Blooming ✤ 4NEMO

stardust

summary: raised in a village on the kingdom’s outskirts, you’ve always dreamed of seeing the annual lantern festival in the capital. when you unwittingly help a thief on the run—gojo satoru—he agrees to take you there as repayment. what starts off as a simple deal soon pulls you into a conspiracy that ties back to the crown—and to satoru’s past.

⇢ pairing: thief/flynn rider!gojo satoru x fem!reader ⇢ contains: romance, angst, smut (oral sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity), slowburn, action, tangled au, debatable attempts at comedy, profanity, inaccurate depictions of horse-riding, mentions of poison and murder, violence that comes with daggers/swords/frying pans—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 31k ⇢ playlist: “you broke my smolder” ⇢ art credit: _3aem | read on ao3 here.

It turns out that blackmailing a wanted criminal is much harder than it seems.

For one, he does not take you seriously. Not even a little.

“Oh no,” Satoru says, eyes wide with feigned horror. “You’re going to turn me in? Me? The helpless victim in all of this?” He clutches his chest, staggering back as if he’s been struck. “What a cruel, coldhearted thing to do to the man whose life you just heroically saved.”

“You’re only saying that because you know I have the upper hand,” you deadpan.

“Details, details,” he says, waving a hand. “But let’s be real here, sweetheart. If you were really going to call the guards—after you rescued me from the aforementioned guards—you’d have done it by now.”

You stiffen. He grins, slow and knowing. “Ah,” he says, tapping his temple. “See, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re bluffing.”

“I am not bluffing,” you insist, even as your grip tightens around your satchel.

Satoru’s grin only grows. He takes a step closer, like a cat toying with its prey. “Oh?”

You plant your feet firmly, refusing to back down. “Oh, indeed.”

Then—so fast you almost don’t register it—he lunges. With a startled yelp, you whirl away, narrowly dodging his grasp as he reaches for the satchel. Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Not bad,” he muses. “You’ve got quick reflexes.”

You clutch the satchel to your chest. “You’re just predictable.”

Satoru places a hand over his chest and gasps. “Predictable? Me?” He scoffs. “Sweetheart, I am many things—charming, intelligent, devastatingly handsome—but predictable is not one of them.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes. “If you want the crown back so badly, then take it,” you say, and before he can react, you pivot on your heel and sprint. 

“Whoa, hey—”

You dart through the trees, leaping over gnarly roots and weaving through the underbrush, legs burning as you push forward. The satchel bounces against your side. The village is close—if you can just make it past the ridge, maybe you can—

A hand catches your wrist. You’re being spun; the world tilts, and your back slams into something solid. Your breath is knocked out of your lungs with a sharp gasp.

Gojo Satoru—the most wanted man in the entire kingdom—looms over you. His palm is pressed flat against the trunk of the tree behind your head, trapping you in place. He’s not even out of breath. His hair is a mess of white strands, a few falling over his forehead, and his eyes—those ridiculous, celestial blue eyes—are twinkling with delight.

“Well,” he drawls, “that was fun.”

You glare up at him. “Let go.”

“Mm.” Satoru taps his chin, considering. “Nah.”

“Gojo.”

“Say please.”

You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. At all. He’s all lean muscle beneath his clothes, far sturdier than his lanky frame would suggest. You grit your teeth. “You are the worst.”

“And you,” he says, patting the tip of your nose, “are terrible at making threats.”

You open your mouth to retort, only to clamp it shut immediately after. Hoofbeats. Both of you freeze. They’re distant at first, then grow louder, thundering against the dirt path. Your stomach twists. The guards are back.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. One second he’s in front of you; the next, he’s sweeping you into his arms like you weigh nothing and hauling you away from the side of the path, diving into the thick of the trees.

“What—? Put me—”

“Shhh.” He claps a hand over your mouth, pressing you against the trunk of an enormous oak, both of you half-hidden behind the tree. Your heart pounds. You can see the riders now, their armour glinting under the early morning sun. Their voices carry over the rustling of the leaves, and you hold your breath.

Satoru does too, though you doubt it’s out of fear. No, he looks entirely at ease, a smirk tugging on his lips as he watches the guards ride past, none the wiser. Just as quickly as they arrived, they’re gone. The silence stretches.

Finally, Satoru leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re welcome.”

You bite his hand.

“Yowza!” He jerks back, cradling his hand like you’ve just inflicted a mortal wound upon the limb. “Did you just—”

“Yes,” you say primly, straightening out your tunic. “And I’ll do it again if I must.”

Satoru gapes at you, then lets out a laugh, wild and unrestrained. “Oh,” he breathes, shaking his head. “Oh, I like you.”

“Great,” you say. “So you’ll take me to the capital?”

His laughter dies. You smile sweetly at him. 

Satoru groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, mostly to himself. His head tips back against the tree, and for a moment, he just stands there with his eyes closed, as though he’s bargaining with the gods to give him the virtue of patience which he so clearly lacks. “I just saved your life.”

“I saved yours first.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”

“I—” Your cheeks burn despite yourself.

“Not that lucky, though,” he interrupts, dropping his hand and fixing you with an almost pitying look. “Because if you think I’m actually going to drag you with me all the way to the capital just because you swiped a little trinket from me, you’re out of your mind.”

Your momentary victory screeches to a halt. “What?”

“You heard me.” He straightens, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m not taking you anywhere.”

“But you just said—”

“I just humoured you. Big difference.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. You ball your hands into fists at your sides. “You promised.”

“I lied.”

“Gojo!”

He grins, wholly unrepentant, and takes a step back. “C’mon, sweetheart. You didn’t actually think that was going to work, did you?” He tuts, shaking his head. “Cute and naïve. What a dangerous combination.”

Frustration coils in your chest. You take a deep breath. “Alright,” you say, almost calm. “Then I’ll just go to the guards right now, and—”

“No, you won’t,” Satoru says, raising a single finger.

Your nostrils flare. “And why won’t I?”

“Because I just saved your life,” he says, enunciating each word as though you’re a particularly slow barn animal. “Which means, at the very least, I deserve some gratitude.”

Your jaw drops. “Gratitude?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re even!” you sputter. “I saved you first!”

“Semantics. Point is, I was heroic, you were impressed, and now you can return my crown to me and we can go our separate ways.” He winks. “Sounds good?” 

“That—” You stare at him, incredulous. “That is the exact opposite of good.”

“Hm. Sounds like a you problem.”

Your grip on the satchel tightens. “Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “Then I’ll—”

Before you can finish, he’s already moving. Fast—too fast. You barely register the blur of motion before his hand is dipping into the satchel, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the crown. Panic flares. You react without thinking.

Your hands snap out, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away. He pauses, blinking down at you, startled—because somehow, despite his speed, despite the way he should’ve been able to snatch the crown before you noticed and vanish into the trees—he hadn’t accounted for you actually stopping him. 

Both of you freeze. Then, in an utterly ridiculous, ungraceful tangle of limbs you both go crashing to the ground. The satchel slips from your grasp, tumbling into the dirt. The crown spills out, gleaming in the morning light. It’s a glittering band of gold inlaid with the sort of precious stones and gems you’ve only ever heard about. A string of words, written in a curling handwriting, are etched into the inside of the crown’s band. You blink against the glare. Satoru lands half on top of you, his weight pressing you into the earth.

Satoru is heavy. Not overwhelmingly so, but enough that you’re acutely aware of every point of contact; the solid warmth of his torso against yours, the way his arm is braced beside your head, keeping his weight from crushing you fully.

And, unfortunately, he seems just as aware. A slow, amused smile curls at the edges of his lips as he props himself up on his elbows, peering down at you with those ocean-bright eyes. “My, oh, my,” he muses, low and amused. “How terribly forward of you.”

Your face heats up. “Get. Off.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flickers to the crown lying in the dirt beside you, just out of reach. His smile widens. You see the moment he decides to go for it. Unfortunately for him, you’ve already decided first.

With a grunt, you knee him in the stomach. Satoru wheezes. You wriggle out from beneath him just as he recoils, scrambling for the crown. Your fingers barely skim against the metal—but before you can grab it, the thief lunges forward and tackles you again. There is no grace to it this time. You wrestle in the dirt like two absolute idiots, rolling, kicking, twisting in a desperate scramble for control. He’s stronger, but you’re determined, and maybe just a little feral at this point. 

“Would you quit it?” Satoru grunts, narrowly dodging an elbow to the ribs. 

“Not until you help me!”

“I told you—”

You shove your palm against his face. Satoru lets out an indignant noise, muffled by your hand. You take advantage of his momentary distraction and reach out—only for Satoru to grab your wrist and twist, sending you both tumbling again, until—

Somehow—somehow—he ends up pinned beneath you, and this time, you have the crown.

Your fingers tighten around it as you scramble off him and glare down at Satoru. He’s sprawled in the dirt, a mess of leaves clinging to his wind-ruffled hair, and a streak of dirt is smeared across his chin. You’re certain you’re in no better shape; you pull a stray twig out of your hair, and rub away the mud on your cheeks with the back of your hand. He props himself up on his elbows, surveying you.

“Tragic,” he sighs. “I almost had it.”

You twirl the crown between your fingers, letting the jewels catch the light, and let your lips turn upwards in a saccharine smile. “It’s called a hustle, sweetheart.”

The marketplace is settling into a quieter rhythm at this time of the day, the golden light of mid-afternoon casting long shadows upon the cobbled streets. Satoru trudges beside you, his usual confidence replaced with something closer to reluctant resignation. 

He looks utterly put upon, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, lips set in a pout. Every few steps, he kicks at loose pebbles on the road, sending them skittering ahead of him. You’d almost feel bad for him—almost. But then, you remember that this is a man who stole a crown, got caught, and is now bitter because someone played him at his own game. 

The smell of freshly baked bread drifts through the air, warm and inviting, mingling with the sharp scent of spices from a nearby stall. You stop in front of a small bakery, the wooden sign above it swaying slightly in the breeze. Through the open windows, trays of steaming loaves sit behind the counter, their crusts golden brown and crisp.

Satoru watches as you peer through the display, an unimpressed look on his face. “Wonderful,” he says. “I get blackmailed into helping you, and now we have to go grocery shopping. Truly, this is my lucky day.”

“We need supplies if we’re going to travel.” You glance at him, and roll your eyes. “Or do you plan on surviving on pure arrogance alone?”

He sighs dramatically, tossing his head back. “I’ve survived on worse. Once, I survived an entire week on nothing but stolen fruit and the will to be a menace to the commander of the Royal Guard.”

“That explains so much.” Ignoring his indignant huff, you step forward and exchange a few coins for a loaf of bread, still warm from the oven. The baker, a kindly old woman, gives you a small smile as she wraps it in cloth. You thank her and tuck the bundle into your bag. 

Satoru watches this process with the dismay of a man being forced to endure unimaginable hardship. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important, he straightens. “Speaking of which,” he says, tilting his head towards you, “where exactly is my crown?”

“Safe.”

“Where?”

“Hidden,” you say, and flash him a too-sweet smile.

Satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re crazy. First, you rob me. Then, you blackmail me. And now, you’ve hidden my prized possession like some kind of—” He gestures vaguely at you, searching for the right words. “Some kind of tiny, feral leprechaun.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Think of it as collateral.”

“Oh, sure,” he mutters dryly. “Because trusting the person who stole from me is such a fantastic idea.”

“You stole it first.”

“So you’ve said. The point is, I need that crown.”

“Why?” you ask, raising a brow.

He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before flashing you his usual grin—teasing and entirely insincere. “Because it’s mine?”

You snort. “Try again.”

Satoru leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing some grand secret. “What if I told you it holds great sentimental value?”

“I’d tell you to stop lying to my face.”

“Wow,” he says, and then says your name, dragging out the last syllable. “So distrustful.”

You shake your head, adjusting the strap of your satchel. “If you do what you promised, I’ll give it back.”

He studies you, gaze flickering briefly to your satchel, as if he’s considering whether he could swipe it and make a run for it. (Not that it would be of any use, anyway, since you’ve hidden it underneath your mattress in your tiny little cottage.) Instead, he sighs, slouching forward like the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders, and mutters, “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Not my fault you lost,” you sing-song.

“I almost had it,” he whines, but his lips twitch.

“But you didn’t.”

“What do you want to go to the capital for so badly, anyway?” He squints at you. “You’re dragging me halfway across the kingdom, blackmailing me with my own stolen goods, and for what? What could possibly be so important that you’d go through all this trouble?”

You hesitate. It’s not that you’re unwilling to tell him—it’s more that you know exactly how he’ll react. Still, you suppose there’s no avoiding it now. You clear your throat, keeping your gaze ahead as you walk. “I want to see the lantern festival.”

A beat, and then, Satoru stops dead in his tracks. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard me,” you grit out, already regretting having said anything.

The thief blinks at you, disbelieving, then throws his head back and laughs. It’s far too loud and obnoxious for your liking.

You whirl on him, scowling. “Stop that!”

“Oh, this is rich.” He wipes at his eye theatrically. “You mean to tell me that all this—” he gestures between the two of you— “was because you want to see some floating lights.”

“They’re not just floating lights,” you snap, folding your arms. “They’re magical.”

Satoru snickers. “Sure they are.”

“They do it in honour of the late queen. And not just anywhere—only in the capital. People travel from all over to see them.”

“Yes, and most people would travel from all over to avoid me, but here you are. Seriously, sweetheart, I thought you were on some grand, noble quest. Some life-or-death mission. But no. You just want to watch some fancy fireworks.”

“Forget it,” you huff, pushing past him. “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”

Satoru falls easily into step with you, still chortling to himself. “No, no, I think this is fantastic. Here I was, thinking you had some deep, tragic backstory—maybe an old lover waiting for you, a family secret, a kingdom to reclaim—but no. You just want to see a festival.”

“I happen to like beautiful things,” you tell him.

He hums. “So you do.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes your steps falter, but when you glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. You quickly recover, jabbing a finger into his chest. “And don’t act like this is entirely my fault. You’re the one who stole the crown. If you weren’t a criminal, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“That’s a very unfair accusation. I am an entrepreneur.”

“You’re a thief.”

“A businessman.”

“An annoyance.”

He grins. “A charming gentleman.”

You groan, picking up your pace. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

“Oh, please.” He slings an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the way you stiffen. “We’re partners now, aren’t we? Off to see the lanterns, hand in hand, like something out of a fairy tale—”

You shrug him off and march forward, squaring your shoulders. Gojo Satoru is unbearable, but if he’s your only ticket out of this boring, provincial life, then you have no choice but to grit your teeth and stick it out. The cost will be worth the reward. 

The road stretches long and unbroken before you, a dirt path winding between fields and sparse woodland. You’ve seen this road before—when traders arrived at the village, when hunters returned from the mountains—but you’ve never set foot beyond it. 

Now, after years of watching others leave, you are the one walking away. You should feel relieved. Excited, even. 

Instead, you feel like an imposter. Like you’re wearing someone else’s skin.

Even your clothes don’t feel like your own. You’re used to sturdy village garments—worn tunics and skirts, softened by years of washing, familiar and comfortable. But now, you’re dressed for travel, and it feels unfamiliar. A dark green cloak, belted at the waist, drapes over your shoulders, its hem brushing against your ankles. Beneath it, you’ve chosen a linen shirt and brown trousers instead of a skirt—more practical, but strange. The boots on your feet are a size too big, borrowed from the village blacksmith, and though well-worn, they still rub uncomfortably against your heels.

Beside you, Satoru moves as if he owns the world, his long strides lazy. His clothes, though practical, have the distinct look of someone who wants to be looked at—worn leather boots, dark pants, a white tunic half-buttoned beneath a navy vest cinched at the waist. The coat hanging off his shoulders is long, lined with faded embroidery at the edges, the kind of detail that once belonged to something expensive before time and travel wore it down.

Unlike you, he looks completely at ease. As if he’s done this a thousand times before—which, of course, he has.

“I was expecting a little more enthusiasm,” Satoru comments. “Most people would kill for a trip to the capital with someone like me.”

You adjust the strap of your bag. “Most people would just kill you.”

“Ouch. That one actually hurt.”

“If only,” you mutter.

He chuckles, undeterred, and kicks a stray pebble along the path. You’ve been walking for over an hour, and he hasn’t stopped talking the entire time. It’s mostly been nonsense—complaints about the lack of decent taverns in your village, dramatic sighs about the state of his boots, and a running commentary on the tragedy of being forced to travel with someone so determinedly unfriendly.

“What exactly is your plan once we get there?” he asks. “Because I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but the capital isn’t as great as they make it sound.”

“I don’t need a plan,” you mumble. Truthfully, you have no idea, but you’re certain the answer will come to you. Somehow.

“Right, because winging it always works out well,” he says, looking at you like he’s waiting for you to react. He gets no such satisfaction—your eyes are fixed firmly on the road—and so, he ploughs on, “You know, it’s adorable how much faith you have in your ability to not get robbed, lost, or, I don’t know, arrested for trespassing.”

You let out a slow breath. “If I do get arrested, I’ll make sure to tell them where to find you.”

“Ah, but that would require you to know where I am. And I am a famously difficult person to pin down.”

You make a noise of irritation in the back of your throat, adjusting the strap of your bag. At this rate, you’re starting to think that letting him get caught might have been the better option.

By the time the sun has dipped below the horizon, the two of you reach the edge of the woods. The thick canopy overhead swallows the last of the daylight, leaving only streaks of violet and deepening blue through the gaps in the leaves. The path ahead is narrow and winding, the scent of damp earth and pine filling the air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls.

“This is it,” Satoru announces, dropping his bag on the ground. “Our humble abode for the night.”

“We could walk a little further,” you say, frowning.

“And risk running into something with fangs?” He plops onto the ground, resting back on his elbows. “No thanks.”

You sigh but don’t argue further, shrugging off your pack and kneeling down to clear a space for the fire. If you wait for Gojo Satoru to be useful, you’ll be waiting until your bones turn to dust. To your surprise, he doesn’t interfere. He simply sprawls out on the grass, watching as you gather dry leaves and kindling. 

“Watching you work feels kind of nice,” Satoru says, tapping a finger against his knee. “It’s like having a personal servant.”

You shoot him a glare. “Do you want to get stabbed?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, and guffaws to himself.

Rolling your eyes, you focus on the fire, striking flint against steel until sparks catch in the dry grass. Slowly, the flames flicker to life, casting an amber glow over the clearing. Shadows stretch long and uneven, the trees shifting in the fire’s light. 

The thief sits up, brushing stray grass from his vest. “Alright. Time to find some food.”

“We have food,” you point out, nodding at your pack.

He makes a face. “We have bread. I, for one, refuse to live like a peasant.”

“You are a peasant,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“Wrong,” he corrects. “I am a distinguished criminal.”

“Go starve in the woods, then.”

“Fine,” he huffs, standing up and dusting himself off, “but if I don’t come back, you have to live with the guilt.”

“I think I’ll manage.”

He mumbles something under his breath, but disappears into the trees anyway. You take the opportunity to sit back against your pack, stretching your sore legs and letting the warmth of the fire seep into your bones. Five minutes later, Satoru returns—only, he’s not alone. He sprints back into the clearing like a man being personally hunted by death itself, arms flailing as a blur of fur and claws barrels after him.

“What the—” You barely have time to sit up before Satoru dives behind you, using you as a human shield.

“Get it away from me,” he hisses, gripping your shoulders like his life depends on it.

Your eyes whip back to the so-called menace: A small, scruffy-looking cat with patchy grey fur, green eyes, and one torn ear. It stands by the edge of the firelight with its tail puffed up like a bottlebrush.

You blink. “Did… Did you just get chased by a cat?”

Satoru glares at you, panting. “That thing is deranged.”

The cat lets out a shrill mrrow and lunges. Satoru yelps, scrambling further behind you, but the little creature stops just short of pouncing and instead sits daintily by the fire, licking its paw like nothing happened. You stare at it. Then back at Satoru. Then back at the cat.

“Wow,” you say slowly, turning around to face the grown man cowering behind you. “You, the great Gojo Satoru, feared thief and most wanted man in the entire kingdom, are afraid of a stray cat?”

He scoffs, straightening up as though he hadn’t just used you to hide from a cat. “Afraid? As if. I just didn’t expect it to be so… fast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It ambushed me.”

You glance at the cat, which is now lying on its side and stretching out luxuriously. It is, unarguably, the most harmless thing you’ve ever seen. You smirk. “I think I’ll keep him.”

Satoru gapes at you. “What? No! That thing has a personal vendetta against me.”

The cat looks up, makes direct eye contact with him, and flicks its tail in a deliberate motion. “Yeah,” you say, grinning, “I like him.”

Your companion groans, rubbing his face. “What are you going to name him?”

You tilt your head, considering. The cat gives an unimpressed meow and swipes a paw at your ankle, before it pads over to you, climbs onto your lap and turns around in a circle. It kneads your thigh before settling down. 

“Megumi,” you decide.

“Oh, come on.” Satoru lets out a strangled noise. “That thing is definitely not a blessing.”

Ignoring him, you scratch behind Megumi’s ears absentmindedly, reaching behind with your free hand and grabbing your pack. You undo the drawstring and pull out the loaf of bread; tearing out a chunk, you pop it into your mouth. The cat purrs in satisfaction, settling deeper into your lap.

Satoru watches this betrayal unfold with a deeply wounded expression. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters. “Two minutes ago, it was out for blood. Now it’s purring like it pays rent.”

You snort, tossing him a piece of bread. He catches it with ease but doesn’t eat it right away, instead tearing at the crust in distracted motions. The fire crackles between you, throwing warm golden light over his features, softening the sharp angles of his face.

You hesitate for only a moment before speaking. “Tell me a story.”

Satoru quirks a brow. “What, like a bedtime story?”

“No, idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Tell me about the capital. I’ve never been past my village.”

“...The capital, hm?” He shifts slightly, leaning back on his hands, and tilts his head skywards. For a moment, he’s quiet. The fire pops, and its glow dances over his cheekbones. Somewhere in the trees above you, an owl hoots. Then, he starts speaking.

“The capital is loud,” he says, “but not in a bad way. It’s the kind of noise that reminds you that you’re alive. The streets smell like roasted chestnuts, chocolate, and something sweet that I’ve never been able to place. No matter where you go, you’ll always be able to hear something—someone haggling in the market, children playing hopscotch, lovers whispering sweet nothings under balconies.”

His voice lowers, almost like he’s letting you in on a secret. “There’s this place, just past the main square. A bookshop, tucked between an apothecary and a tailor. You wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t looking. It’s small—cramped, really—but it smells like ink and old paper, and the owner never minds if you stay too long. When I was younger, I used to sit there for hours, reading about places I’d never been. I’d tell myself I’d see them all someday.”

“And then there’s the bridge,” he continues. “It stretches over the whole river, wide enough for carriages to pass, but if you go at the right time, just before dawn, it’s empty. You can stand in the middle and watch the whole city wake up—lamps flickering out, shutters creaking open, the sky turning from grey to pink to gold. It makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, just for a little while.”

