid me.” She explained, looking down on the floor. The floorings must look really pretty from the way she stared at it.

“Have you.. ever talked to him about it?”

“I have. When me and..”

She gulped and grasped the necklace given to her by Sparda. Hector sensing the change of mood grabbed Alessa’s hand and held it.

“We were playing hide and seek.. And I found Vergil passed out. I woke him up and we spoke and I asked him why he wouldn’t play with me and.. you know.”

“And what did he say?”

“…”

He said nothing.

“He doesn’t hate you, Li.” Her older brother spoke softly, carefully placing a strand of Alessa’s hair by her ear.

“How can you be so sure?” She asked, a frown forming in her face. “I.. I just know.” He offered a comforting smile. “Just talk to him when he’s ready, Li.”

She couldn’t contain it anymore, the softness of her brother’s voice reminding her of what was lost.

“I miss them so much..” She cried out.

“I know, Aly. I know..”

“Its just so unfair.. Everything..”

“Shh…”

The first time Alessa saw Vergil out of his room was on a sunny afternoon, her classmates came to visit her, a common occurrence as the Vera Manor was practically a castle with how massive and extravagant it was. It was located in a town far from Redgrave City, the main attraction of the town. The town is welcoming to devil hunters as devils came to roam outside the gate, thus it became the main household for the Veras.

And her parents didn’t want her to go out. Ever since Vergil’s arrival, her father became strict, claiming that there might be danger outside their home. The four friends were playing by the backyard where there was a playground and there he was by the large balcony. He wasn’t particularly doing anything, only staring at Alessa and her friends. It wasn’t until her friend, Greta, pointed him out did she notice that the white-haired boy was upstairs and outside.

“Who’s that boy? He’s so handsome!” A friend of hers exclaimed.

“That’s my friend, Vergil. He’s here to stay since..” Oh.

“Since?”

“Since his family is overseas! They work in a boat.” She grinned awkwardly, hoping that they would believe her while trying to cover the sight of Vergil, he might feel uncomfortable if there are many eyes staring at him!

“Oh! Well I hope he comes down soon and play with us..” Alessa’s friend, Sunny spoke up suddenly, blush covering her cheeks. Alessa quirked her eyebrows and frowned, feeling s little irritated. Gee, what’s her issue?

She clapped her hands to bring her friends’ focus back on her, “Okay, okay, everyone shoo! We have a game to play!” And the other friends nodded, getting back to their places. But before starting, she looked back and smiled, waving at the boy, but he did nothing, instead he left causing her to frown.

The second time she saw him was when Vergil finally went down per her father’s request. She overheard her father speaking with him last night when she was supposed to steal one of Hector’s chocolates.

“Vergil!” Little Alessa smiled hopefully and waved to him but once again, he breaks her hopes when he went back inside, probably to the library.

“Its okay, Aly, he’ll come next time!”

The third time was her lucky chance. She had noticed a pattern—Vergil always came out onto the balcony around noon. This was it! She had even told her brother about her plan, ready to take action and finally speak with the boy her mind couldn’t resist thinking about. Her friends would get mad at her for ditching them again, but who cares? This was Vergil we’re talking about!

She twirled in front of the mirror, checking her reflection one last time. She was even wearing his favorite color—a blue dress that flowed as she moved.

Tiptoeing down the staircase, she kept her steps light and careful so the half-devil wouldn’t hear her approaching, her heart racing with anticipation. Her eyes glistened with happiness when she saw the balcony door was open, catching a glimpse of his white-hair that was now back up to its normal hairstyle outside. Gotcha! Her eyes sparkling with hope.

Peeking out from behind the curtains, he was sitting on the loveseat, focused in a book that she noticed that he had been reading even before what happened.. happened.

Alessa furrowed her brow slightly. Why does he stay out here? It’s hot as hell! she thought, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. The library’s much more comfortable!

But she shook off the thought. What mattered was that Vergil was here, right now. Now’s your chance, Aly!

“You come out here often,” she said with a grin, stepping out from behind the curtains. The sound of her voice made Vergil flinch, and he looked up, surprised.

“Oh. Alessa,” he said, his voice low and steady. The sound of her name on his lips sent a strange warmth through her, and for a moment, she stood frozen, her heart skipping a beat. It had been so long since she’d heard him speak.

She hovered in the doorway, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress. This is what I’ve been waiting for, so why am I just standing here?

“You should join your friends. They’re waiting for you,” Vergil murmured, his eyes flicking back to the pages of his book.