Satoru exhales, and there’s something wistful about the sound. When he looks at you again, there’s a lopsided smile playing on his lips. “Not bad for a bedtime story, huh?”

You blink, caught between the warmth of the fire and the warmth in his voice. “...Tell me more.”

He laughs, bright and careless. “You’re greedy.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, suppressing a smile.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” he says, leaning back fully and folding his hands behind his head. “If I tell you too much, you might decide you don’t need to see the capital for yourself, and I’d never get my crown back.”

You glance down at Megumi, still nestled comfortably in your lap, tail flicking lazily. Perhaps it’s the way the thief spoke about it, or maybe it’s the way you’ve always yearned for this, but the thought comes quietly, unbidden: I already want to see it more than ever.

Morning creeps up on you slowly, quietly, peacefully. The fire has burned down to embers, the air is crisp, and the forest hums with the comings-and-goings of woodland creatures. You are warm, bundled in your cloak, Megumi purring against your chest, and for once, Gojo Satoru is quiet.

It’s perfect. Until something snorts directly at your face.

Your eyes snap open just in time to see a giant, pinkish nose inches from your own. Then— Snort. A blast of hot air right into your face. You yelp, scrambling back, only to trip over Satoru’s arm and land hard on your side. The movement startles Megumi, who lets out an indignant yowl and bolts straight onto Satoru’s face, claws out.

“What the Hell—” The man jerks upright with a strangled sound, flailing as Megumi uses him as a launchpad and disappears into the trees. His vest is askew, his hair is sticking up at odd angles, and he looks utterly lost. “What—where—why does my face hurt— Who is attacking me?”

“That!” You point wildly at the culprit.

Standing at the edge of your makeshift campsite, staring you both down like a disappointed parent, is a massive white horse. At first, you’re confused—horses don’t live in the woods, you’re pretty sure. Then you see the crest of the royal family hanging off of its neck, and you grimace. His reins are hanging off the sides of his saddle; he seems like a runaway royal horse. He paws at the dirt, ears pinned back, looking every bit a soldier preparing to arrest a pair of criminals. 

Satoru blinks at him. Then at you. Then back at the horse. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

The horse huffs like he can’t believe he has to deal with this nonsense. Then, before either of you can react, he lunges straight for the thief.

“SUKUNA, NO!”

You barely manage to scramble out of the way as Satoru lets out an undignified squawk and rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding being stomped. He barely has time to get to his feet before Sukuna lunges again, snapping at his cloak.

“What is your problem?!” Satoru screeches, holding his arms up defensively. “I didn’t even do anything—oh, my God—Stop—”

Sukuna does not stop. Instead, he clamps his teeth onto Satoru’s sleeve and drags him sideways.

“He’s arresting me!” Satoru howls, flailing as his feet skid in the dirt. “I’m being detained! Help!”

You double over in laughter. “I—think—he recognises you—”

“Oh, what gave it away? The way he’s dragging me to my demise?”

Sukuna whinnies like he’s insulted by the accusation. As if to prove a point, he yanks even harder—ripping Satoru clean off his feet. He lands on his back with a thud, groaning. Sukuna looms over him, nostrils flaring, clearly debating his next move. 

“Okay, okay. I surrender,” Satoru wheezes. “I hereby admit to all my crimes—past, present, and future. Just let me live.”

Sukuna snorts. Satisfied, he steps on Satoru’s stomach for good measure before backing off. You wipe tears from your eyes, your own stomach hurting from laughing too hard. “I think he hates you.”

Satoru groans, draping an arm over his face. “I think I have internal bleeding.”

Megumi, now safely perched atop a tree branch, lets out an approving meow. Sukuna steps back, looking incredibly pleased with himself. His ears flick forward, and he turns to you, huffing expectantly.

You tilt your head. “Oh. I think he likes me.”

“Oh, great,” Satoru says, lifting his head weakly from the ground. “Betrayed by my own travel companion.”

You ignore him, cautiously stepping forward and holding out a hand. Sukuna eyes you warily but doesn’t move away. “You just don’t like him, do you?” you murmur, glancing down at Satoru, who’s still groaning in the dirt.

Sukuna snorts. Satoru lifts a finger from where he’s lying. “That was unnecessary.”

“I think it was perfectly necessary,” you reply sweetly before turning back to Sukuna. He’s still watching you closely, but he doesn’t seem hostile. If anything, his tail flicks once, like he’s waiting for something. Slowly, carefully, you raise a hand to his nose. “You’re not so bad, are you?”

Sukuna leans in, taking a few experimental sniffs before—much to your delight—nudging your palm with his nose. Satoru lifts his head again, gaping at the scene unfolding in front of him. “What the Hell,” he says flatly. “I used to feed you when I was in the palace, you ungrateful beast.”

The horse flicks an ear, unimpressed. Then, as if to drive the point home, he lifts a hoof and kicks dirt in his direction. 

You barely stifle a laugh. “I don’t think he remembers you very fondly.”

Satoru groans. “This is what I get for trying to be a good person.”

“You’re a thief.”

“Details.”

You scratch gently at Sukuna’s muzzle, feeling the warm puff of his breath against your fingers. He allows the touch, nuzzling further into your palm. The royal crest on his bridle—the golden emblem of a sun against a dark blue background, the visage of light always conquering darkness—glints in the morning sun. It feels like a reminder of where exactly he’s from.

A warhorse. Loyal to the palace. Loyal to—

You glance at Satoru. He’s watching Sukuna with an expression you can’t quite place. Something distant. Something nostalgic.

“You’re from the palace, then?” you ask softly.

His usual bravado doesn’t come immediately. He props himself up on his elbows, staring at Sukuna like the horse is a relic from a past life—one he hadn’t expected to come face to face with again. “Yeah, ‘course,” he says. “Wouldn’t lie about that.”

Sukuna snorts, stepping closer to you. He’s massive, all muscle and barely-contained energy, and yet he stands still beneath your touch. 

“Did you ride him?”

“He wouldn’t let me.” Satoru scowls. “Little bastard always tried to bite me when I got near him.”

The horse huffs, as if to confirm this. You stroke his mane absently, and say, “He seems different now.”

“Yes, well—” Satoru finally gets to his feet, dusting himself off with a wince. “Guess we both are.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes you think he’s not telling you the whole truth. You decide not to push him further, curious though you may be. You let the silence settle between you both, the rustling of leaves filling the space where conversation might have been.

Finally, Satoru sighs. “Since he’s so smitten with you, does this mean we get a free ride to civilisation?”

“Maybe.” You glance at Sukuna.

“Wonderful!” Satoru says, clapping his hands. “Because I refuse to walk another ten miles while my organs are busy rearranging themselves from being trampled.”

“Let’s see if he’ll let us.” You pat Sukuna’s side reassuringly before turning towards the remnants of your campsite. 

The fire has long since dwindled into ash and embers, and your packs are haphazardly strewn about—likely due to your frantic wake-up earlier. Your bag is slumped against the base of a tree, close to where you’d left it. Satoru’s bag is nearby, though considerably messier. One of the straps is half-ripped, and the flap is barely secured. You pick it up, brushing off dirt and leaves.

“You live like this?” you ask, tossing it to him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Satoru says. He fumbles but manages to catch it, just barely.

“You were cribbing about bread last night,” you remind him, slinging your own pack over your shoulder.

“I wasn’t begging. I was demanding my basic human right to a proper meal.”

Megumi, who had disappeared into the trees during Sukuna’s rampage, reappears, gracefully leaping down from a low-hanging branch. He lands neatly on the ground, flicks his tail, and gives you both what can only be described as the feline equivalent of the stink eye.

Satoru looks at him warily. “Are you sure he isn’t plotting revenge on us?”

“He likes me,” you say, crouching to scratch behind Megumi’s ears. The cat lets out a quiet purr, rubbing his head against your hand in approval.

“Of course, he does.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

Satoru mutters something under his breath that you couldn’t be bothered to listen to properly. You gently pick up Megumi and settle him into the crook of your arm. He doesn’t resist, curling up as if he’d rather not exert the effort to protest. Sukuna, who has been watching this entire exchange with the unimpressed air of a soldier waiting for incompetent recruits to finish fumbling, lets out a sharp huff and stomps his hoof.

You turn to him. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

“You know how to ride a horse, right?” Satoru asks, raising an eyebrow.

You pause. “...How hard can it be?”

“That’s not an answer—”

Satoru’s warning goes unheeded; you’re already marching towards Sukuna with the kind of confidence only possessed by someone who has no idea what they’re doing. You place a careful hand on the saddle and hoist yourself up. Or, well, you try to. Your foot barely catches on the stirrup before you wobble, losing balance. The next thing you know, you’re slipping straight off the other side. 

Satoru catches you before you can hit the ground, his hands firm around your waist. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You scowl, pushing yourself upright, but he doesn’t let go right away. You’re close enough to see the way the morning light catches in his eyes, the sharp blue softened by gold. His hands are warm where they steady you. You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of the heat creeping up the back of your neck.

Megumi, disgruntled from the movement, lets out a miffed meow. The spell breaks.

“Alright,” Satoru says. “Let’s try something else before you end up with a concussion.”

You glare at him, dusting off your sleeves as he turns to grab your packs. He ties them securely to the saddle, double-checking the knots before giving Sukuna an approving pat on the neck. The horse swishes his tail but remains otherwise still. Satisfied, Satoru turns back to you, hands on his hips. “Okay, up you go.”

Begrudgingly, you step closer, adjusting your hold on Megumi before reaching for the saddle. Satoru moves before you can think to protest, hands steady around your waist once more as he lifts you effortlessly onto the seat. You let out a startled breath, barely managing to swing your leg over the saddle before scrambling to adjust yourself. Your fingers grip the front of the saddle so tightly, the hard leather digs into your palms. Megumi, situated against your chest and in between your arms, flicks his tail against your face.

Sukuna shifts beneath you, muscles rippling underneath his sleek coat. You inhale deeply, trying to steady your nerves. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

The thought doesn’t sink in until you’re actually up here, perched atop a beast far larger and stronger than you, with only a few flimsy leather straps keeping you from falling to the ground. For all the bravado you’ve shown so far, you have to admit that you’re terrified.

“See?” Satoru drawls, stepping back. “Much better. Was that so scary?”

“No,” you lie.

The thief studies you for a moment, and then comments, “You’re a terrible liar.”

You give him a withering look, but he’s already moving—grabbing the front of the saddle and swinging himself up behind you in one smooth motion. 

“Satoru—!”

Your protest is cut short when he settles in, his chest pressing flush against your back. He’s warm—too warm (or is that you?)—and suddenly, all your attention is split between the solid, sturdy weight of him behind you, and the hands that reach around you, easily taking the reins. 

“Relax,” he says, voice lower than usual. “I’ll steer.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and you don’t think it has anything to do with the horse anymore. “I wasn’t scared,” you mutter, but there is no conviction in your voice, even to your own ears. 

Satoru leans in just slightly, breath ghosting against the side of your face. He chuckles, the sound reverberating against your back, and says, “I’m sure you weren’t.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you stay quiet, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of Sukuna’s steps once he starts moving—and despite your determination to remain oblivious to Gojo Satoru and his presence, you can’t ignore the way his arms remain loosely draped around you, or the way he shifts ever so slightly when the horse moves, keeping you steady without saying a word. It’s natural, the way he adjusts to you, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he doesn’t even need to think about it.

The woods stretch ahead, quiet and endless, but all you can focus on is the sound of your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

“Tell me more about the palace.”

The rhythmic sway of Sukuna beneath you is oddly soothing, each hoofbeat settling into a steady, lulling cadence. You tilt your head back slightly, feeling the warmth of Satoru’s chest where he sits behind you. His arms are still lightly caged around you, as he guides the reins like it’s second nature to him. Megumi, no longer content with being curled up against your chest, perches himself on the base of the horse’s neck, swiping lazily at Sukuna’s mane every now and then. The horse flicks his ears in annoyance but does not stop him.

Satoru hums, considering your request. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, eyes drifting upwards, towards the slivers of blue sky beneath the trees. “What was it like?”

“Well, it’s exactly what you’d expect,” he says. “Tall, grand, and filled with old men who love to hear themselves talk.”

You huff out a silent laugh. “Sounds charming.”

“Oh, it’s a real dream. The walls are lined with marble, the kind that catches the light just right in the mornings, almost as if the whole place is glowing. The halls stretch wider than some villages, with paintings hanging on the walls that tell stories older than anyone can remember. And the ceilings—” He shakes his head, his chin brushing against the back of yours. “So high it feels like you could reach the sky if you just climbed a little higher.”

There’s something distant in his voice, something wistful and melancholic and fond. “You make it sound very beautiful,” you say quietly.

“Because it is. It’s meant to be. A symbol of power—of control. A kingdom that shines so brightly, no one knows about the shadows it casts.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, but his expression is stony. That easy drawl of his is still there, but beneath it, something festers—and it makes you hesitate before you press further.

“And you?” you ask. “Where did you belong in all of that?”

Satoru exhales through his nose, a slow, measured sound. “Wherever they needed me.”

It’s not an answer, but it tells you enough. You let the silence stretch, waiting to see if he will offer more. He does.

“The training grounds were always my favourite.” His voice drops slightly, thoughtful. “They were tucked away behind the east wing, away from all the silk and the gold. You could hear the clash of swords from sunrise to sundown.” He pauses, then adds, almost to himself, “You never forget the sound.”

A soldier, you think. Or something close to it. It makes sense—the way he carries himself; the way he moves, like he’s always aware of every possible escape route; the way he knows so much about the kingdom and the capital.

You don’t say it out loud, though. Instead, you ask, “Did you like it?”

“I liked knowing what was expected of me.” A beat of silence, and then, “But I was never very good at following orders.”

A soft breeze cuts through the trees, rustling the leaves and cooling the warmth of the sun against your skin. “Is that why you left?” you ask carefully.

Satoru chuckles, but there’s no real humour to the sound. “Oh, I didn’t leave.” His fingers tighten around the reins, just a little. “I was sent away.”

The words are heavy. You don’t push. Sukuna continues forward, steady and unbothered, the sound of his hooves filling the silence that follows. You focus on the road ahead, on the sunlight filtering through the trees, on Satoru’s warmth behind you.

When he finally speaks again, voice lighter, teasing, you let him steer the conversation away. Somehow, you get the sense that when he’s ready, he’ll tell you the rest.

The afternoon sun begins to dip, casting long shadows through the trees. The road ahead winds towards the hills, where a small village is nestled between the slopes. You’ll have to pass through it to get to the capital, according to Satoru. Smoke rises lazily from the chimneys, the scent of burning wood and roasting meat carrying faintly on the breeze.

Satoru shifts slightly. “Looks like we’ve made it before sundown.”

Megumi meows, flicking his tail before settling back down; you reach forward and scratch in between his ears, absent-mindedly. The thought of a warm meal and a real bed makes your shoulders sag with relief. The past few nights have been spent beneath open skies, wrapped up in your cloak that barely keeps the chill away.

“You think we’ll find an inn?” you ask, glancing behind.

“Unless it’s run by a hermit who hates money, yeah,” Satoru says. “Though I wouldn’t count on a royal welcome.”

That much is obvious. Travellers are rare in villages like these—strangers even more so. Your presence will not go unnoticed.

As you pass the first row of wooden houses, heads begin to turn. A blacksmith, hammer paused mid-swing, watches you warily from his forge. A woman gathering water casts a cautious glance before whispering something to the child at her side. Even the baker, hands dusted in flour, spares you a lingering look.

Satoru doesn’t seem fazed. “Friendly place.”

“Maybe they’d be friendlier if you weren’t grinning like you had a bounty on your head,” you mutter.

“I think we both know they wouldn’t be wrong about that.”

That sends a sharp prickle down your spine. You don’t respond.

The village square is small, paved with uneven stone and lined with merchant stalls. Most are already closed for the day, wooden shutters drawn and lanterns lit. Near the far edge, tucked between a tailor’s shop and a grain store, stands an inn. The wooden beams are weathered with age, but the sign above the entrance is freshly painted—The Fuzzy Duckling, it reads, complete with a crude drawing of a yellow duck underneath. The scent of stew and ale wafts through the open doorway.

Satoru nudges Sukuna to the stable. “We’ll rest here.”

You dismount first, stretching your legs as Satoru swings down beside you. Megumi jumps off the horse’s back and lands gracefully on the thief’s shoulder. 

The inn is dimly lit, the glow of lanterns casting flickering silhouettes. The scent of firewood, damp earth, and something vaguely sweet lingers in the air. It’s fairly empty, though you suspect that’s just because of the early hour. Wooden tables and stools lay barren, with empty tin jugs placed on each table. Behind the counter, a man leans lazily against the wall, watching you both with sharp, hooded eyes. His dark hair is slicked back, and there’s a faint scar on his jawline. He doesn’t say anything as he steps forward.

“Hey, hey, look who it is!” Satoru grins, though, by now, you’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s fake. “If it isn’t my favourite innkeeper, Shiu. Did’ya finally get rid of all the mould growing in your wine cellar? I don’t know if it was the mould or the age, but it sure tasted weird the last time I was here.”

Shiu smirks. “Been wonderin’ when you’d show up again, Gojo.”

You look between them, sensing familiarity, though not necessarily the friendly kind. “We need a room,” Satoru says, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Think you can manage that, old man?”

“Call me that again,” Shiu says, “and I’ll leave you to sleep outside with the horse. The lady will get a room for free, of course.”

You tense at his words, not enjoying the way the man’s gaze rakes over your body before settling back to Satoru. You get the feeling the thief notices too, because he moves closer to you, shoulder brushing against yours. “Ah, well,” he says. “I’m afraid that’s not negotiable.”

“Relax,” the innkeeper says. “I’m not a skirt-chaser. You can keep your woman with you. Room’s at the end of the hall. Payment upfront.”

Satoru flicks a coin onto the counter. Shiu catches it easily, giving it a quick once-over before pocketing it. As Satoru turns towards the stairs, something catches your eye near the entrance—sheets of parchment tacked to a wooden board. Your eyes snag on one in particular. 

A wanted poster.

The ink is bold despite the crumpled paper. The sketch is rough but unmistakable—wild white hair, sharp features, a grin that barely conceals its arrogance.

WANTED—DEAD OR ALIVEREWARD: 100 GOLD COINS

Your stomach twists. Satoru follows your gaze and sighs. “Damn. They just can’t get my nose right.”

“This isn’t funny,” you whisper.

“It’s a little funny.” Satoru’s grin widens, but you don’t miss the tautness in his shoulders. He nudges you gently towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s get some rest.”

Shiu watches you both go, smiling, but his gaze follows too long for comfort. Your chest constricts. The room at the end of the hall is small but serviceable—one bed, a rickety wooden chair, and a window with a view of the village square outside. The floor creaks under your boots as you step inside. Megumi jumps onto the bed immediately, curling up near the pillows, flicking his tail once before settling.

Satoru stretches with a groan, rolling his shoulders. “Cozy.”

You sigh, pressing your forehead against the cool windowpane. The village outside is quiet, bathed in early moonlight, but the unease gnawing at your stomach refuses to fade. “I don’t like this,” you murmur. “The way Shiu looked at you—”

“He always looks at me like that,” the thief says, sounding far too chipper than he probably should.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “We won’t stay long. You can take the bed. I’ll use the chair.”

The exhaustion from days on the road pulls at your limbs. You don’t bother arguing; sleep finds you much faster than expected.

You wake to the sound of boots in the hallway. Your breath catches. This isn’t the usual creak of old wood settling—this is deliberate. Heavy. Purposeful.

Your eyes dart to Satoru. He’s already awake, sitting rigid on the chair, blue eyes alert even in the darkness. His hand moves instinctively to his belt, where he’d shown you his dagger rests a day back, hidden.

A knock echoes against the door.

“Room service,” Shiu’s oily voice drawls from the other side.

Your blood runs cold. Satoru doesn’t answer. He tilts his head, listening. You strain your ears too, heart hammering—there’s a faint shift of fabric. The sound of leather gloves flexing. Someone adjusting their grip on a sheathed blade.

Satoru curses under his breath. “Son of a—”

The crash comes a second later.

The door splinters inward, sending shards of wood flying. You barely manage to roll off the bed before a knife thuds into the headboard where you had just been lying. A figure stands in the ruined doorway: Tall, broad, dressed in black. A jagged scar cuts across the side of his mouth.

You don’t recognise him, but Satoru does. His entire posture shifts—his usual cocky, easygoing stance sharpens, muscles tensing. A slow, tight exhale leaves him as he pushes himself to his feet.

The man in the doorway tilts his head, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. You can just make out a jagged scar cutting across his mouth. “Been a while, Gojo,” he says.

Satoru’s lips press together in a thin line. “Not long enough.”

You glance between them, a creeping unease settling in your bones. Whoever this man is, Satoru knows him—and he doesn’t like him. The stranger takes a lazy step forward, boots crunching over the splintered wood. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flick to you for a moment before settling back on Satoru. “Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to walk back in here, with a beautiful lady by your side and a bounty on your head, too. Guess you really wanted to see me again.”

“Trust me, Fushiguro—” Satoru’s jaw ticks— “I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Fushiguro. The name means nothing to you, but the way Satoru spits it out like a curse sends a prickle of warning down your spine. The man clicks his tongue, his smirk widening. He twirls another dagger in his fingers, casual, lazy. “Did I wake you? Sorry to have disturbed your evening, but—”

Satoru moves faster than breath, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back towards the window just as another blade whizzes past his ear, missing him by an inch. Megumi hisses, darting into your arms and scrabbling onto your shoulder. You don’t even feel the pain where his claws dig into your skin.

Fushiguro lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Running already? C’mon now, Gojo. You’re making this too easy.”

Satoru kicks the window open. “Hold onto me.”

“What—”

And then he jumps.

The wind rushes past as the two of you and the cat drop down, the world blurring around you. You barely register the impact—Satoru lands with a practiced roll, keeping you close, his arms tight around you as he shifts the force of the landing onto himself. Your pulse is roaring in your ears.

Above, Fushiguro leans lazily out of the open window, tilting his head condescendingly. “You’re just making this more fun.”

Satoru doesn’t wait. He grabs your wrist and runs. The streets are quiet, the village mostly asleep, but your footfalls pound against the dirt. Behind you, you hear the faint creak of wood—Fushiguro dropping down from the second story without a sound, graceful as a damn cat.

The thief yanks you towards the stables. “Get Sukuna. Now.”

You don’t argue. The stable doors slam open as you shove inside. Sukuna snorts, stomping his hooves in agitation. You fumble for the reins. “What about—”

Satoru turns just as Fushiguro appears in the doorway. Everything slows.

The light from the lanterns flickers against his dark silhouette. He’s alone, not a single other mercenary in sight. But somehow, that makes it worse. In the darkness, it feels like he’s pressing down on the space, filling every corner, every shadow.

“You didn’t bring backup?” Satoru taunts. “I’m insulted.”

“Didn’t need any,” the bounty hunter grunts.

He moves—a flash of steel—and Satoru shoves you back. The blade slices through the air where his throat had been a second before. He ducks low, twisting away, and kicks. His foot slams against Fushiguro’s side, sending him skidding back a step—but Fushiguro barely reacts, barely blinks, like he had been expecting it.

He strikes again. You barely see the knife coming before Satoru dodges, his movements sharp and fluid. The stable door splinters as the blade embeds itself in the wood.

Satoru grits his teeth. “Go!”

But you—curse your damn cowardice—hesitate. Fushiguro notices. His foot pivots—he lunges for you. A flash of fear tightens in your chest—

But Satoru is there. He grabs Fushiguro’s wrist mid-strike, twisting it brutally. Fushiguro growls as Satoru hurls him backwards, sending him crashing into a pile of hay bales.

“Get on the damn horse,” Satoru orders, breathless. He swings himself onto Sukuna’s back, pulling you up after him, Megumi leaping onto the horse in time with you. 

You barely have time to wrap your arms around his waist before he kicks off. Sukuna surges forward, hooves pounding against the dirt road as you tear through the village, leaving the inn—and the very pissed-off bounty hunter—behind.

Behind you, there’s a sound—something sharp, fast—whistling through the air. Satoru jerks the reins, pulling sharply to the side. A blade embeds itself into the wooden post just ahead of you, still quivering from the force of impact.

“Shit,” the thief breathes. “He’s not giving up.”

You don’t look back. You don’t dare to. The village gate is just ahead. If you can get past it, you might have a chance of losing him. Megumi wails, digging his claws into your cloak, ears flat against his head.

Satoru leans forward. “Come on, come on—”

Sukuna bursts out of the gates. Fushiguro curses loudly behind you, but it sounds far away, swallowed down by the horse’s thunderous galloping. You tighten your grasp around Satoru and squeeze your eyes shut. (You might be imagining it, but you swear you feel one of his hands cover your own, a gentle brush of his palm against the back of yours.)

The fire crackles weakly, providing warmth against the cold night air. Sukuna, exhausted from his earlier run, tucks his legs underneath himself and settles down near it. Megumi curls up next to him and begins washing himself. The stream nearby gurgles and bubbles merrily.

The fight is over, the adrenaline long faded, but still, the stress of it all loiters like a phantom pressing against your ribs. Your shoulder throbs now, where the cat had dug his claws into the skin, but thankfully, it isn’t bleeding. Your hands are shaking. You dig your fingers into the earth, trying to steady yourself. 

Satoru stands a few feet away, pacing, his boots crushing twigs and dried leaves. His breath comes fast and hard, back rigid with frustration. His coat is torn at the shoulder, and there’s a thin line of blood trailing down his forearm.

You should say something. Thank him, maybe. Apologise. But the words stay stuck in your throat.

“What the fuck what that?”

You flinch, but his voice keeps coming, sharp and cutting.

“You froze—I told you to move, and you just stood there.” His hands come up, then drop to his sides. “You could’ve died.”

You bite your lip, shame curling hot beneath your skin, but his anger makes something inside you snap. “I was caught off-guard—”

“No shit!” he bites out. “You don’t get to be caught off-guard, not in the middle of a fight!”

“I didn’t ask to be in a fight!” you snap. “I’m not—” You exhale sharply, hands curling into fists. “I’m not like you, Gojo. I’m not a fucking thief who’s used to running for my life every other night.”

His jaw tightens. “So it’s my fault now?”

“Isn’t it?” You throw your arms out. “If you weren’t on the face of every damn wanted poster from here to the mountains, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Satoru lets out a bitter, humourless laugh. “Right. Because I’m the one who dragged us into this.”

“You are—”

“No,” he cuts in, eyes flashing. “If it wasn’t for your stupid, fucking dream, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

The words slam into you like a fist to the gut. A cold wind rustles through the leaves, stirring the dying fire. Sukuna neighs lowly from where he’s sat near the flames, but you barely hear him over the ringing in your ears.  

Your stupid, fucking dream. The dream you’d held onto for years, the one that had kept you going, had pushed you forward through every hardship. Your throat tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s not fair? You had no idea what you were asking for when you dragged me along on this little adventure of yours. Now, we’re running for our lives in the middle of nowhere, because you had to see some damn lanterns.”

The way he says it—like your dream is nothing more than a childish whim—makes something ugly twist inside you. “You know what, Gojo?” Your voice shakes, but not from fear. “At least I have a dream.”

His expression darkens.

“At least I want something, something that isn’t just running and stealing and barely surviving,” you press on, chest heaving. “But you? What do you want, Satoru? Huh?” You step closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Do you even have an answer, or are you just going to keep laughing everything off like you always do?”

His lips part, but no words come out. For the first time since you’ve met him, Gojo Satoru is speechless. But it only lasts a second. His gaze flickers, something unreadable flashing through his eyes before his mask slams back into place. He lets out a sharp breath, his expression twisting into something cruel.

“You think you’re better than me?” He steps forward now, and you don’t back away. “You think just because you’ve got some dream, you’re any different?” His voice lowers, turning razor-sharp. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart—dreams don’t mean shit when you’re dead.”

Your breath hitches.

“Out here, it’s about surviving. That’s it.” He gestures between you. “And the only reason you’re still breathing is because I’ve been watching your back.”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that you froze. You hate that, for all your fighting words, you hadn’t been able to do anything when it mattered most. Perhaps worst of all, you hate that he saw.

Satoru exhales, shaking his head. “Forget it,” he says. “I’m going to get food.”

He turns and stalks off into the woods. You don’t call after him, because you don’t trust your voice not to break. The moment Satoru disappears into the trees, the night feels oppressive, like the darkness is closing in on you. 

You stand there for a long time, fists clenched at your sides, staring at the spot where he walked off. Sukuna shifts in his sleep. Megumi’s breathing is slow and even. You should rest. You should scrounge through whatever leftover supplies you have from your village and find something to eat.

But your chest feels tight, like there’s a rope around your ribs, pulling, pulling— With a shuddering inhale, you turn and walk towards the stream.

The water is cold when you dip your fingers in, crouching beside it. The icy surface reflects the moon’s pale light. You stare at your own reflection, at the way your lips tremble, at the redness creeping into your eyes. You squeeze them shut. It’s fine. You’re fine.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes, willing the burning away. But the second you take a shaky breath, it hits you all at once—the fear, the frustration, the exhaustion weighing on your bones. A choked sound leaves your throat before you can stop it.

You shouldn’t be crying. You don’t want to cry, but the argument replays in your mind over and over—Satoru’s voice laced with anger, the way he threw your dream back in your face like it was nothing. 

He doesn’t understand, you think. But is he right?

What were you thinking? That you could drag a thief to the capital and expect everything to go smoothly? That the world would just let you chase your dream, no consequences, no danger? Maybe your dream really is foolish. Maybe you are naïve for believing that you could just waltz into the capital and see the lantern festival without any repercussions. Maybe—just maybe—Gojo Satoru regrets ever having met you.

The thought makes something inside you crack, the pressure behind your eyes spilling over. A broken sob escapes, and then another, your shoulders shaking as you press a hand against your mouth, desperate to smother the sounds.

A hand lands on your shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, jerking away, heart racing—

“It’s just me.” The voice is quiet but unmistakable.

Your breath stutters. Satoru crouches beside you. His presence is warm despite the chill in the air, and you realise now how cold you’ve gotten, how your legs have gone numb from sitting in the same position for too long.

You quickly wipe at your eyes, turning away. “Go away, Satoru.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he sighs heavily and shifts so he’s sitting right next to you, close enough that his knee bumps against yours. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I was a dick.”

You blink.

“I mean, I’m usually a dick,” he continues, gazing at the water, resting his elbows on his knees. “But that was… excessive. I didn’t mean—” He stops. Tries again. “Your dream isn’t stupid.”

Your voice is small when you ask, “Then why did you say that?”

“I just… When you froze back there—” His voice is quieter now, almost hoarse. “I thought you were gonna die.”

You swallow hard. He murmurs, “I’ve seen people freeze like that before. And they didn’t walk away from it.”

“I did walk away,” you whisper, not sure if it’s the right thing to say.

“Yeah.” He turns his head, meeting your eyes properly for the first time since the fight. “You did.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you—like he’s seeing you for the first time. Or, maybe, like he’s seeing too much. You don’t know who moves first, but his hand is covering yours, warm and solid. His grip is hesitant at first, but when you don’t pull away, his fingers tighten around yours. You squeeze his hand back. Neither of you speak.

The fire crackles behind you. The water rushes softly. The moon watches from above.

Gojo Satoru, you think, is an enigma wrapped in glib promises and endless grins. You wonder if it’s his coping mechanism. He’s intelligent, quick-witted and silver-tongued. He’s good at fighting. You want to ask him why they sent him away from the palace, but you don’t think you have the right to. He always seems torn about it, when he’s spoken to you about it before—like it’s a bittersweet part of his life that he’s not very keen on revisiting.

He must have been something before turning to thievery. You stare at him like he’s a particularly intriguing puzzle, walking next to him. He guides Sukuna loosely by the reins; only Megumi is perched on his back, you and Satoru having favoured your own two feet instead of the back aches and leaden legs that come with extended periods of horseback riding.

“If you wanted to stare at my face so badly, I could’ve nicked the wanted poster back at Shiu’s inn,” Satoru says, not bothering to look at you.

Your cheeks prickle with heat. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumble.

The night air is cool against your skin; the wind carries the scent of damp earth and distant firewood, the kind of smell that reminds you of home—though, truthfully, you’re not sure what home even is to you anymore. Maybe it’s the road beneath your feet, the anticipation and uncertainty that comes with weeks of travel. Maybe it’s this: Walking beside a thief who used to be something more, who still is something more, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise.

Satoru doesn’t say anything for a long time, but his arm brushes against the side of yours, familiar in a way that’s almost comforting. The dirt path winds through the trees. The occasional torch flickers in the distance, marking the outskirts of the city. Sukuna snorts softly, and Megumi’s ears twitch as he scans the darkness ahead.

Eventually, Satoru speaks again. “It’s rude to stare and not share your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking,” you huff.

“Dangerous pastime.”

You kick a loose pebble from the path. “I was thinking about you.”

He makes a low, amused sound in his throat. “How nice of you. I knew you liked me, but I didn’t think I occupied your thoughts so thoroughly.”

You don’t rise to the bait this time. “I was thinking,” you say, “about what you were before this. You told me once you were from the palace, but you never really told me why they sent you away.”

Satoru is quiet for a moment. The leaves rustle around you, and you tug your cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“They trained me to be a soldier,” he says, finally, softly. “Me and—” He stops, swallowing the words like they taste bitter.

“And…?” You prompt. Your steps slow.

His grip tightens around the reins. “And someone else,” he finishes. “My best friend.”

The way he says it makes your chest ache. Satoru clears his throat and continues, “They trained us young. Said we had a gift for it. A gift for war, for strategy and battle.” He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “But a soldier only has value if he follows orders. And I wasn’t very good at that.”

You don’t push him to say more, though questions press against the tip of your tongue. The capital looms closer, the distant glow of lanterns casting an orange hue against the horizon. The trees begin to thin, giving way to rolling hills and farmland. In the distance, you can just make out the towering walls that guard the city, their stone surfaces illuminated by torches.

As you near the outer gates, the sleepiness of the countryside fades into the vibrant pulse of the capital. Even at this late hour, the city is alive, breathing, stretching its limbs in the form of flickering lights and distant laughter. You can hear the clatter of hooves against cobblestone, the occasional shout of a merchant still trying to haggle his wares, raucous debates from the inside of taverns. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, of damp stone and burning oil. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your head spin and your chest tighten with something too big to name.

The capital. Your dream.

Satoru slows Sukuna to a halt just before the stone walls of the capital, guiding him off the main road and into the cover of a surrounding thicket. You follow, ducking beneath low-hanging branches. The trail here is narrow and overgrown, winding through the roots of old trees. Sukuna moves easily, his hooves barely making a sound against the packed dirt. When the city walls finally loom ahead, Satoru pulls on the reins, bringing the stallion to a stop beneath the shadows of an ancient oak.

“This is where we part ways,” the thief says, patting lightly on Sukuna’s saddle.

Megumi’s dark ears twitch, catching every sound, his green eyes narrowing at the imposing walls. The cat hops off the horse’s back. He’s been tense since you approached the capital; he doesn’t like unfamiliar places, and the sprawling city is anything but. 

Satoru tugs the reins over Sukuna’s head and leads him to a sturdy tree, securing him with deft hands. He runs a palm along the stallion’s neck in reassurance before crouching to do the same with Megumi. The cat lets out a mrow but doesn’t resist when Satoru scratches him behind his torn ear.

“You stay here and watch Sukuna, yeah? Be good,” he says, tapping him once on the head before straightening and unhooking your weather-beaten packs tied to Sukuna’s saddle and tossing them over his shoulder.

“You’re leaving them here?” you ask, glancing between the horse and the cat. It feels strange to abandon them at the outskirts, but you suppose it would be impossible to smuggle a massive stallion and a stray cat through the streets of the capital.

“Not leaving,” Satoru explains. “Just letting them sit this one out. Sukuna’s too big, and Megumi doesn’t care for crowds.”

You hesitate. Satoru doesn’t give you time to dwell on it, already striding ahead. You follow him through a break in the trees, slipping past the walls through a hidden opening you never would’ve noticed on your own. The dirt beneath your feet slowly gives way to stone and lamp-light. 

By the time you emerge into the streets, the towering stone walls are behind you, replaced by the overwhelming grandeur of the inner city.

You barely notice the way your breath catches in your throat, too preoccupied with taking it all in. The streets are narrower here, winding and twisting, labyrinth-like. The buildings loom taller than any you’ve ever seen, their façades adorned with intricate carvings and delicate ivy creeping up the sides. Ornate balconies overlook the streets, their silk curtains swaying with the breeze, and the warm glow of candlelight flickers in every window.

A vendor still lingers at his stall, selling roasted chestnuts wrapped in parchment, the rich scent making your stomach grumble faintly. A group of masked performers twirls in the city square, their laughter bright and musical. A nobleman in embroidered silks strides past with a pretty woman on his arm, their voices hushed as they slip into a gilded carriage.

It’s stupendous.

You don’t realise how close you’ve pressed to Satoru, your shoulder pressing into his arm. He notices, of course—he notices everything—but he doesn’t comment. He simply keeps moving, weaving through the crowd with the sort of confidence that only comes with someone who has walked these streets their entire life.

“Stick close,” Satoru tells you. “It’s easy to get lost if you don’t know your way around.”

The deeper into the city you go, the grander the architecture becomes. The modest stone buildings give way to towering structures of marble, their columns wrapped in flowering vines, their streets lined with lush greenery and carved statues. The roads widen, no longer cramped and twisting, but sprawling and lined with golden lanterns. Then—

Your breath stutters as you step into an open courtyard, and there, standing tall and regal under the silver glow of the moon, is the palace.

It’s massive, far grander than you ever could have imagined. White stone gleams under the warm lights, intricate carvings adorning every arch and column. The banners of the royal family ripple in the cool night breeze, deep blue with the yellow royal sigil against the ivory walls. The golden spires reach towards the heavens, their tips catching the light of the stars, as if they themselves are part of the sky.

Awe roots you to the spot. For years, you’ve dreamed of this place; of seeing it with your own eyes. Now that you’re here, it doesn’t feel real.

Satoru stops beside you, watching you quietly, blue eyes twinkling. With a smile curling at his lips, the thief tilts his head towards you and murmurs, “Well, sweetheart. Welcome to the capital.”

Satoru says he knows a place where both of you can spend the next three days until the lantern festival commences. You don’t believe him, especially after what happened the last time with Shiu and the bounty hunter. He had glared at you, deeply affronted, said, “Your lack of faith in me is appalling,” and then proceeded to lead you back towards the inner city.

“Remember that bookshop I was telling you about?” he asks, rounding a corner. 

“I remember,” you say.

“The former owner’s son runs it now,” Satoru says. “He’ll let us stay there.”

You don’t deign to reply, still drinking in everything—the towering buildings, the banners hanging from balconies, the cobblestone streets that shine under the flickering lights. Shopfronts boast their trinkets and fine silks, while street vendors call out to passersby, offering skewers of sizzling meat and honey-dipped pastries. 

It’s strange. The world you have known until now has always been smaller. Quieter. Even in the busiest towns, even in the places where merchants and travelers gathered, there was never anything like this. The capital, you think, is a city that never sleeps; a city that belongs to people like Satoru—people who thrive in movement, in laughter, in places where the streets are never empty and there’s always something new waiting around the corner.

You tune out the thief talking beside you. He’s rambling about something, making some quip about your starry-eyed expression. The city is so alive, so rich with colour and movement, that it fills every space in your mind.

A sharp tug at your wrist yanks you back just as a carriage rushes past, wheels rattling violently against the stones where you’d been standing a second ago. The force of it stirs your cloak, wind whistling against your cheek. The shock of it doesn’t register right away. You stumble, your body pulled by something—someone—solid and hard.

Satoru’s arm is firm around your waist, his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist where he pulled you. The warmth of him is undeniable, even through layers of fabric. He holds you against him, close enough that you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your breath is stuck somewhere in your throat, heart pounding against your ribs. You hadn’t even noticed you’d stepped into the carriage’s path, hadn’t realised how dangerously close you’d come to being trampled beneath its wheels.

Satoru exhales slowly above you, his grip tightening for a brief second before relaxing. “Gawking at the scenery is nice and all, but I’d rather not have to scrape you off the road.”

“I wasn’t gawking,” you mumble, more out of reflex than actual protest. Your stomach flips, though whether it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re not sure.

“You were,” he murmurs, but the teasing lilt in his voice is absent. His fingers, still wrapped around your wrist, loosen just slightly—but he doesn’t let go.

Instead, his grip shifts. His fingers slide down, intertwining with yours, palm pressing firmly against your own. He’s holding your hand. A warmth unfurls inside your chest, one that you don’t quite know how to name.

The two of you weave through the crowd like that, his fingers still tangled with yours, warmth bleeding into your skin with every step.

Satoru doesn’t let go until you round the next corner. The streets narrow, becoming quieter. The clamour of the main road fades behind you, replaced by the occasional murmur of voices from dimly-lit taverns and the sound of the wind rustling through laundry lines strung between buildings. The air smells of damp stone, faintly sweet and petrichor-like.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the persisting warmth of Satoru’s touch even after he lets go. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he continues ahead. You wonder how often he’s taken this path—how many times he’s disappeared into the quiet corners of the city, both as a thief and as a soldier-in-training.

Eventually, he stops in front of a small, weathered shop tucked between a tailor’s boutique and an apothecary. The wooden sign above the door sways slightly in the breeze, the faint, worn lettering just barely readable. Nanami’s Books.

It doesn’t look like much from the outside. The wooden shutters are drawn, the paint on the door slightly chipped, but there’s something sturdy about it—something dependable, like it’s been here for years, and will remain standing for years to come. A single candle flickers behind the window, casting a warm glow through the glass.

Satoru raps his knuckles against the door. “Nanami,” he calls, sing-song.

The door creaks open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair, wearing a crisp, white tunic, and an expression so unimpressed, one would think Satoru had just asked to rob the place. “No.”

“Nanami,” Satoru coos, grinning.

“No,” Nanami repeats, firmer this time, as if sheer repetition will make him disappear.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Nanami sighs wearily, bringing up a hand and rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “You’re going to ask if you can stay here.”

Satoru places a hand over his chest, wounded. “What, no warm welcome? No, ‘Satoru, my dear friend, I’ve missed you’?”

“I’ve never said that to you in my life.”

“The lack of hospitality here is astounding.”

Nanami does not dignify that with a response. Instead, his gaze shifts to you. His scrutiny is wary but not unkind, expression flickering with mild curiosity. You shift slightly under his gaze, unsure of what he’s looking for.

“You’re new,” he says.

You nod. “First time in the capital.”

“And what trouble has Gojo dragged you into?”

The corners of your mouth lift up in a smile; Nanami seems like someone you can get along with—a kindred spirit in the art of pushing Gojo Satoru’s buttons. The thief, of course, doesn’t share the same sentiment. He gasps, offended, and says, “Why do you assume it’s trouble?”

“Are you really asking me that?” the bookshop owner asks dryly. He sighs, visibly considering whether allowing Satoru into his home is worth the inevitable headache. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, a gesture that suggests this is not the first time he’s found himself in this exact situation. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

“Two nights,” Satoru answers. “Just until the festival.”

“Fine.” Nanami’s shoulders slump as he reluctantly steps aside. “But if you so much as breathe near my ledger—”

“You’re the best.” Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder before he can finish, flashing a triumphant grin. Nanami, on the other hand, looks like he instantly regrets his decision.

Inside, the bookshop is lit by candlelight, the scent of parchment and ink thick in the air. Shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, packed with books that look well-loved and well-worn. The floorboards creak softly underfoot, and a single lamp flickers on the counter beside an open ledger, its pages filled with neath, meticulous handwriting.

“The loft is upstairs,” Nanami says, rubbing his temples. “Try not to destroy anything.”

“No promises,” Satoru says cheerfully.

You follow him up the narrow staircase, stepping into the small loft above the shop. The space is simple—two mattresses perpendicular to each other, pushed against the wall, a low table, and a window overlooking the street below. Dust lingers in the corners, the scent of old parchment soaked into the very walls. There’s no extravagance here, nothing grand or gilded, but it’s warm and lived-in.

Satoru throws himself onto a mattress with no ceremony, arms spread as he sighs dramatically. “See?” he says, peering up at you. “Told you I knew a place.”

You roll your eyes, but despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips.

You wake up to the sounds of an argument in the shop below. The mattress is lumpy and a little hard, but it beats sleeping on the forest floor with nothing but your cloak separating you from the cold earth. Satoru’s mattress looks the same as it did last night—the covers placed meticulously and tucked into the sides, the pillow not creased, as though he hadn’t slept at all. A quick glance around the loft leads you to find a wooden basin filled with water. You pad over to it and splash your face once, twice. The water is cool against your skin. You rub the gunk out of your eyes.

It seems the argument isn’t going to abate anytime soon. Nanami’s voice rises, and, cautiously, you make your way out of the door and pad over to the top of the staircase so you can hear better. 

“You’re a fool,” the bookshop owner says. “I told you that months ago, and yet here you are. Again.”

Satoru sounds almost amused when he replies, “Well, hello. What happened to good morning?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

A beat. You shift onto the first step, careful to keep your steps light.

“I appreciate the concern, Nanami,” Satoru says. “Really. But you should know by now that I’m impossible to kill.”

“That isn’t the point.” There’s the sound of something hitting the counter—a book, maybe, or Nanami’s palm pressing against the wood as he fights for patience. “You’re still chasing this—this ridiculous theory? After everything?”