“And leave you behind? Don’t be silly, Vergil,” she said, taking a small step closer.

“Whatever pleases you, Aly,” he said softly, the nickname catching her off guard. He had never called her that before. Alessa blinked in surprise, then smiled.

“Can I…?” She gestured toward the empty spot beside him on the loveseat. Vergil paused for a moment, then gave a small nod, keeping his eyes on his book.

Alessa took a deep breath and sat down next to him, smoothing her dress nervously. She glanced sideways at him, searching for the right words. “How are you?” she asked, but he only nodded in response, not looking up.

Okay… she thought, biting her lip. The silence between them grew heavier, awkwardness creeping in. She shifted in her seat, wracking her brain for something to say. Why didn’t I ask Hector for tips beforehand?

“Your friends are… interesting,” Vergil said suddenly, breaking the silence. Alessa let out a laugh, relieved that he broke the tense air between them.

“You tell me! Sunny’s been begging to meet you, you know! She wouldn’t stop pestering me to bring you out, like you’re some kind of wild animal,” she said with a playful smirk. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the faintest hint of a smile tugging at Vergil’s lips. Her heart leapt. I made him smile!

I hope he never feels sad, the young girl thought. She could recall the days when he used to steal glances, thinking she didn’t notice—but she always did. Her eyes lingered in the same way his did, with a quiet yearning he never seemed to see. He was oblivious, lost in his own hesitations, while she was left wondering how to close the distance between them.

It hurt when he wouldn’t speak or play with her, leaving a space between them that felt impossible to cross. She told herself he was shy, but doubt crept in—did he even want to talk to her? The silence gnawed at her heart, and it was this uncertainty that led her to the conversation with her older brother.

“Just speak to him, Aly,” her brother had said, as if it were simple. “There’s no harm in it.”

No harm, she thought, except maybe to her heart. Easy for him to say, they were close friends!

…

What if he didn’t want to be friends with her after all? She longed to know him beyond the stolen glances, to break the quiet tension that seemed to bind them but keep them apart all the same.

“Verge…”

“Hm?” he replied, his attention still half on his book.

“Do you… hate me?” she asked, her voice quieter this time, her hands gripping the edge of her dress.

Vergil looked up, his gaze sharp and direct for the first time. “What makes you think that?”

“Well… you never really talk to me, and you ignore me a lot, so…”

“…”

So… is that a yes? You hate me?” she asked, her voice filled with playful frustration.

I like you.

“Now you’re the one who’s being silly,” he teased, a faint smile forming as he watched her puff her cheeks in that familiar, endearing way.

“Hey!” she huffed, crossing her arms. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. How could he be so annoying and so soft at the same time?

“I don’t hate you, Aly,” Vergil finally said, his voice quiet but steady. He closed the book in his lap, turning his full attention to her, something he rarely allowed himself to do - and if he did, he’d shy away immediately. But not now, not anymore.

His eyes met hers, and for once, he didn’t shy away. “I never could,” he added, his words laced with an honesty that made her breath catch for a moment.

Alessa’s annoyance faded, replaced by a quiet warmth. It wasn’t exactly what she had hoped to hear, but in his own way, Vergil was telling her something more, something he couldn’t quite say yet.

“I’m going to leave once I gain enough power.” he started, his voice taking on a serious tone. Alessa’s smile faded, and she turned to face him fully, her eyes wide.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s what Uncle and I agreed on. Once he believes I’m ready, he’ll train me and teach me how to control my power, and then I’ll leave this place.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“….”

“What about you?” he continued, shifting the conversation. “From what I’ve heard, you’re attuned to magic. Just like your ancestors.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she said without a care.

“So why not train? You could use that power to protect yourself, protect your loved ones.” He asked, his tone growing a bit defensive, and Alessa understood why.

But a part of believed that she could count on her family, she would always be protected so she didn’t need to put the pressure of training on herself.

“I… I want to be like my mom. Performing on stage, bringing joy to people, helping them escape their worries.”

“You don’t want to fight?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I never want to.”

“So, like Auntie… A singer?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope! I want to be an actress! I want to bring characters to life!” she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

Vergil’s lips curled into a small smile as Alessa, continued, “Oh, I know! Actresses usually have bodyguards to protect them. Since you’re training to get stronger, you could be my bodyguard!” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

“I’ll be the shining star, and you’ll be my sworn protector!” Alessa’s face lit up, and she giggled.

And for the first time since the incident, Vergil Sparda was happy.

“I like the sound of that.”

[l1anxue]

Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

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