Your fingers tighten around the bannister. “It isn’t ridiculous,” the thief says, quieter this time.

Nanami scoffs, dry and unimpressed. “You’re gambling with your life for a theory you can’t even prove.”

“That’s the point, Nanami,” Satoru counters, sharp. “I have to prove it.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Nanami says, and there’s something frayed at the edges of his voice, something that sounds a lot like concern buried under layers of irritation. “You could leave this alone. Walk away before—”

“Before what?”

“You know what.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. The words sit heavy in the air, thick enough that you almost feel them pressing against your skin. Nanami exhales. “And even if you’re determined to be a reckless idiot,” he says, voice cooler now, “what gives you the right to drag someone else into this?”

You stiffen at the mention of yourself. Satoru clicks his tongue. “Oh, come on. I didn’t drag her into anything.”

“She’s here, isn’t she?”

“She dragged me here. She made that choice herself.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s choosing,” Nanami snaps. “Tell me, Gojo, did you bother explaining anything, or did you simply try to charm her skirts off and decide that was enough?”

“I can be persuasive if I want, you know.”

“Insane. You’re insane, and I want nothing more than to—”

You’re not sure what compels you to move, but you step down the stairs, making your way towards them before the argument can escalate any further. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s annoyance, maybe it’s the simple fact that you’re irked at being talked about like you aren’t standing just a few feet away. At the sound of your footsteps, both men turn.

Nanami regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze. Satoru runs a hand through his hair, but grins at you. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greets. “Enjoy your beauty rest?”

You give him a withering look before turning to Nanami. “What’s going on?”

“That,” he says, lips pressed into a thin line, “is exactly what I’d like to know.”

“It’s too early in the morning for us to be concerned with all this serious talk,” Satoru cuts in, clapping his hands. He glances at you. “Nanami, does Utahime’s shop open this early?”

“Yes,” he replies. “But I don’t think she’ll be very receptive to you barging in and ruining her morning.”

“Nonsense! Utahime loves me.”

Nanami sighs. “I’ll warn her first.”

“There’s no need for that.” Satoru waves a hand in the air dismissively, placing his other one on the small of your back and gently steering you out of Nanami’s bookshop. You bite your tongue, curious to know what they were arguing about, but unsure if it’s in your place to pry. 

“Where are we going?” you ask instead.

The thief grins, letting the door to the bookshop swing shut behind him. “To get you some new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with—” You don’t bother finishing the question, as Satoru leads you through the winding streets of the capital. The city is slowly waking—merchants setting up their stalls, children darting between their parents, the scent of roses and bread wafting from nearby bakeries and flower shops. You can hear the clang of a blacksmith hammering metal in the distance, the occasional neigh of a horse, and people haggling over the fresh produce that’s just arrived from the surrounding countryside.

You clutch your cloak around you a little tighter, feeling a little out of place. It’s different, now, in the daylight, when the darkness doesn’t obscure your vision and those of others. You glance down at yourself, taking in the well-worn fabric of your cloak, the practical cut of your tunic and trousers. It’s not like you’re dressed in rags, but compared to the finery you’ve seen nobles wearing in the streets, you suppose you do stick out rather like a sore thumb. (So does Satoru, your mind offers helpfully, but unlike you, he moves as if he owns the very streets he walks on, as if the world itself bends to his whims.)

“Is this really necessary?” you ask hesitantly.

“Absolutely.”

You narrow your eyes. “I feel like you’re just looking for an excuse to spend money that isn’t yours.”

“I would never—” he begins, but you give him a flat look, and his lips curl up into an utterly unrepentant grin. “Alright, maybe I would. But in this case, it’s a matter of principle. Don’t you want to look all nice and pretty at the lantern festival?”

You roll your eyes but let him drag you long, weaving your way through the bustling market district. Eventually, he stops in front of a charming little boutique, its windows lined with displays of elegant dresses, rich fabrics draped across headless mannequins. A little brass bell jingles as Satoru pushes open the door. The interior of the shop is warm, bathed in the golden light filtering through the windows. Shelves upon shelves of neatly arranged fabrics line the walls, bolts of silk and brocade in every shade imaginable. The air smells of lavender and fresh linen, with the faintest hint of parchment from the stack of ledgers resting on the counter.

Behind that counter, a woman with dark hair pulled into a loose bun looks up from where she’s inspecting a sheet of shimmering fabric. Her sharp eyes land on Satoru, and whatever semblance of peace she had this morning is immediately shattered. “Oh,” she says, “not you.”

“Utahime!” Satoru places a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“You deserve it.”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he simpers.

Utahime arches a brow. “You are not my friend.”

Satoru wags a finger at her. “Business associate, then?”

“Barely.”

You shift uncomfortably, not entirely sure how to insert yourself into this conversation. The two of them clearly have some sort of shared history, similar to Nanami and Satoru. Curiosity prickles in your stomach; you want to know more about them, about Satoru’s life before he became a wanted man.

Utahime exhales through her nose, then finally turns her attention to you. Her expression softens slightly, the corners of her lips quirking upwards. “And you are?”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling very out of place surrounded by all this luxury. “Um—”

“She’s my new travelling companion,” Satoru interrupts, slinging a hand around your shoulders as if that explains everything. “Which is why I’ve so graciously brought her here—to make sure she looks the part.”

Utahime stares at him, then at you. Slowly, her grin turns amused. “You mean, to make sure you don’t look like a pauper standing next to her.”

You choke back a laugh. Satoru splutters, “I—how dare you—”

“You look like you’ve been sleeping in ditches, Gojo,” the tailor says.

“That is not true.”

“You have leaves in your hair.”

Satoru blinks, reaches up, and, sure enough, pulls a small, dried leaf from his messy white locks. He flicks it away with a muttered curse.

“I can’t stand someone as pretty as her walking around with a man who looks like he lost a fight with a laundry line. Come,” Utahime says, addressing you and already pulling a gown off a nearby rack. “Let’s get you sorted before I throw him out.”

You follow her shyly deeper into the boutique, leaving Satoru to sulk near the counter. The further in you go, the more extravagant the fabrics become—rich velvets, shining silks, intricate embroidery, lacy tulle. You hesitate, again, feeling out of place among such luxury, but Utahime does not seem to care for your reservations. She studies you with a critical eye, holding up various fabrics against your skin.

You shift awkwardly under her scrutiny. “I don’t need anything too fancy,” you say quickly.

Utahime gives you an unimpressed jerk of her chin. “You think he is going to let you walk around in something plain?”

You glance over your shoulder at Satoru, who is currently inspecting a mannequin in the corner, tilting his head. He doesn’t even pretend to be paying attention. You sigh. “Probably not.”

“Exactly.” Utahime flicks through a row of dresses before pulling one out. “Try this.”

The fabric is smooth beneath your fingertips, a deep blue that shimmers like water under the sunlight. The embroidery along the neckline is delicate, intricate swirls of silver thread that catch the light. It’s beautiful—far more beautiful than anything you’ve ever worn before.

“I—I don’t know if I should,” you admit.

“Why not?”

“I mean, I—” You falter. The words sound silly even in your own head. I’m not used to things like this. Things this nice.

But Utahime merely shakes her head and shoves the dress into your arms, though not unkindly. “You should, because you can.” She gestures to a dressing screen next to you. “Go. Try it on.”

You nod, uncertain, before stepping behind the screen, fingers tracing over the soft fabric. It takes a moment to undo the laces of your old clothes and slip into the new dress. The material drapes over you fluidly, the fit surprisingly perfect. The bodice is snug but comfortable, cinching at your waist before flowing down in gentle folds. The sleeves are light, sheer fabric brushing against your skin like a caress.

When you step out, Utahime nods in approval. “Better.”

You look down at yourself, smoothing your hands over the fabric. It’s strange, wearing something so fine, something that makes you feel seen. You’re so used to blending into the background, to preferring practicality over beauty. But now—

A low whistle interrupts your thoughts.

You glance up to see Satoru leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips. “Damn,” he muses. “I always knew you were cute, but this is something else.”

Your face heats. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” He pushes off the counter, walking over to circle you, inspecting you from every angle. “You’re going to have every noble in the capital turning their heads.”

“Which means you can’t go around looking like that,” Utahime interjects, shooting Satoru a pointed glare.

He blinks. “Like what?”

“Like a half-drowned stray,” she says, and before he can protest, she shoves a bundle of clothes into his arms. “Go change. I refuse to let someone as beautiful as her be seen with an absolute pauper like you.”

You laugh, and Satoru pouts at you. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Extremely,” you agree.

Grumbling under his breath, he disappears behind another dressing screen, leaving you and Utahime in silence. After a beat, she turns to you. “You’re travelling with him willingly?”

“It’s…” You chew on your lip. “Complicated.”

She hums, as if she’d expected nothing else. “Be careful.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you simply nod. A moment later, Satoru emerges, now dressed in something far more refined than his usual attire. The loose, tattered shirt underneath his vest has been replaced with a fitted tunic of dark navy, the high collar emphasising the sharp angles of his jaw. The long coat draped over his shoulders is a deep charcoal, lined with silver embroidery. Even his boots look newer, shinier.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Well?”

Utahime clicks her tongue. “It’s an improvement. Barely.”

Satoru ignores her and turns to you. “What do you think?”

“You look… less like a thief,” you say.

“I’ll take that as a win.”

Utahime rolls her eyes, thrusting a pair of slippers that match the colour of your dress at you, along with an ivory comb to pin your hair back in place. “Take these and get out of my shop.”

So you do.

The capital, you’ve come to realise, is a place of contradictions—grand stone buildings adorned with ivy, shadowed alleyways where whispers slip through the cracks, noblewomen in embroidered shawls brushing shoulders with street performers balancing on stilts. 

Satoru weaves between crowds easily, pausing only when something catches his interest: A vendor selling sugared fruits, a fortune teller shuffling tarot cards at a makeshift stall, a pair of children chasing each other with wooden swords, their giggles ringing bright in the late morning hour. He lingers just long enough to soak in the moment before moving on, as if the city itself is nothing more than an elaborate game designed for his amusement. You try not to stare, but the way he carries himself is captivating—like he’s seen it all before and yet, still finds a way to be charmed by it.

“See?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “Told you you’d fit right in.”

You press your lips together and say nothing. The fabric of your new dress sways as you walk, softer and finer than anything you’ve ever owned. It feels unfamiliar against your skin, but not unpleasant. It makes you feel different, somehow, like you’ve stepped into a role that doesn’t quite belong to you. People glance at you differently now; not with suspicion or wariness, but with curiosity.

“So, what now?” you ask instead.

Satoru grins, wild, his blue eyes shining with mirth and excitement. “Now? Now, we explore.”

And explore you do.

He leads you through the winding streets, pointing out interesting stalls and dodging carts and carriages. He stops at a street performer juggling knives and dramatically gasps at every toss, leaning in as if he’s witnessing a royal duel. You shake your head, but his antics coax a quiet smile out of you. When he catches it, his smile softens just a little.

A hidden alleyway tucked between two bustling shops reveals an old woman sitting behind a small table, delicate glass trinkets laid out in neat rows. The figures catch the light, shimmering like captured stardust. Satoru crouches, fingers hovering over a tiny glass cat, its tail curled in mid-motion. His white hair falls into his eyes as he studies it, the briefest flicker of something thoughtful passing over his features.

“D’you think Megumi and Sukuna are getting lonely?” he murmurs, turning the figurine over in his hands before placing it back, offering the woman a charming wink as he tosses her a coin for her time.

“You didn’t buy it,” you observe. The two of you step back onto the main street.

“Didn’t need to,” he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Just wanted to look.”

You make your way towards the bustling heart of the market, where stalls overflow with bright fabrics, glinting trinkets, and fresh produce. The scent of roasted chestnuts curls around you, warm and nutty. Satoru pauses, his gaze flicking to a vendor skillfully tossing chestnuts in a wire pan over an open flame. The chestnuts pop and crackle in the heat. Without a word, he steps forward, tossing a few coins onto the counter. The vendor barely has time to acknowledge him before Satoru is already handing you a small paper pouch, its warmth seeping into your fingers.

“Try one,” he says, grinning.

You peel open the shell of a chestnut, the scent much richer up close. When you take a bite, it’s soft and sweet, the kind of warmth that settles deep in your chest.

Satoru watches you expectantly. “Well?”

“They’re good,” you admit.

“Of course they are,” he boasts. “I have impeccable taste.”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t pull away when he reaches out, brushing a stray hair from your face that escaped the confines of Utahime’s comb. His fingertips barely ghost over your skin fleetingly, but you feel it like an ember catching flame. It stretches between you like a thread being pulled taut—and then he clears his throat and looks away.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of another street. “There’s one more place I want to show you.”

By the time you arrive at the jewelry stall, the sun hangs high overhead, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Unlike the market district, this section of the city is quieter, the chatter of merchants distant, softened by the hum of rustling leaves. The stall itself is small but carefully arranged—dainty chains displayed on dark velvet, rings nestled in silk-lined boxes, gemstones catching the light in a kaleidoscope of colours. Here, the world feels slower, as if it exists in its own pocket of time.

Satoru steps forward, fingers skimming lightly over the jewelry. His expression is uncharacteristically thoughtful. You watch him curiously. Until now, he’s been aimlessly amused by everything, flitting from stall to stall and shop to shop like a butterfly with no real direction, but this—this is different. There’s an intention behind the seriousness in his eyes.

“What are you looking for?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead picking up a simple silver necklace with a small blue gemstone embedded in its center. He turns it between his fingers, the pad of his thumb brushing over the stone as he studies it for a long moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, he looks at you.

“This suits you,” he says.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking. “Here,” he says softly. “Let me.”

Your breath catches when his hands lift, brushing against the back of your neck. The metal of the chain is cool against your skin, but his fingers—his fingers are warm, careful, the touch light enough to send a shiver down your spine. He lingers for just a fraction too long before fastening the clasp, fingertips grazing the nape of your neck in a way that makes heat bloom beneath your skin. When he pulls away, the pendant rests just above your collarbone. You touch it lightly.

“I—I can’t take this,” you say, voice quieter than before.

Satoru only smirks, but it’s not his usual brand of tiresome arrogance. It’s softer. “Too late. No returns.”

Your fingers tighten around the pendant. The stone is smooth beneath your touch, reflecting the sunlight in shifting shades of blue. It reminds you of something—of fleeting moments, of oceans you’ve never seen, of something vast and untouchable yet undeniably present. The question slips out before you can stop it: “Why?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His gaze roams over you, something unreadable flickering in those too-bright eyes. Then, he shrugs. “Consider it a souvenir,” he says. “Something to remember today by.”

You want to press him for more, but something about the way he says it is fragile, delicate in a way that makes you hesitant to touch it too harshly. It is a thread pulled just slightly tighter, a balance shifted just slightly off-kilter. He reaches for your wrist, tugging you gently back towards the street. 

“Let’s go,” he says, ever the one to move before a moment settles. “We’ve still got time before sunset.”

By the time the sun begins its descent, the capital is alive in a different way than before. Where the market had been filled with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of wooden carts, the town square now hums with a different kind of energy—joyful and infectious.

Colourful paper lanterns have been strung between buildings, flickering to life as the sky fades from gold to dusky violet. Musicians gather in the center of the square, their lively tune spilling into the air, coaxing laughter and movement from the people around them. The scent of honeyed pastries from a nearby stall blends with the perfume of crushed petals from garlands strung over doorways.

“Well, sweetheart,” Satoru says, “it’s your lucky day. Looks like we’ve arrived just in time for a celebration.”

You look up at him, slightly wary. “A celebration for what?”

“The night before the lantern festival, ‘course.” He grabs your wrist and pulls you forward.

“Satoru—”

“Hush, we’ve done nothing but walk around all day,” he says, meandering through the crowd. “Let’s have a little fun.”

Your protests die on your tongue when you step into the heart of the square. The music swells, a melody of flutes, fiddles and tambourines; it is so rich and lively that it seems to settle beneath your skin, curling around your ribs like something alive. All around you, people spin and sway to the rhythm, moving as if the music is stitched into their bones. Women twirl in dresses of deep reds and blues, their skirts fanning out like blooming flowers, while men clap their hands to the beat, laughing as they switch partners. Children dart between the dancers, giggles escaping their lips, while couples sway together, lost in their own world.

You’re so caught up in taking it all in that you don’t notice Satoru moving until his hand finds yours again. The moment you realise what he’s doing, your eyes widen. “Oh, no—”

“Oh, yes,” he counters, grinning as he spins you suddenly, catching you before you can stumble. “You can’t expect me to dance alone, can you?”

“I can if I don’t know how,” you retort, heart racing at the unexpected movement.

He clicks his tongue. “Tsk. And here I thought you were quick on your feet.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Only when I need to be.”

The thief only laughs, that bright, boyish sound that makes something warm settle in your chest. “Just follow my lead,” he says, drawing you in.

Against all reason, you do. At first, you’re hesitant, stiff under his hands while he guides you into the rhythm of the dance. But Satoru is nothing if not persistent. He keeps you moving, spinning you into the flow of the music, making the world blur in bursts of colour and light.

It’s dizzying, the way he moves—not just with grace, but with a kind of unshaken confidence, like he’s never once doubted that the world will bend to him if he asks it to. His hands are steady on yours, his steps sure, and when he grins, it’s the kind of grin that makes you feel like you’re part of some grand adventure, something wild and untamed.

You’ve never met a man like him before.

Somewhere along the way, your hesitation fades. Your body moves with his naturally now, drawn into the lilt of the music. Your laughter bubbles up before you can stop it, spilling into the air between you as he twirls you beneath the glow of the lanterns. Satoru watches you closely, his smile softening, just a little around the edges.

“Told you it’s fun,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, breathless. “Warn me next time.”

“You do want a next time, then,” he says, and you don’t have an answer to that.

Because—maybe—you do. Something in you, you think, has begun to unravel. Maybe, against all logic, you’re slipping. Maybe, you don’t mind. You meet his gaze, heart rabbiting about in your chest. His eyes are impossibly blue, bright even in the dim glow of the lanterns. Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears, your thoughts a mess of tangled emotions, but you can’t bring yourself to step away. Not when his grip is this steady, not when his eyes are watching you like that.

The music melts into something softer, the once-rapid twirls melting into something slower, more intimate. Satoru’s hand shifts, resting lightly against your waist, his other still holding yours between calloused fingers. The world feels smaller now, quieter, narrowed down to just the two of you.

When the song finally ends, both of you out of breath and a little bit sweaty, Satoru steps back and bows with an exaggerated flourish. The fondness in your chest betrays you, and you curtsey back. He holds your hand again, and doesn’t let go. Even as the music fades and the crowd disperses, laughter trailing off into the warm night, his grip remains firm. You should pull away. Should remind yourself that he’s still a thief, still unpredictable, still frustrating beyond belief. 

Instead, you let him guide you through the winding streets of the capital once more, past shops closing up for the night, past candlelight flickering through bedroom windows, past lovers whispering in darkened corners. The warmth of the evening settles over you both, the smell of jasmines and roses and summer heat pressing in close.

“You’ll like this,” Satoru says, turning back over his shoulder.

“You say that about everything.”

“And I mean it every single time,” he replies. 

He takes you through a narrow alley, walking with the surety of someone who has spent their childhood finding all the hidden parts of the city. A wooden ladder rests against the side of a weathered stone building; Satoru lets go of your hand and immediately starts climbing.

You pause. “Seriously?”

“Unless you want to climb up four flights of stairs,” he calls down, teasing. “But I don’t think you’re in the mood for a hike.”

With an exasperated shake of your head, you gather the folds of your dress into your arms, bunching up the fabric. The ladder, thankfully, is sturdy despite having stood in that spot for who knew how long. The climb is easier than you expect, and when you reach the top, Satoru is already waiting, standing near the edge of the rooftop with his hands in his pockets, watching the city unfold beneath him.

Your breath hitches. The view is stunning. From here, the capital is a sea of golden lights, stretching wide until the river that snakes around the perimeter near the far end. The castle looms in the distance, its towers reaching towards the heavens, the marble reflecting all the lights. Beyond it, the countryside stretches endlessly, shadowed hills rolling underneath a sky dusted with constellations. The stars seem impossibly close, as if you could reach out and trace them with your fingers.

Satoru watches your reaction, the corners of his lips curling into something softer than a smirk, something quieter. “Told you.”

You don’t reply immediately, too busy taking in the sheer vastness of it all. The castle, the city, the stars—things that once felt distant and untouchable now seem just within reach. Stepping closer to him, you ask, “How did you find this place?”

“I used to come up here as a kid. Sometimes, when things got—complicated, I guess you could say—I’d sneak away, climb up here, and just watch. The world looks different from above.”

You nod, turning back to the view, letting the quiet settle between you. Satoru plops down onto the shingles of the rooftop, inches away from the part where it begins to slope, and motions for you to do the same. You comply, dress rustling as you sit down next to him. After a moment, Satoru shifts, leaning back on his palms, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The cool night air ruffles his hair, the moonlight catching on the silver strands.

“Can I ask you something?”

“...That depends,” you say.

His smile is easy, lazy—but his eyes are sharp and searching, like he’s trying to peel back all your layers. “Back in the market,” he starts, slow, “you let me pull you into that dance. You could’ve left. You could’ve made an excuse, walked away, ignored me entirely. But you didn’t. Why?”

You suck in a breath, eyes drifting to the city below. The streets are quieter now, the celebrations beginning to wind down. For so long, your world has been small. Not just physically, but in the way that mattered—the way that made it feel like you were meant to stay in one place, bound by duty, by love, by responsibility.

“My grandmother,” you begin, softly. “She was the only family I had left.”

Satoru doesn’t move; he just watches you, waiting. “She got sick,” you continue, wringing your fingers together on your lap. “And I had to take care of her. I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to. Even if—” You pause, exhaling through your nose. “Even if I dreamed about it sometimes.”

The memories come back in pieces—watching the world pass by beyond the edges of your village, wondering what lay beyond the fields and forests you had never crossed. The way you used to sit by your grandmother’s bedside, listening to the stories she told of places she had never been either.

“She passed away,” you say, quieter this time.

Satoru doesn’t speak, but the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten. You turn your head, looking out over the city again. The castle towers rise high against the star-streaked sky, the view stretching beyond anything you ever could have imagined from your tiny corner of the world.

“I spent so long staying in one place,” you admit, “being careful and doing what was expected of me. But now…” You trail off, searching for the shape of the feeling that’s been unravelling inside you since the moment you first stepped beyond the life you thought you were meant to live. “Now, I think I just want to see what’s out there.”

A slow smile tugs at Satoru’s lips. It’s not the cocky smirk you’re used to, nor the grin that comes with a teasing remark. It’s softer, something almost—fond. “And now that you’re here, is it everything you’ve dreamed of and more?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. “It’s incredible.”

“I’m glad,” he says, then, after a beat: “Alright, my turn.”

“Your turn?”

“To answer a question.” His eyes flicker to you, playful. “You want to ask me something, don’t you?”

You pause. Then, before you can overthink it, you ask, “Are you still only with me because you want the crown back?”

The teasing edge in his expression falters, just for a second. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts, fingers tapping idly against the rooftop, his eyes fixed on the distant castle. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, more thoughtful. 

“At first, yeah,” he admits. “That was the plan.”

You wait, sensing there’s more. Satoru lets out a breath, a faint chuckle escaping him, though there’s a strangeness to the sound—like he’s amused at his own thoughts, still figuring them out. He says, “But you’re not exactly what I expected.”

You frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, turning to face you fully now, the golden lights casting shadows across the side of his face. “It means,” he says, “that I figured you’d be like everyone else. Predictable. Easy to manipulate. Someone who’d either slow me down or get in my way.”

Satoru smiles, tilting his head, but this time, it’s different—less teasing, more like he’s studying you, trying to commit you to memory. “But you’re not.”

Your heart stutters. You don’t know if it’s the words themselves, or the way he’s looking at you—intent, unrushed, like you are something worth deciphering—but something shifts, something fragile and terrifying in its certainty. You should say something; you ought to shake your head, roll your eyes, scoff at him like you always do. But the night air is wrought with something you don’t have a name for, and the weight of his gaze pins you in place.

“You’re stubborn,” he continues, voice dipping just slightly, low enough that you feel it more than hear it. “Smart. Quicker than I expected. You surprise me.”

The breath you’ve been holding releases in a slow exhale, but it doesn’t make the feeling in your chest settle. “I don’t know if I believe you,” you murmur.

Satoru leans in, not touching—not yet—but close enough that the heat of him brushes against your skin. “You really should.”

You barely have time to process what he means before he moves, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to stop him. Some part of you registers this—but you ignore it, because somewhere along the way, you stopped wanting to.

His hand lifts first, fingertips ghosting along your jaw, barely there, a touch so cursory, it could be mistaken for hesitation. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t pull you in like a man desperate—he waits, breath mingling with yours, gaze flickering down to your lips, then back up again, watching. It’s agonisingly slow, and maybe that’s what makes your pulse hammer in your throat, makes your fingers tighten at your sides as if fighting the instinct to reach for him. 

And then—the faintest brush. Featherlight; testing. A breath of a kiss, a question rather than an answer. You could pull away now, but the moment his lips meet yours, something inside you caves.

It’s soft at first, uncertain, but the second you respond—just the smallest tilt forward, the slightest press of your lips against his—he becomes more insistent. His hand cups your jaw more firmly, his other coming to rest against the small of your back, drawing you in as though the space between you is something offensive and unbearable.

You gasp against his mouth, but it isn't surprise. It’s relief; like something that had been threatening to snap inside you has finally, finally broken loose. His lips move slowly against your, unhurried but devastating, a contradiction of softness and something deeper, something unjumbling beneath your skin. You don’t even realise when your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might slip away if you don’t.

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

It’s easy enough to fall into Gojo Satoru like this. Too easy, really. It should be harder. It should be something that gives you pause, something that makes you second-guess yourself. But you don’t, because right now, on this rooftop with the whole city stretching out below you and the stars scattered across the sky like crushed diamonds, it doesn’t feel like a mistake. It doesn’t feel like something you’ll regret. It just feels like him.

Satoru pulls away and watches you carefully, the way he always does when he’s waiting for you to make a move first. His hands rest loosely on either side of him, deceptively relaxed, but his gaze tells a different story. There’s something in his eyes tonight—softer, expectant, something that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t entirely understand. Maybe you’ll never understand him fully. But you think, maybe you don’t have to.

You reach for him first this time. A brush of your fingers against his wrist. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—just watches, as if memorising the moment. You shuffle closer, until your knees touch where he’s sitting, until his breath stirs the air between you. When you finally lean in, when your lips graze his in something that isn’t quite a kiss yet, you hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes. Then, finally, he moves.

Satoru kisses like he does everything else—sure of himself, but not impatient. He takes his time, lets you press in closer as his hands find their way to your waist, his touch steady and warm. The rooftop is quiet except for the distant sounds of the city and the faint hum of the night air, but all you can hear is him—the way his breath blows on your cheek, the way he exhales softly when your fingers slip into his hair.

You let him kiss you deeper, let him tilt his head and pull you closer and melt into him as easily as breathing. When he pulls you into his lap, hands firm on your hips and his lips trail lower, brushing along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, you decide you don’t want to stop at all.

The inn is a modest place, tucked between streets. Its wooden beams creak, and the scent of old bookshelves and candle wax wafts through the air, mixing with something sweet—honey, maybe, or the remnants of a forgotten perfume. Satoru had brought you here so quickly and paid for a room that, despite the knowing look the innkeeper gave you both, you didn’t have the time to feel embarrassed before he was whisking you away.

It’s quiet here, away from prying eyes. The bed beneath you is softer than you’d expected, sheets worn but clean, warmed by the heat of your bodies. A single melting candle in the corner lights up the room, its glow casting shadows along the rough-hewn walls, pooling in the hollow of Satoru’s throat as he hovers over you.

There’s a moment—just a moment—where uncertainty creeps in. You’ve never done this before. Somehow, Satoru seems to know that without you even saying anything. His hands, steady and warm, never wander too far, never push for more than what you’re willing to give. Even as his lips move against yours—slow, coaxing, patient—there’s an unspoken question between every kiss; an invitation rather than a demand. It makes it easier. Easier to melt into him and to follow the way his fingers map careful paths down your spine.

You barely register when he tugs at the hem of your clothes, when fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling somewhere unseen. His gentle fingers unclasp the comb in your hair, letting it fall down loose. He leaves the necklace on, though, the blue pendant just above your collarbone, reflecting his own blue eyes. They darken when he sees you like this. His hands are on your bare skin, and it’s different—more real, somehow. More intimate than anything else before this.

Satoru leans back, exhaling as he takes you in, eyes dragging over every newly exposed inch of you. His gaze is heavy, reverent in a way that makes you shiver. “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. Heat pools low in your stomach, spreading through you in slow, curling tendrils. Then he’s pressing his lips to your throat, his hands gliding down your sides, settling on your hips. His touch is firm but never rough. Still, the anticipation builds.

Your skin feels too hot, too sensitive, aware of the way his mouth drags lower—over your collarbone, down the center of your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Then, lower still. You shudder. “Satoru—”

He hums against your skin, one hand sliding beneath your knee, urging you to part for him. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You hesitate for only a moment before nodding. That’s all the permission he needs. His hands settle on your thighs, parting them gently. His lips ghost over the sensitive skin, teasing and testing, before he presses a kiss where you’re already aching for him.

The first touch of his tongue is tentative—just a slow, languid drag against you, as if savouring the taste. Like he’s learning exactly what makes you tremble. You do tremble. A quiet, broken sound slips from your lips before you can stop it, your fingers tightening instinctively in his hair. Satoru groans, low and pleased, and the vibration of it makes your stomach tighten.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t overwhelm you. He simply moves with purpose, unravelling you piece by piece, lick by lick, until the pleasure builds into something unbearable. You don’t know when your eyes flutter shut and your body melts into the sheets. His grip tightens just slightly to hold you in place. When he drags his tongue over that one spot, when he sucks, slow and deliberate, pleasure licks up your spine like wildfire. You gasp.

“That’s it,” Satoru says, a tad proud. “Just let go.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your thighs tightening around him as he coaxes pleasure out of you with maddening patience. The tension builds, winding tighter, higher, and when he rubs your bundle of nerves with his thumb, you moan. Warmth spills through your limbs; your breath catches and everything around you blurs, reduced to nothing but the feeling of his mouth, his hands, his name falling from your lips in a whisper. Satoru stays there for a moment longer, pressing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before moving back up. He kisses you again, slow and deep, and the taste of yourself on his lips makes your head spin.

“How was that?” he asks.

“You talk too much,” you say, and slant your lips against his again.

Satoru pulls away, though reluctantly. Kneeling between your legs, his hands move to his belt. You watch, still dazed, as he undoes it and kicks his trousers off, then pulls his tunic over his head in one smooth motion. You swear you forget how to breathe.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for him, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He shudders at the contact, and something about that—about the way you affect him—sends a thrill through you. Wordlessly, he leans back, watching you carefully.

You meet his gaze, and, slowly, slide your hands up, over the defined lines of his collarbones, over the faint scars that mark his skin. You take your time, tracing the firm places of his stomach, the ridges of muscle beneath your fingertips. He has a scar cutting through his torso, a jagged line that should look unseemly, but on Satoru it does not. You don’t think anything ever could. 

“How did you get this?” you whisper, running your fingers along the line.

“Failed assassination attempt on me,” he whispers back. You’re not even surprised anymore.

Satoru is beautiful. It’s a thought that strikes you suddenly, like a realisation that had been waiting for the right moment to surface. He’s all long limbs and lean strength, a body built for running and fighting and surviving. The sight of him, bare before you, makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You’re staring,” he teases, but his voice is quieter this time, almost breathless.

You hum, letting your nails drag lightly down his torso, watching the way his stomach tenses in response. “Maybe.”

His breath comes out uneven. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he leans down, pressing his weight against you, caging you beneath him. The heat of his body is overwhelming, the feel of bare skin on bare skin sending a shiver through you. Even then, when he presses his lips to yours, he asks, “Are you sure?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He exhales sharply, his forehead dropping against yours. “You’re going to kill me.”

You laugh, breathless, tilting your head just enough to kiss him again. “Then die quietly.”

His answering grin is crooked. He nudges your nose with his, and his hand finds yours against the sheets as he laces your fingers together. Slowly, he moves.

The first press is slow, careful, an unfamiliar stretch as he eases himself inside you inch by inch. Your breath hitches in your throat, fingers tightening around his while your body adjusts to him. There’s a sting, a deep pull of discomfort that makes you tense, but he stills immediately, exhaling a shaky breath against your temple.

Satoru’s lips ghost over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, murmuring quiet praises in between. “You’re doing so well,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “So fucking perfect.”

The ache fades gradually, melting into something warmer. You take a slow breath, then shift your hips slightly—just enough for him to move. His sigh is shaky, his grip on your hand tightening. 

He starts moving, and the world narrows to nothing but him. It’s slow at first, every movement measured, as if he’s trying to memorise every little reaction and gasp that spills from your lips. He watches you the entire time, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it, like he’s seeing you for the first time. The pleasure builds gradually, a slow burn spreading through your veins. Each roll of his hips, each press of his body against yours sends another wave of heat through you, until the discomfort is nothing but a memory. Your legs tighten around him instinctively, pulling him closer, deeper. Satoru groans, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he curses under his breath.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice strained. “You feel—” He shakes his head, unable to finish the thought. His teeth graze lightly over your shoulder. His pace quickens slightly, pulling breathy moans from you with every movement. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your stomach, winding like a thread about to snap. 

And then he angles his hips just right, hitting something inside you that makes your vision blur. A broken sound escapes your lips. Your grip on his hand tightens, nails digging into his skin. “There?” he asks, voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You nod, unable to form words, and he groans, pressing deeper, chasing every little reaction you give him. It’s overwhelming—the warmth of him above you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the way he whispers your name like it’s something sacred.

When you finally reach that peak, when the pleasure crests and crashes over you in dizzying waves, your entire body shudders beneath him. The thread snaps, leaving you weightless and drowning in sensation as he follows soon after, his movements growing erratic. Satoru pulls out just in time, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he spills onto your stomach, one hand gripping your waist as his body trembles above you. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly; he takes in the sight of you beneath him—flushed, panting, utterly wrecked.

For a long moment, neither of you move. His breath fans over your collarbone, fingers fiddling with the silver chain around your neck. He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and his grip on your hand loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Eventually, Satoru shifts, rolling onto his back and searching for something to clean you up. He finds a wash basin with a cloth placed nearby; wetting it gently, he pads back to you. The thief—your lover, now, you suppose—is gentle, wiping you down with slow, careful movements before tossing the cloth aside. Then, without hesitation, he pulls you against him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his lips against your temple.

His fingers trace absentminded patterns along your spine, his touch featherlight. You feel his lips press against your hair, and the gesture makes your chest ache. You curl into him. He rests his chin on the top of your head. “Sleep,” he says.

You don’t say anything—just let your eyes slip shut, and let yourself sink into the warmth of him and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Satoru coaxes you out of bed with the promise of buying you a honey-dipped pastry from one of the vendors you’d been eyeing the day before. You grumble about his methods, saying he has an unfair advantage knowing your weaknesses so well, but truthfully, you don’t really mind. You dress quickly, smoothing your hands over the creases in your gown and pulling your hair back with the ivory comb, while Satoru lounges against the doorframe, watching you with that easy, lopsided grin of his. The sunlight catches in his hair, and when he tilts his head at you, something warm curls inside your stomach. You shove it down. 

The two of you leave the small inn just as the sun begins to rise, the golden light spilling over the rooftops. The streets are still mostly empty, save for a few vendors who’ve begun setting up their stalls. You walk beside Satoru, your hands brushing against each other now and then, though neither of you makes a move to pull away. He fills the quiet with his usual chatter, talking nonsense, teasing you about how you hogged the blankets, about how you snored (you did not). You roll your eyes and shove at his shoulder, but he only laughs, catching your wrist and spinning you in a quick, playful circle.

When you finally reach Nanami’s bookshop, it looks the same as it did the day before—quiet and unassuming, its worn wooden sign creaking slightly in the breeze. You push the door open.

Nanami is at the counter, as usual, a book open in front of him. But you can very quickly tell something is off. He doesn’t look up right away. His hands are still, fingers pressed against the page, unmoving. When his gaze finally lifts, it lingers on Satoru first, then flickers to you. He exhales and gives you just the faintest shake of his head. A warning. Leave.

You blink at him, confused. Satoru, oblivious as ever, only grins. “Morning, Nanami,” he sing-songs, stretching as he strolls further inside.

Nanami doesn’t answer. You hear footsteps, slow and heavy—the sound of hard boots against wooden flooring. Not from the entrance. From the back of the shop.

A man steps into view. Tall, with broad shoulders, his dark hair pulled into a high knot, leaving a few loose strands to frame his face. His clothing is different from the soldiers you’ve seen before—black and deep blue, his vest embroidered with the sigil of the royal family. But what strikes you most is his expression: Blank and unreadable; the kind of stillness that feels dangerous without needing to try. His eyes, dark and steady, scan the room methodically before resting on Satoru. He’s flanked by two soldiers on either side of him, standing in metal-plated armour with their faces hidden by the visors on their helmets.

“Ah,” the thief says. “So that’s why Nanami was looking at me like I was already dead.”

The room is still. Satoru doesn’t move. Neither does the man at the back of the shop. Nanami, ever composed, keeps his fingers pressed against the pages of his book, though you can see the tension in his shoulders. He knows exactly who this man is. You don’t.

“You’ve gotten sloppy,” he remarks, as if he was simply commenting on the weather. “I had multiple reports of you wandering throughout the city yesterday. You weren’t even subtle about it.” A small pause, and then: “Frolicking, they said. With a girl.”

His eyes slide towards you. Your stomach tightens. You don’t recognise him, but something about his presence makes your skin prickle. It’s the way he carries himself—the way his posture is lazy, the way his voice is even and smooth, but not emotionless. He reminds you of Satoru, but less flamboyant and raucous.

“I should introduce myself,” he continues, “to our friend here who appears visibly confused. Geto Suguru, captain of the Royal Guard, at your service, madam.”

Satoru merely shakes his head. “You really ought to pay your soldiers more,” he drawls. “Imagine sending them on a wild goose chase to find me. Surely there are more pressing matters to attend to—but I am flattered about the attention you’re very generously bestowing upon me.”

The man hums, unimpressed. “They do their jobs well enough. Unlike you.”

His gaze flicks to a low table pushed to the side. To the crown—the crown that was supposed to be tucked underneath your mattress back in your cottage. Your pulse quickens. Satoru follows his gaze. “Hm,” he says, like it’s all very unfortunate, “I suppose that’s how you found us.”

“You’re different,” the man says. “You never used to be this careless.”

Familiarity bleeds into his tone when he says it. They have a history, the thief beside you and the soldier opposite him, that much is clear. Your fingers curl into your palm.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’ve gone soft?” Satoru grins but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Captain Geto lifts a brow. “If the boot fits.”

Satoru snorts. You stay quiet, your mouth drying up. You don’t know how deep their history runs. You’re not sure if you want to, anymore, even though, earlier, your curiosity about Gojo Satoru knew no bounds.

“You found me, Suguru,” Satoru says simply, grin vanishing.

The captain inclines his head. “You always make things difficult,” he says, lifting a hand.

The soldiers step forward. Satoru doesn’t fight when they grab him. He stays motionless, doesn’t even flinch as they wrench his arms and wrists, twisting them behind his back. He doesn’t move, but you do. “Satoru—”

He turns his head towards you, and you swear you see something shutter in his expression. But as quickly as it comes, it goes, replaced by a grin that looks more like a sneer.

“I assume you won’t struggle,” the captain says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain Geto,” Satoru says.

You open your mouth, but before you can say anything—before your brain wraps around what’s happening—Suguru turns to you. His dark eyes sweep over you, assessive. “You’re from the villages, aren’t you?”

You freeze. His voice is calm—not unkind or threatening. Just certain. There is nothing that suggests immediate condemnation about the way he says it, but it sends a prickle of something cold down your spine. You force yourself to square your shoulders and look him in the eye when you confirm his question.

Suguru nods at your reply, something thoughtful about the way he regards you. “Then you have a choice,” he says.

“A… choice?” Your pulse thunders against your skin.

He tilts his head once more, slightly, and for a moment, you could almost call him composed—gracious, even. His words are anything but. “Either you come with us, as his accomplice. Or you return to your village and pretend this never happened.”

The words drop between you like stones. Your throat tightens. You know what he’s offering. A way out. A chance to walk away and go back to the life you left behind. You can let these past few weeks become nothing more than a bitter memory, something you can tuck away and bury deep. But if you leave—

You find yourself looking at Satoru. He grins at you, looking for all the world like he doesn’t have a care. Like he isn’t standing there, bound, with soldiers at his back and chains ready to be locked around his wrists. But you also see the way his shoulders have gone taut, the way his fingers twitch, just slightly, like he wants to reach for you. Before you can think to answer, Satoru cuts in.

“I lied to her.”

Your heart hammers in your chest at his sudden declaration. Captain Geto raises a brow, waiting.

Satoru’s grin widens, careless and easy. “She didn’t know who I was. She didn’t know about the crown or any of this. I played her the fool, and charmed my way into her good graces. Can you blame her?”

You feel like the ground beneath you has vanished. He’s lying. You know it, Suguru knows it, Nanami knows it—but he says it anyway, as if willing it into truth, daring Suguru to challenge him. 

“You never change,” the captain murmurs.

“Nope,” the thief agrees, popping the ‘p’ sound.

There’s a silence; a slow, quiet sigh. Suguru shakes his head. “Take him.”

The soldiers move. You react on instinct, lurching forward, reaching for him—but rough hands seize your shoulders, pulling you back. Nanami, you realise. His sturdy arms—too muscular for a simple bookseller—hold you in place no matter how much you squirm in his grip.

Satoru, on the other hand, merely presses his lips together when they fasten the iron cuffs around his wrists. You feel the sharp sting of panic rise up your throat. “No—” Your voice cracks, but no one is listening. Your limbs feel useless, weak, as the soldiers push past you. “Wait—”

Captain Geto steps forward, blocking your path, his presence an immovable wall of black and blue. His dark eyes settle on yours, calm and resolute. “We found the crown at a cottage.”

His words feel like ice water down your spine. You swallow hard. Suguru doesn’t look triumphant, doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying this. He states it as an inevitable fact. “The entire village was searched,” he continues, measured and unhurried, like he’s laying out the pieces of a story so that you understand. “We found the stolen heirloom hidden there. And if it was there, then that means whoever lives in that cottage—” 

He pauses. You don’t dare to breathe.

“—was harbouring the kingdom’s most wanted criminal.”

A leaden weight settles in your chest. No. No, that’s not true. I didn’t know. But the words don’t come. Because you did know, right from the start, when you stole the crown from him.  It was already too late, then, and it is too late now, because now—now, you know the shape of his smile, the sound of his laugh, the calluses on his fingers. Satoru was protecting your secret, and the realisation burns. Your nails bite into your palm. You want to say something, to fight back and demand an explanation from Geto Suguru. Satoru turns his head towards you.

The soldiers pull him to the door, and you watch, your throat tight and your breath shallow. Your feet won’t move, your body feels frozen, like some part of you believes this is the last time you’ll see him. Like some part of you is already mourning. Satoru’s grin doesn’t slip. His white hair falls over his eyes, and for a brief second, you swear you see something there—something reassuring. He’s telling you it’s going to be okay. He’s telling you not to follow.

“Gojo Satoru,” the captain announces, “as the Captain of the Royal Guard, as per the First Commander’s decree, I hereby arrest you for the cases of looting, thievery, causing bodily harm and injury, failure to repay your debts to the capital, stealing the royal family’s most precious heirloom, and betrayal to the Royal Crown. Do you object to any of these claims?”

“No, Captain,” Satoru says.

“Very well. Your punishment for the following acts of treason is death. The execution will be tomorrow, at sundown. Do you have anything you wish to say?”

His blue eyes find yours. “No, Captain,” he repeats, quieter this time.

Your vision blurs. Gojo Satoru, the menace, the thief you’ve journeyed with, the man who knows you more intimately than anyone else, smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, as the guards lead him away.

“There’s a history, isn’t there?” You cross your arms over your chest. Nanami and Utahime—who had arrived almost as soon as Nanami had sent word—look at each other. “Between the captain and Satoru, and—and you two and Satoru. Tell me.”

It’s been two hours since Satoru was arrested. Two hours of restless pacing, your mind running in frantic circles and your hands clenching and unclenching as you tried to come up with a plan—any plan—that didn’t result in you standing at the end of a sword. 

Nanami had stopped you before you could even try to follow the captain and his soldiers. “That’s suicide,” he had told you, his voice low but firm. “You wouldn’t make it past the castle gates.” He had barely convinced you to stay. But the truth was, you wouldn’t have made it far. Not when Geto had given you just one day to gather your things, buy what you needed from the capital, and leave. Leave. The word itches under your skin. You had nodded shakily when Captain Geto had told you as much. But even as you agreed, you knew. You’re not leaving—not while Satoru is to be executed.

Nanami sighs. “It’s not something you need to involve yourself in.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you snap.

Utahime shifts beside him, arms crossed. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“I don’t care,” you argue. “Satoru is in a cell somewhere, waiting to be executed, and you’re acting like it’s already over.” You take a step closer. “But it’s not, is it? Because if it were, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Fine,” the tailor says. Nanami opens his mouth to protest, but she gives him a look and he stays silent. She leans against the table, fingers drumming on the wood, and takes a deep breath before she starts:

“We were all soldiers once. Me, Nanami, our friends Shoko and Haibara, Geto, and Gojo. We trained together. We fought together. We thought we’d die together. And some of us did. Haibara—he was the youngest of us. Too kind, too trusting—” her jaw tightens— “and he shouldn’t have been sent on that mission. Gojo and Geto were the best of us. The strongest. That strength made them invaluable, but it also put them close to the former captain of the Royal Guard.”

“The First Commander?” you ask.

Nanami nods, his expression darkening. “After Haibara’s death, Geto and Gojo… They changed. Geto became more distant, more dissociated from all the blood and the killing. Gojo became more reckless. At first, we thought it was just grief. Losing Haibara—it did something to all of us. But Geto and Gojo… they were different. They knew something we didn’t.”

Utahime shifts uncomfortably. “They spent more and more time with the First Commander. We didn’t think much of it. He was a brilliant strategist, and they were his best soldiers—it made sense that he’d favour them. Then, one day, while we were busy sparring at the training grounds near the east wing, Geto and the First Commander came up to us. They said—they said that they’ve entrusted us with a new mission: To find and kill Gojo Satoru.”

Your blood runs cold. “...What?”

“We didn’t know why,” Nanami says, grimly. “We still don’t. But we didn’t have a choice, so we played along. We followed his trail, but we never got too close—we made sure of it. Geto was the only one who really cared; the rest of us couldn’t stomach killing our friend.” He lets loose a breath, shoulders slumping. “Eventually, we got sent away for being too incompetent. I took over my father’s shop. Utahime became a tailor. Shoko moved to another kingdom to practice medicine.”

“And Satoru became the kingdom’s most wanted criminal,” you finish for him.

“Yes.” The man sounds tired, resigned when he says it. “The former captain of the Royal Guard became the First Commander—he is the current king’s elder brother, after all—and Geto rose in the ranks to become the new captain. The late queen passed away, and the king’s health deteriorated rapidly, until the First Commander was forced to rule in his name.”

Your head spins with all this information. There must be more to this story—there has to be. Satoru couldn’t have become a notorious thief for no reason. Geto Suguru couldn’t possibly have still been hunting for him if there wasn’t something Satoru knew. Something invaluable. How does the crown tie into this? Satoru must have stolen it for a reason. What could he gain from stealing the royal family’s most priceless heirloom, other than a grand amount of money? You know Satoru wouldn’t have stolen the crown just for the fun of it. 

You’re missing something. Something crucial. You just need to figure out what. But first, you need to save the thief who showed you the world beyond the borders of your village.

Nanami exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. His expression remains blank, but there’s something tense about the way his fingers curl into a fist before he forces them to relax. Utahime has her arms crossed, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves. They had hesitated before, unwilling to speak of the past, but you are nothing if not determined and stubborn.

“Do you guys know your way in and out of the palace?” You shift on your feet. The words leave your lips with urgency, and you don’t dare let yourself hope.

Utahime answers without hesitation. “Of course. I couldn’t forget it even if I tried.”

The certainty in her voice makes your chest loosen just the slightest bit. You chew on your lip, mind racing. The execution is set for tomorrow at sundown. The timing isn’t a coincidence—if your hunch is right, Captain Geto has chosen to use the lantern festival as a veil for the event. A celebration of light and joy to mask the bloodshed. 

Your fingers twitch at your sides, the beginning threads of an idea weaving together in your mind. It’s reckless and dangerous, but what other choice do you have? “I have,” you say slowly, “a horse and a cat waiting for me outside the capital.”

Nanami’s brows furrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You allow yourself a small, wry smile. The plan forming in your head is far from perfect—it’s borderline absurd, really—but the best distractions are often the ones no one expects.

“What better way to cause a disruption at a crowded event,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “than by letting a massive warhorse go rogue?”

The lanterns haven’t been lit yet—there are still hours to go for that—but the festivities begin with pomp and affair, much like the evening before, when Satoru and you had danced in the town square. Laughter rings out in waves, warm and unrestrained, carried through the crisp summer air laced with the sweet scent of spiced cider and roasted chestnuts. Music swells from the centre of the town square, a lively melody played by nimble hands on well-worn strings, and for a moment, the festival feels untouchable—like something out of a dream.

Until a scream splits through the dusk. The first crack in the revelry appears as festival-goers stumble back, their joy crumbling into confusion, then alarm. The cobblestone streets tremble beneath the furious pounding of hooves, and the festival—once so bright and golden—erupts into chaos. 

Like a demon birthed from light and flame, the beast arrives. A massive white warhorse, his snowy coat gleaming beneath the lamps’ glow, surges into the square, his reins flopping about his sides with no one there to ride him and his mane whipping about with the force of his gallops. His powerful frame barrels through the market stalls, hooves kicking up a storm of dirt and debris. A merchant barely dives out of the way as a cart of oranges topples over, spilling fruit across the street in a surge of gold and tangerine. The scent of crushed citrus only seems to amplify the panic.

Sukuna. Warhorse, menace, and a walking natural disaster. He rears up, hooves cutting through the air, and lets loose a shrill, defiant neigh that sends festival-goers scrambling. Children clutch at their mothers’ cloaks. Guards—once lazily stationed at their posts—snap to attention, hands flying to their weapons. Merchants abandon their wares, shouting frantically instead.

From the alleyway, you watch, heart hammering against your rib cage. The plan was simple. Let Sukuna loose. Create a distraction. Slip into the palace unnoticed. You were not, however, expecting this. Your eyes drift to where Nanami and Utahime stand, safely behind a water fountain, observing to make sure no real harm is caused and no one is actually injured. Utahime looks mildly shocked, while Nanami looks a little green.

Sukuna swings his massive head to an unfortunate vegetable vendor, plucks a perfectly round cabbage from the wreckage, chews it once, twice—and then hurls it full force at the nearest guard’s nether region. The cabbage makes impact with a resounding thud. The man crumples instantly. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, holding Megumi tightly against your chest with your other one. You’ve replaced Utahime’s gown with your tunic and trousers from before and a pair of sturdy boots; it’s easier to move and hide the cat against your chest by covering him with your cloak. Your pack rests against your shoulders, filled to the brim with all your supplies. 

The horse pivots, tail lashing as he sends a stack of pastries flying with a single, well-placed kick. Cream-filled tarts arc through the air, and one particularly unlucky festival-goer takes a hit directly to the face, stumbling backwards in stunned silence. The panic spreads like fire through dry brush. Flower stands topple as people shove their way through the square, knocking over barrels and baskets in their desperate attempts to flee. Musicians abandon their instruments, their once-lively tunes now replaced by the erratic clang of an overturned drum.

You press further into the shadows, gripping Megumi a little tighter. “Alright,” you whisper, gaze darting to the now-abandoned palace gates. “This is our chance.”

The cat flicks his tail against your arm, but doesn’t resist when you set him down. He slinks forward, paws silent against the stone. You take one last glance towards the town square—where Nanami and Utahime are watching Sukuna with the expressions of a duo questioning every single life decision they’ve ever made—before slipping out of the alley.

The plan had been reckless from the start. Nanami had called it suicidal. Utahime had looked moments away from smacking you when you first suggested sneaking into the palace alone. But when it became clear you wouldn’t be swayed, she’d relented, pressing a map into your hands and tracing a single, hidden path with her fingertip. 

“The old passageway beneath the garden wall,” she had told you. “Hardly anyone remembers it exists—except for Geto, maybe, but he won’t be looking for you. It leads you straight through the kitchens and towards the prison underground.”

From this distance, the palace looms like a beast sleeping beneath the stars, its many towers and arching spires silhouetted against the deep blue of the sky. The golden sconces hanging from its walls cast a warm glow, creating long shadows that dance across the stone. Behind you, beyond the square, the festival rages on despite the commotion Sukuna caused. With a population this big, a simple horse won’t stop the people from celebrating—no, Sukuna had done his job well. You don’t hesitate in front of the palace. Hesitation means death.

The main gates are impossible—too well-guarded and exposed. But Utahime had spoken of another way, a smaller side entrance used for deliveries that leads you straight to the garden. It’s tucked away in the farthest corner of the palace grounds. The guards stationed there have been pulled towards the chaos in the square, just as planned. Still, you move carefully.

The shadows are your only ally as you press yourself to the outer walls, each step as silent as you can be. Megumi slinks beside you, nothing more than a wisp in the darkness with a half-torn ear, his sharp green eyes scanning for movement. You follow the curve of the stone wall, past ivy-covered archways and gushing marble fountains, until—

There. A wooden gate, half-hidden behind overgrown vines. You reach for the iron handle, fingers curling around the cool metal. You push against it with your shoulder, and it gives. The gate swings open just enough for you and Megumi to slip through, and then you’re inside the palace.

The palace gardens stretch before you in a maze of hedges and stone pathways. White roses bloom in the moonlight, petals pale as ghosts, their sweet scent thick and cloying. Marble statues of forgotten kings stand in silence, their hollow eyes seeming to follow you as you move. Somewhere beyond, you hear the distant murmur of voices—guards perhaps, manning the main halls. But here, amidst the leaves and the flowers, you are alone. 

You weave through the bushes, careful not to let your cloak catch on thorns. The path Utahime described had been clear in your mind before, but now, with the pressure to get Satoru out as quickly as possible increasing with every beat of your heart, the details feel hazy. A fountain, an old tree, and then the passage.

The fountain comes first, its water glimmering like molten silver under the moonlight. You crouch low, pressing yourself against its cool stone base, scanning the area. There’s no one around. A few paces ahead, a twisted oak rises from the ground, its gnarled roots stretching across the earth like reaching fingers. Its bark is scarred, and its branches are half-bare despite the season—just as Utahime had said.

Your pulse quickens. At the base of the tree, partially covered by weeds and wildflowers, a patch of stone juts out at an odd angle. Unlike the rest of the carefully arranged stone tiles in the garden, this one looks out of place—covered by dirt and worn by time. You drop to your knees and press your fingers against the surface. There is a slight shift, a breadth of space where there should be none.

This is it. With a careful push, the stone gives way, revealing a dark opening beneath the roots. The air that rushes out is humid and damp, as though it has not been stirred in years. You glance at Megumi. “Well,” you whisper to no one in particular. “There’s no turning back now.”

You drop legs-first into the hidden passageway. The moment your boots hit the ground, the world above seems to shrink away, muffled by layers of soil and stone. The darkness here is absolute. It presses in from all sides, thick and mawkish, the kind that swallows light and sound alike. For a moment, you do nothing but breathe, your fingers braced against the rough tunnel walls. The air is damp and stale, carrying the scent of moss, old stone, and something faintly metallic—like rain-soaked iron.

In front of you, Megumi lands soundlessly, his lithe form slipping into the darkness easily. You hear the soft thump of paws against dirt, then nothing. If not for the glint of his sharp eyes, or the way he presses his body against your leg, he might as well have disappeared.

Your fingers find the small lantern strapped to your belt. You turn the wick as low as it will go before striking the flint. A tiny ember flares, then blooms into a soft, flickering glow, just enough to illuminate the path ahead. The tunnel stretches forward, curving out of sight, its ceiling low enough that you have to crouch slightly to keep moving.

The walls here are old—older than the palace above, maybe even older than the kingdom itself. Stones worn smooth by time line the passage, their edges softened by centuries of damp air and creeping roots. In some places, cracks have formed, letting in faint sounds from the world above—the distant echoes of music and cheering from the lantern festival. Each sound feels impossibly far away, as if the tunnel exists in a world entirely separate from the one above.

You move forward carefully, your steps light on the uneven ground. Megumi pads ahead, his tail lifted in the air. The path narrows, forcing you to squeeze between the crumbling walls, and then widens again.

The passage spits you out into a vast, cavernous room, its ceiling arched and lined with thick wooden beams. Dust floats in the lantern’s dim glow, stirred by your arrival. Wooden barrels sit stacked in rows along the far wall, their formerly pristine surfaces marred by age and neglect. Bottles of aged wine and forgotten casks of ale sit upon the rotting shelves, relics of a time when this place had been used for more than secrecy. You drag your fingers across one of the barrels as you pass, feeling the rough texture of splintered wood beneath your touch.

Somewhere above, a faint creak echoes through the ceiling—a floorboard shifting beneath weight. Your breath stills. Someone is walking the halls above. You and Megumi freeze in place, listening. Silence.

Whoever it was is gone now. But the reminder is clear: You’re inside the palace now. You are running out of time. Exhaling slowly, you move to the far end of the cellar, where Utahime had said the servants’ door would be. The wood is warped with age, but when you press your shoulder against it, it gives way with a quiet groan. Beyond it, a narrow stairway spirals upwards. At the top lies the palace kitchens—and beyond that, the key you need to free Satoru.

You unsling your pack, shifting it in your arms, and step cautiously into the palace kitchens. The air is thick with the scent of past meals—roasted meats, cinnamon, and something rich and spiced. The massive hearth smoulders with dying embers, glowing orange. 

The kitchen is deserted, just as Utahime had said it would be. Most of the palace staff must have gone to watch the festival, or—more conveniently for you—to see whatever disaster Sukuna had caused in the square.

Still, you don’t take any chances. You straighten your back, undo the strings of your pack, and heft it in your arms like a sack. Striding forward, you lift your chin as though you belong here. Megumi flits past your feet, disappearing underneath one of the heavy wooden tables.

The ruse almost works—until just as you near the door leading out of the kitchen, footsteps sound from the far hallway. You freeze for only a moment before forcing your limbs to loosen. With a quick breath, you throw a mild look of annoyance onto your face, shift the pack higher onto your hip, and march forward. The door swings open and you nearly collide with a harried-looking cook. He’s a broad-shouldered man with a walrus moustache, apron stained with what looks like a day’s worth of work, and he stops short when he sees you.

“You—who are you?” His moustache quivers. His eyes flick to the open bag in your arms, filled with a hastily gathered of carrots, leeks, and a single sad-looking turnip. 

You let out an exasperated huff. “Finally,” you say, injecting the right amount of irritation into your voice. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get these here?”

“What?”

“The town square’s a disaster! Some lunatic set a warhorse loose! I had to take the long way around the outer walls just to get here, and by the time I arrived at the usual gate, no one was there to let me in.” You shake your pack for emphasis. “Thought I was going to have to eat these myself. You’re lucky I even bothered.”

The cook eyes you suspiciously, but your complaint sounds mundane enough to be true. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “The gods are testing me tonight. Fine, fine, put them on the table. But be quick about it.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter under your breath, making a show of stomping towards the long wooden table in the center of the kitchen. You set your pack down with a decisive thud, dusting your hands afterwards for good measure. The cook is already distracted, grumbling to himself as he turns towards the fire. You take the opportunity to scan the room, eyes landing on a rack of pots and pans hanging next to the hearth.

A weapon. Your fingers itch. It’s not that you’re planning to hit someone, but it’s always good to be prepared. And you wouldn’t exactly be the first person to use a frying pan as a last-minute means of self-defense; you’ve heard of tales of the princess of a neighbouring kingdom escaping her tower where she was kept imprisoned with nothing but a chameleon for company and a frying pan for safety.

Without hesitating, you grab one from the rack, testing its weight in your hand. It’s sturdy. Heavy enough to knock a man out cold if necessary. You slide it under your arm, keeping it close as you edge your way towards the door. 

“Oi.”

You stop. The cook is watching you again. You lift the pan slightly. “Borrowing this.”

His moustache quivers again. “For what?”

“To use,” you say vaguely. “Surely I deserve it after having brought you your vegetables despite all the trials and tribulations I faced along the way.”

“You know what? I don’t want to know. Just get the Hell out of my kitchen.”

You don’t need to be told twice. With a slight nod, you make your way towards the hall, Megumi slipping out from his hiding place to follow at your heels. The moment you’re out of sight, you tighten your grip on the pan and let out a slow, relieved breath.

You’ve done it. You’ve infiltrated the palace.

The halls stretch before you, long and gilded, lined with tapestries and portraits. The marble beneath your feet gleams even in the dim torchlight, and the walls are carved with intricate patterns of swirling gold, catching the flicker of flames like veins of molten fire.

It really is beautiful. A shame you don’t have the time to appreciate it.

Satoru had spoken of this palace with an almost begrudging sort of fondness, describing the soaring ceiling and the endless hallways. He’d said that it was too grand and gaudy, but his voice had betrayed him. Maybe, if things were different, you’d have let yourself stop for a moment; might have run your fingers over the carved archways or peeked behind the heavy velvet curtains just to see if what he had said is true.

But right now, Satoru is locked in a cage beneath all this finery, and if you didn’t move fast enough, he’d stay there. 

So you force your gaze away from all this grandeur and press forward, Megumi keeping pace beside you. The entrance to the underground prison is right where Nanami had explained it would be—tucked away at the end of a long corridor, next to the life-size portrait of the late queen. A single guard stands watch, leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

It’s almost insulting. You’d expected some kind of resistance, but clearly, the festival is a grander affair than you thought it’d be, given the fact that the entire palace is mercifully empty. (Take that, Gojo, you think. It’s not just some stupid, fucking dream.)

The guard is young, barely older than you, and his helmet is tilted back on his head like he doesn’t expect to actually need it. A ring of keys hangs from a nail on the wall beside him, just out of his immediate reach. You exhale slowly. It has to be fast.

You step forward, letting your footfalls become just loud enough to catch his attention. The guard startles, straightening as his hand drifts to the sword at his hip. “You’re not supposed to be—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish. Before he can react, you swing the frying pan. There’s a thunk as the cast iron connects with his temple, and his expression shifts from alarm to blank surprise before his knees buckle beneath him. He falls to the floor, out cold before he even hits the ground. For a moment, you just stand there, blinking down at his unconscious form.

“Okay,” you mutter. “That actually worked.” Megumi lets out an unimpressed meow. 

You shake off the momentary shock and step over the fallen guard, reaching for the keys. They’re cold in your hand as you lift them from the nail, heavier than you expected.. You kneel, looping a thin cord you’d kept in your pocket through the keyring before carefully tying it around Megumi’s neck. The metal dangles against his dark fur, catching the light as it sways with the feline’s movement. Megumi flicks his ears.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, scratching behind his ears in silent apology. “You’re the only one small enough to slip through the bars. Go save Gojo, yeah? I’ll let you use him as a mattress for the rest of your life if you do.”

You glance toward the heavy wooden door leading to the prison. You can already feel the cold draft seeping through the hinges. Satoru is waiting—and you’re almost there.

The moment Megumi slips through the prison door, you press yourself against the cold stone wall, every muscle in your body coiled tight. Now comes the hardest part: Waiting.

The silent stretches, suffocating. The distant echoes of the lantern festival feel like they belong to another world entirely—one where people are laughing, dancing, reveling underneath lantern-lit skies. But here, away from all the joyousness, in the belly of the beast, the air is still. You tighten your grip on the frying pan, the only weapon you have, though you’re not sure how much use it’ll be if someone really finds you. The minutes drag, each one more agonising than the last, and you fight the urge to start pacing.

What’s taking so long? Did Megumi make it inside? Did Satoru get the keys? Did something— A sudden, ear-splitting clang echoes from the prison depths—and then, footsteps. Heavy, fast, running. Before you can brace yourself, the door bursts open.

Gojo Satoru is a blur of white and shackles and laughter, stumbling forward as if he can’t believe the oxygen he’s breathing is real. Megumi bounds after him. The thief’s hair is a mess, his clothes rumpled from captivity, and the iron cuffs that once bound his wrists now dangle uselessly from one hand with the lock wrenched open.

He stops, just for a moment, breathing heavily, and then— “Oh.”

He reaches for you. Strong arms reach around you, lifting you clean off your feet before you can protest. He spins you once, laughter bubbling from his chest, the sound bright and alive and so him that your heart lurches.

“You’re brilliant, did you know?” he says, breathless, grinning into your hair. “My beautiful, clever girl.”

Heat rushes to your face, but before you can come up with anything resembling a response, he pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands settle firm at your waist, fingers pressing into you as if he needs to ground himself, needs to believe that you’re real. 

“You actually did it,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as if the realisation is still settling in. His eyes—so much brighter now that he’s not sentenced to imminent death—roam your face, searching. “You came for me.”

“Of course I did,” you say, and there’s a conviction to your voice that you didn’t know you were capable of. “What, did you think I was going to leave you in there?”

Satoru lets out a breath that could almost be a laugh. His fingers tighten just slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Nah,” he says. “You love me too much for that.”

You would have smacked him for that, but Megumi hisses in warning, and—

A slow, deliberate clap shatters the moment. The sound echoes through the empty corridor. Satoru stiffens. You twist in his arms, and there, standing at the entrance to the corridor, framed by torchlight, is Geto Suguru.

He is calm. He is composed. His uniform is pristine, untouched by the madness of the outside world. Something about the way he stands—the way his eyes glint—tells you that he had been expecting this.

“Oh, my,” Geto says, dark amusement curling at the edges of his voice. “What a touching reunion.”

He doesn’t lunge, doesn’t rush—simply tilts his head, fingers shifting ever-so slightly around the hilt of the sword sheathed at his waist. But that is enough. Satoru reacts immediately.

“Time to go,” he says, and before you can even register it, his hand grips yours and pulls.

You break out into a run, Megumi bounding alongside you both. Your feet barely touch the polished marble floors as you tear through the hallway. Satoru’s grip is firm, unyielding, tugging you forward even as your heartbeat roars in your ears.

The palace corridors blur past in streaks of gold and shadow. The vast, open walls, formerly filled with the hum of courtly affairs and the soft shuffle of silk-clad nobles, now echo with the rhythm of your own footsteps. The grandeur, the impossible opulence—none of it matters now. The only thing that does is putting as much distance between you and the man behind you.

Geto does not rush, but you feel him there, just beyond the edges of your vision. He moves like inevitability, his steps unhurried, the soft tap of his boots against stone barely audible over the breathless pace Satoru sets.

Left. Satoru veers sharply, nearly yanking you off balance as he takes a turn down a narrower passageway. The walls here loom closer, lined with paintings depicting long-forgotten wars and rulers whose names history has nearly erased. Megumi races ahead, his black fur a blur against the dim light, navigating the twisting hallways with a hunter’s instinct.

“Where—” you barely manage, lungs burning— “are we going?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. His grip tightens around your wrist, fingers warm despite the chill in the air. Then, finally: “The throne room.”

You nearly stumble. “The what?”

“Best place to corner him.” He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite the speed at which you’re moving. “No exits. Just him and me.”

“That’s a terrible plan!”

“Oh? Got a better one, beautiful?”

You don’t. Not one that doesn’t involve getting caught. Another turn. Another impossibly long hallway. The walls here are different—sleek, dark stone rather than marble, lined with towering pillars that stretch high into the vaulted ceiling. This is the heart of the castle, you realise. The oldest part. The place where power has been passed from one ruler to the next, where history has been carved into the very foundations. The entrance to the throne room looms ahead. Twin doors. Impossibly tall, made of dark oak reinforced with gold filigree. The sigils of the royal bloodline are carved into them, worn smooth from centuries of rule.

Megumi reaches it first. He doesn’t slow—just slips through the narrow gap left ajar. Satoru doesn’t stop running, either. He shoves against the heavy doors, and they groan open, the vast chamber beyond yawning wide to swallow you whole.

The throne room is silent. No guards. No nobles. Just tall stone columns, high windows that cast fractured moonlight against the polished floors, a row of swords hanging on the far end of the wall, and the lone, empty throne that sits at the far end of the chamber. Your stomach drops when you see what’s placed on the throne’s seat.

The crown. Geto Suguru has expected this to happen—had planned for it, even. All for what?

Satoru releases your wrist just as the doors slam shut behind you. The sound of approaching footsteps makes you whip around so quickly, you nearly lose grip of the handle of the frying pan. Satoru turns, unhurried, a smile curling at the edges of his lips even before Geto steps into the dim light.

“How predictable,” the captain drawls. His fingers roll the hilt of his sword idly, his gaze sweeping from the empty throne to Satoru, to you. “Well played, Satoru. But I’m afraid this game is already over.”

He doesn’t move in a rush—not in the reckless, desperate way of a man eager to end a fight—but with slow steps. The grip on his sword remains loose, casual, as if he’s hardly concerned. As if this is nothing more than a simple conversation. Satoru backs up, just as measured, retreating step by step towards the far wall where the swords hang in an orderly row. You stay still, carefully stepping away, Megumi hiding behind your legs. This is not your fight to partake in; you know this because the captain barely glances your way.

“You’ve always been stubborn,” Geto says, tilting his head as his boots click against the floor. “All those years, running in circles, chasing shadows. Looking for something that was right in front of you the entire time.”

“I don’t know,” says Satoru, almost lazily. “I think I was more preoccupied with avoiding your assassination attempts.”

Geto chuckles. “Come now, old friend. I gave you plenty of warning.”

“Oh, sure. That time you nearly poisoned my drink?” Satoru grins manically. “Tell me, was that your idea, or were you merely using the First Commander as inspiration?”

Your breath hitches. The First Commander? 

The laughter in Geto’s expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was doing what I had to do. Look at me now, Gojo. I’m the Captain of the Royal Guard, while you’re just a fugitive with no place to call home. This could’ve been your position, had you not decided to be so fucking righteous.”

“Right. It’s my fault for finding out that the First Commander murdered the late queen.”

Everything clicks into place. Nanami had mentioned that the First Commander was the current king’s older brother—the current king, who has been severely ill for the past decade, who hasn’t been seen in the public eye ever since, because he was supposedly on permanent bedrest. Your heartbeat quickens. Just how much rot is this kingdom hiding behind the rubies?

“Ah,” Satoru continues. “I’m forbidden from speaking of it, aren’t I?”

The captain’s jaw ticks, but his smirk remains. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The thief scoffs. “Of course. Because it wasn’t you who told me to shut up about it instead of confronting the old man. To turn a blind eye, to let it happen ‘cause it was—what did you say?—bigger than us.” He laughs, sharp and humourless. “How’s that working out for you, Suguru?”

“Still so naïve.”

“And you’re still so blind,” Satoru throws back. He reaches behind him, grabbing the nearest sword from the wall, and swings it down. “What was it, again? The commander deserved the throne because he was older? Because the king was too soft? Because it was for the good of the kingdom?” His voice drips with mockery. “Come on, Suguru. Give me that speech again. I loved that speech.”

Geto’s fingers shift on the hilt of his sword. “You never understood.”

“Oh, I understood perfectly,” Satoru snaps. “The commander couldn’t sit on his hands and wait for fate to hand him what he thought was his. So he took matters into his own poison-stained hands. And you let him.”

Silence stretches between them, thick as fog, pressing against the walls. You swallow hard, watching the way Geto’s jaw sets. 

“We’ve had this conversation before, right before you decided to rat me out,” he continues. “We both knew. We knew he was killing them.”

Geto’s eyes flash. “And what was I supposed to do, Satoru? Fight back? Get myself executed like you nearly did? The commander had already won the moment the queen died.”

“The queen,” Satoru seethes, “who had a son, Suguru. The trueborn heir to the throne. The very thing the commander feared most.”

Geto’s lips part—then press into a thin line. There. There it is. The missing piece, the lock to the key.

Satoru takes a step forward, lifting the sword in his hand. “That’s what broke you, isn’t it?” His voice is softer now, but not kind. “You could stomach the poison. You could stomach the lies. But when he tried to kill the baby, that was when you hesitated.”

“I thought you were dead,” Geto says, almost conversationally. “When you ran. The first few months when they declared you a fugitive, I thought you wouldn’t make it. And yet, here you are.”

“I am very hard to kill.”

“That, you are.”

They move at the same time. Steel clashes in a burst of sparks, the force of the impact ringing through the cavernous throne room. Satoru twists, parrying the next strike with ease, but Geto presses forward, forcing him back towards the dais. They circle each other, two hunters hunting each other. You tighten your grip on the frying pan—though it might be rendered useless given the situation.

“You were so convinced you could save him,” Geto murmurs, keeping his blade pointed at Satoru’s chest. “That you could find the heir, put him on the throne, and somehow make this kingdom right again.”

“And you were so convinced that I wouldn’t,” Satoru says. “It took a while, but I managed to steal the crown, didn’t I? The late queen—may she rest in peace—was clever. It was tough trying to figure it out—that the clue rested upon what belonged to the true heir.”

“Clever, indeed. But not clever enough. You see, I’ve already figured it all out.” Geto lunges again, blade flashing. Satour meets him mid-strike. They push against each other, each testing the other’s strength, neither giving way.

“You think you’ve won just because you found the crown?” Geto taunts. “Because you figured out the queen’s little riddle? It changes nothing.”

“No, Suguru. It changes everything.” Satoru grins, eyes alight with someone reckless. He shifts his weight, twisting free of Geto’s grip, and swings his sword in a sharp arc. Geto blocks it, but just barely—his foot skids slightly against the polished marble, his balance momentarily off. Satoru seizes the opening, pressing forward with quick, calculated strikes.

The clang of their swords echoes, the only sound save for your own shallow breaths. You inch closer to Megumi, keeping him shielded behind you, even as you cannot tear your eyes away from the fight.

“You were there that night,” Satoru bites out in between strikes, “when the commander told us of his plan for the queen’s son to be killed.” His blade swings, forcing Geto another step back. “You heard the order.” A sharp clash. “You almost let it happen.” Another blow. “And you knew I wouldn’t.”

Geto parries the next attack with more force, forcing Satoru back. “I told you to let it go. I told you it was too late.”

“And I told you to go fuck yourself!” Satoru fires back. He dodges another strike easily, as though his years of training as a soldier have not left his body despite the disuse of sword-fighting.

“You should’ve joined me,” he says. “We could’ve risen the ranks together. Fixed things together.”

“Fixed things? You wanted to erase the truth. I wanted to bring it back.” Satoru’s eyes narrow. “That’s why you never killed me, isn’t it? Because some part of you—some part of you—wanted me to prove you wrong.”

A flicker of something crosses Geto’s face. A hesitation. A second too long. Satoru moves. His blade sweeps low, and Geto barely has the time to block before he’s forced back again, this time nearly stumbling. His boot scrapes against the first step of the dais, right in front of the empty throne—mere paces away from where you’re standing, clutching your frying pan like it’s a lifeline. Satoru stops, standing just a few feet away, his own sword lowered slightly, his breathing steady.

Geto exhales slowly, eyes shadowed, and then—finally—he laughs. Low; amused; dark. “You always were the best, Satoru,” he says. “I’ll give you that. But I’ve figured it out too. The queen’s secret. The heir’s true identity.”

Satoru’s expression doesn’t waver. “Oh?”

A slow smile spreads across Geto’s face. “Okkotsu Yuta is his name,” he says. 

You take a step forward. Geto continues, “The last remaining royal—”

Another step. “—was raised as—”

Another step; this time, you raise your arms over your head. “—a low-life peasant on the border between our kingdom and the next.”

CLANG!

Geto Suguru’s mouth slackens. His eyes go cross-eyed before he crumples to the floor, unconscious. Satoru blinks. His eyes dart up to meet yours.

You stand over the captain of the Royal Guard’s stupefied body, the frying pan gripped so tightly in your hands, the handle digs into your palms. “...Oops?”

Satoru exhales—a sound caught between disbelief and sheer delight—before throwing his head back with a bark of laughter. “You,” he says, stepping over Geto’s unconscious form, “are fucking amazing. And here I was, thinking I’d have to duel him for longer.”

You lower the frying pan, shoulders sagging slightly as the adrenaline ebbs. “Yeah, well, you were taking too long.”

He drops the sword; it falls to the floor with a resounding thud. You grimace. Satoru wraps his arms around you, melting into you as though drained of all his energy. You lean against him, as well. It’s not over yet—the First Commander is still alive, the king’s health is still failing, the heir is still unaware of his royal lineage, and the kingdom’s fate is uncertain.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, after Megumi weaves about in between your legs. “We might be able to catch a glimpse of the last bit of the lantern festival if we’re lucky.”

You pull back slightly, brows knit together in a frown. “Aren’t you tired? You should be resting!”

“Nah.” He grins. “What sort of man would I be if I brought you all the way to the capital and didn’t let you see your dream?”

“But—”

“Tomorrow. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You give in. How could you not?

The river glows with the reflections of a thousand golden lanterns, each one a drifting star against the darkened water. Somewhere beyond the riverbanks, the kingdom rejoices, but here—adrift in a tiny wooden boat, far removed from the noise and the world—it is quiet. It is just you and Satoru, bathed in the warm glow of floating light. You trace your fingers along the delicate paper lantern in your lap, the thin parchment almost translucent beneath your touch. Satoru watches you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Make a wish,” he tells you.

You let your lips turn upwards, closing your eyes. The lantern lifts into the air. It floats upwards, joining the sea of golden light that drifts towards the heavens. Beside you, Satoru releases his own, head tilted back to watch it rise, the glow reflected in the blue of his eyes. For a long while, you don’t speak. The world has never felt so hushed, so suspended in time. 

Then, he turns to you, the shimmer of the lanterns casting his face in soft gold. “I think,” he says, “I have a dream too.”

“Really? Tell me.”

He leans in instead, and his lips press against yours—warm, certain, like the promise of something endless. Overhead, the lanterns continue their slow, drifting ascent, rising higher, higher, until they are nothing but distant constellations in the dark.

It feels like stardust.

⇢ a/n: @mahowaga & @admiringlove, you both know who you are. thank you, as well, to kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic, giving me invaluable feedback, and letting me ramble about this fic to them; i appreciate you endlessly. and, of course, thank you, dear reader, for reading this behemoth of a fic :) i hope you have a wonderful day! sidenote: due to tumblr’s paragraph limit, several paragraphs that were written as separate word blocks had to be combined into one in order to make it fit in one post. to read it with the original formatting, as it was written in my google docs, ao3 would definitely offer you a better experience!

。SINCERELY, YOUR BAD INFLUENCE

━━ PAIRING: scaramouche/reader

━━ GENRE: fluff

━━ SUMMARY: the pile of bills waiting to be paid had exhaustion weighing over you like a feasting ghost. good thing that your dear lover was someone who's proven to be adept at fighting off your worries in more ways than one.

━━ CONTAINS: modern!au, established relationship, reader is an office worker, domestic fluff, crude language, scaramouche is implied to be a former member of a gang/mafia, conversational mentions of violence, lowercase intended

━━ VALENTINE’S 2022 EVENT SPECIAL (LATE POST)

EACH step was made with purpose, which is to say, each step was made with a murderous glint in his eyes as he confidently walked the streets leading back to his home. a sick sense of pleasure throbbed underneath his skin, expressed in the victorious smirk on his face as his eyes watched the passers-by avoid him without so much as a complaint. never mind the fact that he was wearing your oversized hoodie or the fact that he was barely cradling four bags filled with grocery items on his own, scaramouche was just as terrifying as he was back in his heyday.

a familiar ringtone broke the silence he kept as he walked and he groaned as he fumbled with his things before opening his messaging app. though, of course, you had to be blind to miss the way the mood around him shifted. gone was the murderous glint in his eyes as it was replaced with an exasperatedly tender gaze. had the strangers not witnessed the way scaramouche nearly bit their head off for staring just a few seconds earlier, they would've been confident to say that they passed by two different people who just looked scarily similar. still, between their own busy lives and the possibility of being involved in a petty fight should they breathe in the direction of a ticking time bomb, the people left him to his own devices — just as they should do.

"where are you?" the text read and scaramouche scoffed at the cold way those words reached him. then again, what was it that he was hoping for? a few heart emojis? a disgustingly, cute nickname? he could only grit his teeth as he feels heat pool in his cheeks. typing back a quick reply, he pocketed his phone before resuming his trek home. the faster he got there, the less the chance that he'll embarrass himself by simultaneously combusting in the middle of the road because of his straying thoughts.

at home, you groaned as you stretched, back aching from the sitting position you held for hours straight. it has been a while since you had the luxury of not having to go overtime at work and you figured that it would be nice to spend it with your grump of a lover who has "subtly" expressed his displeasure over the lack of attention you were giving him these past few weeks. to your surprise, he wasn't home and was in fact, fetching groceries when you were sure it was your turn to do so. lips twitching upwards fondly, you felt your heart clench in adoration. nothing beats acts of service when you're about to pass out from exhaustion.

as if on cue (and you wouldn't be surprised if scaramouche really had a sixth sense for when you're about to fall asleep without giving him so much as a glance), the door opened to reveal your lover whose frown worsened as he spots you from afar. moving closer, he eyed you up and down before squinting — a tell that he does right before he's about to ridicule you out of concern. something about his "you look like shit" actually means "are you okay?" in his prominent language of tough love. wanting to be spared the rudeness today, you beat him to it by giving him a sugary smile.

"welcome home, honey boo! how was your trip to the market?"

scaramouche froze, before a sharp glare was directed at your laidback position on the couch, "what did you just call me?"

"hm? what was that, honey boo?"

your typically collected, although also mostly feisty, lover grimaced but the adorable blush that colored the tips of his ears made him look softer than he actually was. it was difficult maintaining your composure when he was so easy to infuriate but this time, the laughter that bubbled deep from the depths of your core was something you didn't even bother hiding. instead, you helped him set the groceries on the coffee table before pulling him into you as you laid against the fluff of your throw pillows with a sigh.

"oi, let me go. i need to put the groceries away."

"later..." you groaned as you nuzzled your face deeper into his neck. an action that worsened the already vibrant hue on his cheeks, "didn't you say you wanted my attention last week, schnookums."

scaramouche jabs a finger at your waist, "shut up or i'm leaving."

you loved him and you love the act of teasing him even more but at the end of the day, you were a human who instinctively clung to the idea of preserving your life from ferocious, little people like your lover. deciding that you're going to live for at least another fifty peaceful years, you silently snuggle up to him. right, this was better... there was no need to tell him that the way his arms were firmly wound up around your waist — occasionally even tugging you closer — was enough to tell you that he had no intention of leaving the couch anytime soon.

from his position, he could hear the rhythm of your heart clearly and the way you would occasionally sigh in contentment. he's far from being religious and the colorful words he spouts on the daily are enough to have him excommunicated under multiple counts of heresy and blasphemy but if he were to be truly honest and vulnerable with himself for a change, this — you and him and silence, separated from the rest of the tumultuous world — is heaven. it's either that or heaven is nothing at all.

after all, what could paradise offer that could top the way your fingers ran through his hair, massaging the parts that hurt whenever something or, rather, someone, decides to give him a headache? your hand falls from his hair and to his back, tracing swirls and shapes down his spine and it took his all to not shiver as little zaps of electricity traveled with your touch. right... this has to be heaven, the only kind he'll believe and turn holy for. confident now that you won't see his face, scaramouche leaned up to brush his lips over the side of your neck — lightly, barely there but loving, all the same — before closing his eyes. the groceries could wait.

it was half past seven when he awoke once more and immediately, an irritated grumble left his lips at the notable lack of your presence. standing up with a low whine, scaramouche moved towards your home office knowing that that's the only place you'll be at this hour.

"what the hell are you doing?"

you hummed in reply, not shocked at the annoyed tone he was using with you when he purposely announced his irritation for the world to hear with each loud stomp he made on his way over to you, "there was an emergency at work. i just need to get this done quick."

"you're at home. stop slaving yourself for your shitty boss."

you don't respond, too busy typing an email for your colleagues and scaramouche didn't like the lack of response as before you know it, he had turned your swivel chair in his direction and flicked your forehead.

"ow! what—"

"you have thirty minutes to fix whatever it is that your incompetent co-workers fucked up. if you're not by the dining table by then, i'm throwing the router in the bin and knocking you out so you'll actually get a decent amount of sleep, you moron with shit for brains."

knowing that there was no room to argue with him, you nodded in defeat, something that made scaramouche snicker, "now, how hard was that?"

"ugh, romance is dead i swear..."

"tragic. happy valentine's, brat."

laughing at his jab, you went back to work with renewed motivation and aggression as you deleted a few lines from your email that came out sounding too polite. seriously, he and his gremlin attitude were rubbing onto you.

in the kitchen, scaramouche stared at the ingredients in front of him. he wasn't a bad cook per se, he just wasn't the best. cooking was usually left in his... acquaintance's hands. the annoying ginger head dropped by too often for his liking and when scaramouche told him off for lounging around his home when he brought nothing to the table, he began bringing tupperwares of food made by his mom instead of taking a hint and not coming over anymore. still, you were thoroughly amused and well-fed given the strange turn of events so he learned to take it in stride. the less work for either of you, the safer it was for the rest of the world.

staring at the vegetables in contempt, scaramouche huffed before scrolling through his contacts where at the top, your favorite fast food restaurant's delivery hotline was saved for all the times you found yourself craving something he can't possibly make. hesitating, scaramouche glanced at the vegetables again before giving up and dialing. while there's less romance now that he's proven incapable of making a proper homecooked meal that's not eggs and bacon, he knew that credit's still due as he recited your order, memorized through the heart and well, the number of times this situation has occurred.

so what if there's no candle-lit dinner, scaramouche argues as he continues to defend his choice fifteen minutes after he placed his order, at least you'll be eating something that isn't burnt today.

to his surprise, you finished five minutes before he expected you to and you were even pleased that he had ordered in instead of cooking. too much work you said, but scaramouche figured that you've just been watching too many romanticized sitcoms as of late. the rest of the night was a blur of doing your nightly routines side by side, no different from a regular day and frankly, he liked that. over the top, corporate benefiting actions were never his style anyway. what he did remember was that you had sloppily laid your body over his last night, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs as he was left to support your entire weight without any sort of warning. the high-pitched evil voice that reigned the insides of scaramouche's head urged him to push you off of him to return the utter lack of regard but one look at the dark circles under your eyes and he was sighing in defeat. how detestable... if he had known that he would keel over for someone so weak, he would've laughed and thrown a world-ending fit of rage earlier. you were neither great nor mighty but, good heavens, you seem to have a knack for making his blood boil. he knew that some people are born gentle and kind but you? you were overflowing with so much goodwill in your heart that you might as well adopt those annoying, little cherubs that are glowing and praising every single one of your self-sacrificial acts of kindness behind your back.

really, what was he thinking when he fell for a saint?

now conscious, scaramouche toyed with the idea of telling you off and guiding you back into his stellar path of becoming a grudge-holding menace of society. it's definitely not a concern for your well-being that's bringing this thought into mind. it's just... scaramouche sighed, before directing his gaze to the continuous pinging of your phone from far away. he should really give your overindulgent coworkers a piece of his mind. stopping in his tracks, a devious grin and manic look crossed over his face. something that was hurriedly removed as you let out a muffled whine, now also roused from sleep.

"wait... what's happening?"

scaramouche smiles and that was when you knew that something was awfully wrong, "good morning to you too."

shivering slightly, you reluctantly left the bed in favor of getting to work on time. if things went south because of him... well, you'll think about that later when it does occur.

noon approached much too swiftly and before long, it was your lunch break. you could skip lunch, you mused as you eyed the towering pile of papers you had to get through today but before you could begin working on another one, a small bag was placed in front of you haphazardly.

"...scara?"

"why are you looking at me like that with your blank eyes?!" he seethed as a soft pink brought color to his face again, "it's your break, right? there! i bought you lunch because i made too much!"

you doubted the legitimacy of his last statement but before you could tease him or thank him for that matter, he was already scurrying off. shaking your head, you opened the bag only to be greeted with a neon pink post-it with "stop sucking up to your scum of a boss and report him for passing his workload to you. it's not like i can't beat him up if things go wrong" written on it. stifling a laugh, you opened the container to be greeted with the leftovers from last night and freshly cooked eggs made exactly the way you like them.

that man, really... you giggled to yourself as you began typing a report to the hr.

each step was made with purpose, which is to say, each step was made with a murderous glint in his eyes as he confidently walked out of your office and back to his home. a sick sense of pleasure throbbed underneath his skin, expressed in the victorious smirk on his face as his eyes watched your hopeless colleagues avoid him without so much as a complaint. nevermind the fact that he was definitely acting like a househusband just as ajax teased him to be or that he's shorter than everyone he passed by, scaramouche was just as terrifying as he was back in his heyday and the scaramouche of back then is all too happy to be the monster that terrifies those who dare exploit what's his.

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after last night | dong sicheng

actor!sicheng x actress!reader (+18 mdni)

summary: acting alongside your rival was supposed to be just another one of the competitions you play out in your mind, but after a brief heated moment between the two of you, you began to question your true feelings toward him.

a/n: @winwintea..... i'm finally here, pookie.... im like, so so so so so sorry it took sooooo long for me to finally finish this. but i put a lot of love care blood sweat and tears on it, i hope you like it, if you dont, then ill disappear from earth and no one will ever see me again 😫

cw: smut, fluff, more of one-sided rivals to situationship, alcohol mention and consumption, fingering, edging, unprotected sex.

with a frustrated huff, you sank into the chair, allowing the makeup artist to work their magic. the studio was filled with an almost tangible tension, as everyone seemed to expect a blow-out fight between you and sicheng at any moment.

it’s been a constant issue since the start of filming this drama. working on the same project as your long-time rival sicheng has made every day stressful, the constant tension and friction have made filming the drama a more difficult and uncomfortable experience for everyone involved.

the undeniable chemistry between you and sicheng on camera despite the constant tension backstage has led to the difficulty of finding another pair to match your on-screen chemistry. as the main characters of the drama, the romantic aspect of the show requires a certain level of connection and synchronization that only you two seem to possess, as ironic as it may sound.

but today, the prolonged shoot further strained everyone on the set, not only due to the physical exhaustion, but also the weight of the tense atmosphere that loomed over everyone. the frustration and fatigue were palpable, and the constant back and forth between you and sicheng only added to the mounting pressure.

the problem was the dreaded kissing scene. despite everyone’s expectations, you and sicheng can’t do it — and unfortunately, you’re the only one to blame. every time the distance between your faces closes, you instinctively pull away, much to everyone’s frustration.

“um, excuse me,” the staff member poked her head into the dressing room and announced, "the director said it's getting late, and it would be best to continue tomorrow, so… everyone is dismissed for today,” she gave a small, apologetic smile before closing the door gently.

"of course this would happen," you mutter under your breath, trying to contain your frustration. you dismiss the makeup artist with a polite nod, then tilt your head back in irritation as you let out a heavy sigh.

“can you please calm down a little, boss?” your assistant, haneul, places a cup of hot chocolate in front of you and steps into your view, her voice gentle as she pleads with you.

you glare at her and snap, "don't ask me to calm down when i’m perfectly calm, haneul,” grabbing the drink, you take a big sip before continuing. "dong sicheng is such an idiot.”

haneul lets out a deep sigh, rolling her eyes at your response. "he might be an idiot, but you're not much better when you act like this all the time," she says, crossing her arms. "just suck it up, get the scene done, and then you can go back to hating each other."

her firm words cause you to flinch, and you allow your shoulders to drop, acknowledging her point. you're aware that you've been more irritating than usual lately, and her straightforward approach hits home.

you sigh, slumping into the chair and admit, "i know, i know. i'm sorry. i'm just in a really bad mood today. everything is going wrong, and sicheng... i just want to punch that annoying face of his so bad.”

haneul couldn't help but chuckle, her eyes crinkling in amusement as they watched you scrunch your face like you had just tasted something sour.

"you two should get a room," her tone was playful, yet there was an underlying suggestion in her voice that betrayed her mischievous thoughts.

"what?!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with disbelief and shock, you were offended even. the mere thought of having something like that with sicheng gave you the creeps.

haneul continued with a sly smile on her face, her tone now tinged with a hint of amusement, "i’m just saying," she began, "that we can all see the tension between you two. it's like you're just waiting for the moment to pounce on each other."

"is that your way of asking to be fired, huh?" your eyebrows raising slightly out of disbelief. "cut the nonsense – where the hell did you even get that idea?" you shook your head, dismissing the absurd thought, clearly annoyed by your friend's outlandish assumption.

haneul just laughed even more, enjoying the reaction from you. she had always assumed that deep down, you were only pretending to hate sicheng, because she could sense that there was secretly something more than just dislike. the imaginary game you played in your mind, of trying to outshine each other, was something she thought had made the actual attraction to him more intense.

"yeah, you can keep telling yourself that, boss," she placed her hands on your shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. "but your bad mood would improve a lot if you just let him hit it.”

haneul was caught off guard as you suddenly grabbed the pillow from your lap, not having enough time to react. she grunted as the pillow hit her face with a soft thud. she stumbled back, rubbing her face where the pillow made contact, failing to hide her giggle and act offended.

she was about to continue with her tease when the sound of the door opening interrupted her, as if a greater force was saving her from provoking your wrath even further.

"sorry to interrupt," sicheng's deep voice reached your ears, his gaze fixing on you with a small raise of his eyebrows. he was the last person you wanted to see. "are you free right now?"

“for you?”

“mhm.”

“then no.”

sicheng let out a deep sigh in response, already expecting this reply from you. your name came out of his lips with a different, pleading tone compared to the annoyed one he had used for you all day.

"i’m serious," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of sincerity. "we need to talk, please?"

you were usually a stubborn person, but perhaps today you were simply too drained and the memory of haneul's words from before suddenly echoed in your mind, reminding you that maybe making things difficult wasn't always the right way to go, you knew you had already caused enough trouble.

so with a reluctant sigh, you relented, “fine,” your tone slightly annoyed. “what is it?” you gestured for haneul to give you some space alone with him and she immediately made her way to the door, despite her curiosity about what you would talk.

sicheng moved closer, taking a seat in front of you. you expected him to bring up the topic of the messed-up records and give you his usual sweet and annoying words of reassurance, mentally prepared to roll your eyes and respond with snark.

"i've noticed how stressful it was for you today," he started, his tone sympathetic. "and since this is your first romantic role, i've been thinking about what i could do to make this process easier for you. then, i realized the solution was right in front of us.”

you raised an eyebrow skeptically, not liking where this was going.

“we just need to practice,” he smiled.

"you're saying we should practice... kissing?"

“exactly!”

“absolutely not.”

his smile faded away instantly.

he let out a slight whine, trying to persuade you to comply. "oh, come on," he pleaded, "don't be like that now.”

“i said no. this is so stupid, sicheng,” you crossed your arms, looking away from him.

“why are you making such a big deal out of this?" even though he already knew that acting like this was part of your nature, he still asked.

you felt overwhelmed at the thought of having to kiss him on set even more, let alone practicing it multiple times. it was already a challenge for you, and you were unsure if you could handle it.

you responded with a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay it. "i’m not making a big deal out of it," you said dismissively. "i just think this idea is stupid. that’s all."

"have you thought about something better then?" he asked, his tone tinged with a slight annoyance. “there's no way we can keep going with the show if you don't overcome this problem." his eyebrows furrowed as he continued, "you know we'll have to perform even more 'spicy' scenes in the future, right?”

ugh... of course you know. you were already starting to regret your stupid decision to accept a show for a mature audience just to compete with sicheng.

“and i fear they might replace you for this scene," he continued, his tone serious. "not that it's a problem per se, but i know you don't like stunts.”

his words made you flinch a little. it’s not that you dislike stunts themselves, you actually think they are pretty cool and that their work is impressive. you just don't like the idea of not seeming capable of doing your own work, and feeling inadequate when you know you're so skilled in it. it leaves you feeling disconcerting.

overwhelmed? unsure if you could handle it? regretting your role choice? replaced by a stunt double? bullshit! you were a top-notch actress, and a simple kiss wouldn't change that. you had the skills and confidence to tackle any role thrown your way.

sicheng knew he had struck a chord as he observed your expression. he knew well that bringing out your competitive side would effectively motivate you. the slight frown that appeared on your face, coupled with the defeated sigh and the rolled eyes, only confirmed his assumption that he had achieved his goal.

“okay, let's do that.”

hah.

he got you.

haneul couldn't resist making suggestive remarks toward you upon hearing that she could leave first because you had things to do with sicheng. it wasn't until you played the "threaten-her-paycheck" card that she finally decided it was time to head home.

now it was just you and sicheng in the studio. as you stood leaning against the table set for the scene, your eyes briefly skimmed over the script once more. you knew that it wasn't to ensure you did it right, but rather to prolong the inevitable moment of kissing him.

“are you done?” sicheng's voice cut through your thoughts, prompting you to lift your head and meet his gaze. he stood a short distance away, his arms crossed in a manner that signaled his patient but slightly impatient attitude.

as you cleared your throat, a subtle attempt to buy a little more time, you glanced back down at the script. "almost," you replied, keeping your gaze fixed on the paper. "i just need to read through it one more time."

but contrary to what you insisted on saying, sicheng wasn’t an idiot.

a flicker of surprise crossed your face as sicheng abruptly grabbed the papers from your hands and tossed them aside. the unexpected move caught you off guard, and before you could react, he had placed his hands on either side of the table, effectively cornering you.

“what are you doing?” your frown deepened as he leaned closer, his body nearly touching yours. the proximity making it difficult to ignore the rapid thuds of your heart and keep your feigned annoyance.

“you needed time," he said, "and i think i've given you enough."

"don't be an idiot," you scoffed. “we need to re—”

“we're not here to rehearse the lines," he interrupted you quickly. "we both know you can recite this backward by now."

you couldn't argue with sicheng's words, he was right; there wasn't a need to play the entire scene when you could easily jump straight to the main part.

you had been attempting to buy time, and sicheng had allowed you some grace in doing so. but he had finally reached a point where enough was enough. there was no escape now.

"alright," you responded with a confident gaze, your expression indicating a readiness to proceed. sicheng's brow twitched slightly at your response, a subtle sign that he was either surprised or intrigued by your sudden change.

his agreement followed swiftly:

"great."

“great.”

with those simple lines, the stage was set.

you were in the correct position, just as the script dictated. in this moment, the male lead had devised a plan to kiss the girl, saying that her wishes would only come true if she kissed him, and he had locked her in the exact position where sicheng was holding you now.

all it needed was the pivotal moment — the kiss.

sicheng's hand cupped your face once more, replicating the same intimate gesture as before. the familiar sensation of his thumb on your cheek triggered the erratic beating of your heart.

you reassured yourself, attributing the sudden rush to the invested nature of your role. easy now, easy, you thought, repeating the mantra in your mind. it was only natural for your heart to race in this moment due to the intimacy required by the character you were portraying — that’s all.

as he leaned even closer, your instinct to push him away resurfaced once more. yet, you resisted the urge, your hands tightly grasping the edge of the table instead.

sicheng's eyes roamed over your lips, and you caught yourself replicating the action unknowingly. those plump lips of his were undeniably inviting, and it was challenging to deny the magnetic attraction you felt.

his lips caressed yours gently and softly, their subtle touch sending a shiver down your spine. the script called for a quick, chaste kiss, and that's precisely what you received as his lips pressed against yours. it was a brief moment, but it was enough to make your legs tremble in response.

ok, first part done. now comes the rest.

with a swift, fluid motion, sicheng leaned in for a second kiss, his hands cupping your face as his thumb subtly guided your chin downwards. you felt your lips part instinctively, granting him access to explore the depths of your mouth with his warm, skilled tongue.

you know, there's no such thing as a "technical kiss" in acting.

you either kiss, or you kiss.

it has to be real.

that's why you were so reluctant before because, right now, only god knows how much you are enjoying this. and no matter how much you triy to deny it, the way your tongue move against his is proof enough.

you found your hands reaching out to grasp his shirt, pulling him closer as you responded to the kiss with a new sense of eagerness.

sicheng was surprised. this wasn't in the script at all. now it seemed like you were just... making out.

not that he's complaining. he likes it.

he very, very much likes it.

as if they had a life of their own, his hands found the hem of your shirt, playing with the cloth for a few moments before sliding them under your clothes. his fingers came into contact with your skin, caressing it gently and making you shiver slightly.

and then, walking a little further, his hand trailed down to the waistband of your pants, sneaking into your panties. the gasp that escaped your lips served as a jolt to your consciousness. quickly, you broke the kiss and grasped his wrist, preventing any further advancements from him.

you locked eyes with sicheng, both of you panting. his hooded eyes, slightly flushed face, and his swollen, reddened lips were a sight to behold.

sicheng's voice, soft and low, echoed softly, asking, "what?" just as he leaned in for another kiss. you almost, almost gave in, your lips yearning to meet his, but you fought the urge, tilting your head back to avoid it.

you pushed him away quickly, fixing your slightly disheveled clothing while attempting to regain composure. your voice trembled a little as you speak.

"i think we did pretty good already. it's getting late too." you hastily handed him the studio keys before adding, "um, thank you for the practice. you can close up. see you tomorrow!" with those words, you hurriedly made your way towards the exit.

things happened so fast that sicheng barely seemed to process what was going on.

"hold on, wait!" his voice rushed after you, trying to catch up. "calm down," he called out, his words coming out quickly. "you didn't come by car today, did you? let me drive you home, i just need to—”

"no! it's fine,” you shook your head adamantly, cutting him off. "i can catch a taxi. thanks anyway.”

and just like that, you left, running away like a cat while closing the door in sicheng's face. the man let his shoulders fall and sighed loudly as he looked at the closed door in front of him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“cute”.

you haven't slept a wink all night.

the scene from the previous night replaying in your mind along with haenul's damned words like a broken record.

no. you do not want to fuck dong sicheng.

this is what you've been repeating in your mind since the moment you got up from your bed until the entire drive to the studio.

he's a bad kisser.

he's terrible.

that was the worst kiss you've ever had.

learning how to kiss with an orange would be better than this.

that's what you repeated in your mind as he kissed you again, but this time in front of the cameras. and you still had to tell yourself that it was your character who was enjoying it, not you. you definitely don't want to take him to a secluded place and make out until your mouth are sore. no.

"and... cut!" the director's voice rang out, followed by a chorus of applause. everyone on set was thrilled with how effortlessly the scene had come together, a stark contrast to the tension-filled atmosphere that had enveloped it lately. the air was charged with positivity, making it clear that this was the best mood the set had experienced since the project's inception.

despite the apparent positive change in the atmosphere, it was clear that there was something... different going on, for lack of a better word, between you and sicheng.

suddenly, you weren't bickering anymore and were even being uncharacteristically polite, thanking and apologizing for the smallest minor matters, which wasn't like your usual self at all.

everyone noticed this, but decided to just accept it as a positive development in the co-workers' feelings between you. at least, it was better than all that tension from before.

as haenul handed you a bottle of water, her words echoed with admiration. "wow," she exclaimed, "that was like, the best kiss scene i’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“oh, really?” you laughed a little awkwardly, your eyes briefly darted towards sicheng, who stood on the opposite side of the room. as your gaze met his, you hastily averted your eyes, taking a sip of water.

"of course! this episode will be an absolute banger; everyone has been waiting for this!" she nodded fiercely and continued. "i've been checking the social media, and..." her words were met with your inattentiveness, as if your mind was preoccupied elsewhere. "and you're not listening to me!" she furrowed.

"oh, sorry about that," you shook your head, snapping back to attention. "i got distracted for a moment. you were saying…?”

haenul's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized you momentarily, following your gaze to where sicheng stood on the other side of the room.

"did you and sicheng finally hook up last night?"

you nearly choked on your water, coughing as you fumbled with the bottle in your hand. your assistant quickly patted your back, trying to help you recover.

once you were fine again, you glanced around nervously to check if anyone had overheard, then turned back to haenul with a sharp glare.

“can you stop blurting stuff like that?!” you hissed at her.

haenul gasped dramatically. “oh my god! you totally did it!”

“i did not!” you snapped, lightly smacking her arm.

“but something happened between you two!” she insisted, her voice dropping to a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear after the scolding. “you’re acting all weird around him. if it wasn’t sex, then what was it?”

“is that seriously the only reason you can think of?” you replied, your tone edged with disbelief. “when did you turn into such a pervert?”

“i mean, you were obviously kissing for real earlier, and now we’re finishing the day without your usual sulking. after spending the night alone with him, what else am i supposed to think?”

you frowned at her explanation. “well, maybe that we’ve become, i don’t know… friends?” haneul looked at you as if you’d just told her the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “pff. yeah, right. friends. sure,” she said, shaking her head.

before you could even attempt to explain that she was partially wrong, everyone’s attention shifted to the director as she clapped her hands to speak.

“since we’ve successfully wrapped up the first part of our series — thanks to everyone here in the studio who made it happen, especially our two stars,” she gestured toward you and sicheng, “doesn’t this call for a celebration? drinks on me for everyone!”

her words were met with cheers from the crew, and even you felt a sense of relief. a good dose of alcohol might help clear your mind, especially since you knew sicheng wasn’t exactly a fan of these kinds of social gatherings.

“we’re going, right, boss?” haneul asked, clasping her hands together in mock prayer. “please, please, it’s the weekend!”

“yes, haneul, we are,” you said, rolling your eyes with a chuckle. “but don’t overdo it, okay? i’m not in the mood to hear you sobbing your heart out while singing sad songs on karaoke again.”

“yes, boss! I’ll treat it like a work meeting,” she replied with a playful salute. “i’ll grab your things so we can head out!” she added enthusiastically before dashing out of sight.

you took a deep breath, relishing the brief moment of solitude. sometimes, it felt hard to breathe with haneul’s constant energy. she could be... intense. but the peace didn’t last long.

“i didn’t know you drink,” sicheng’s voice came from behind, making you turn to face him. “you used to hate the taste of alcohol.”

honestly, you were tired of seeing his face and hearing his voice more than usual. you didn’t like the way it made you feel, not after what happened. it was as if you were suddenly too aware of the strange, tangled emotions brewing inside you.

“well, a lot has changed since our younger days,” you shrugged, your voice casual. you didn’t feel like diving into it any further. “now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to socialize,” you said, turning on your heels, eager to escape the uncomfortable moment.

“i agree. let’s not keep them waiting,” he replied, his footsteps closing in behind you. you froze in your tracks, his sudden presence unsettling.

“you’re coming too?” you asked, confused.

“of course,” he said with a soft chuckle. “you heard the director, can't have the stars missing out."

“but… you don’t like social events,” you said, your tone almost questioning, as if you were trying to figure him out.

“well,” he said with a small smile, “a lot has changed since our younger days.”

it was awful.

you had been hoping for some space from sicheng, but it seemed like life had other plans. you tried to find a seat as far away from him as possible, but he followed, completely at ease, as if he had no intention of leaving your side. and of course, the table quickly filled up, leaving you both sitting side by side, while you anxiously awaited the drinks.

the mood at the table was light, everyone chatting away. haneul took a seat on the other side, eager to be closer to the staff she was interested in, which meant you wouldn’t be on her radar for a while.

you turned your attention to sicheng as he exchanged a few words with the director, and suddenly, it hit you: why were you freaking out about him? it was just a kiss. a brief, heated moment between two adults that didn’t mean a thing. there was no reason for you to keep acting so weird about it all day. after all, he was still sicheng, your rival. you just happened to kiss him.

sure, a few other things almost happened, too, but... it didn’t mean anything. you were just practicing, after all. yeah. you weren’t affected by it. not even a little. mhm.

you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you made these sharp observations, feeling a bit more at ease.

“why are you looking at me like that?” sicheng raised an eyebrow, noticing the way you were smiling at him, as if you were staring at someone who’d just failed a basic math test.

“nothing, it’s just too much for your mind to handle,” you waved your hand dismissively, taking a sip of your drink that had just arrived. your words, along with the casual shrug, made him smile and shake his head.

“oh, i’m actually curious about something,” one of the co-actors began, snapping his fingers at you and the man beside you. “do you two really know each other from high school?"

sicheng’s face lit up at the question, clearly happy. then he looked at you, who wasn’t exactly sharing his enthusiasm, and his smile grew even wider. “yes! yes, we do. we were inseparable back then.”

you furrowed your brows at his words. “you mean you followed me around.”

“isn’t that basically the same thing?”

“it’s not."

“anyways,” he shrugged, “it was because of her that I started to get into theater.”

“and i’ve been regretting that ever since,” you added with a smirk.

a few giggles spread through the table at your playful banter, the lighthearted atmosphere catching everyone off guard. it was clear they were starting to see you both in a new light.

“so, all this time you were actually friends? and here we thought you didn’t get along when it’s just your way of showing friendship,” one colleague commented, raising a curious eyebrow.

“no, that’s not—”

“right? that explains why they have such great chemistry!” another colleague cut you off. “i mean, the kiss scene? that must’ve been awkward with a friend, but it probably makes it easier too, doesn’t it?”

“oh, it’s not that,” sicheng began. “it’s because last night we—”

a loud thud echoed as sicheng’s knee slammed into the table, his words cut off mid-sentence. he turned to you, confused, after you had stomped on his foot under the table.

“oops, how clumsy of me,” you said with a saccharine smile, your voice light but your eyes burning into his. “sorry about that.”

he blinked, clearly perplexed, but nodded slowly and turned back to the group. “anyway, as i was saying, we had a—”

this time, you pressed your heel down on his foot with deliberate force. he hissed in pain, snapping his head back toward you. but you didn’t even flinch, your gaze fixed ahead as if you were entirely innocent.

he narrowed his eyes slightly, then leaned closer, sliding a hand onto your thigh. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you from trying anything else. the sudden contact made you tense, and your head snapped toward him, your wide, confused eyes locking with his.

“we just had a little talk and came to an agreement,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and convincing.

“oh, that makes sense,” one of your colleagues hummed, nodding as if it all clicked. “that’s why everything worked out so well in the end. you should have done it since the beginning tho!”

sicheng’s words were deliberate, as if he’d sensed your discomfort from the start and had chosen his lie to protect the fragile truth you wanted to hide. but you couldn’t even focus on what he was saying anymore.

your mind was too preoccupied with his hand placement. his thumb was now tracing slow, deliberate circles on your thigh, hidden under the table. your stomach tightened at the warmth spreading through you, that annoying, fluttery feeling you wished you could suppress.

without a word, you picked up your drink and took a long, steady sip, as if the alcohol could somehow cool the heat in your chest.

god, this was going to be a long night.

oh, you were right.

after managing to wrangle sicheng into the passenger seat of your car, you slammed the door shut and made your way to the driver’s side.

sliding into your seat, you shot him an annoyed look, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

driving a drunk sicheng home was definitely not part of your plans for the night. but somehow, the crew had unanimously decided to throw him at you because, apparently, the two of you were now best friends. all because you shared some ancient history, and probably because he’d grown unusually clingy after a few too many drinks.

you tried to refuse, insisted that you didn’t want to be responsible for him, but they’d waved you off with the ultimate argument: you were the only one who knew his address.

fantastic.

“you stupid idiot,” you hissed, leaning over to fasten his seatbelt. “if you can’t handle alcohol, why did you even come?”

his eyes, half-closed and heavy with sleep, fluttered open as he turned his head toward you. “because you were coming too,” he slurred, his voice barely above a whisper. “i wanted to be with you.”

you froze, his words catching you completely off guard. your surprised gaze met his drunken one, and you hated how fast your heart was racing. this was absurd.

a small, lazy smile tugged at his lips as he murmured your name, so soft it almost sounded tender.

“you’re so pretty,” he mumbled, his head lolling slightly as he leaned closer. “i want to kiss you.”

to say you were malfunctioning from all this sudden talk was an understatement. the way he said it — soft, unguarded — made it far too tempting to close the small gap between you. for a split second, you almost gave in again. almost.

but with a sharp shake of your head, you snapped yourself out of it. instead of letting your lips meet his, you shoved your hand against his mouth and pushed him back firmly.

“as if i’d do something like that,” you scoffed, leaning back into your seat and starting the car.

from the corner of your eye, you caught the way he pouted, looking like a sulky child.

“you’re always so mean to me,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but unmistakably petulant.

“it’s your fault for being like that,” you shot back, your eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. “now shut up. i can’t focus on driving with your annoying voice in my head.”

“yes, ma’am,” he murmured softly, his tone almost obedient. he didn’t even try to argue, instead leaning back against the seat and drifting off to sleep. the car fell into silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the erratic pounding of your heart.

“god, i must be crazy,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as if it could steady your own thoughts.

the peaceful silence during the drive to his house was doing wonders to calm your racing thoughts and your heart. you kept repeating to yourself that he was just drunk, that his words didn’t mean anything. even you, who hadn’t had much to drink, were clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol.

that was the only explanation you could cling to, the only thing that brought you any comfort in the moment.

a relieved sigh escaped your lips as you parked in front of his apartment. the street was quiet, the dim glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows over the building. turning to him, you called out in a firm, loud voice.

“we’re here. wake up.”

no reaction. not even a flinch.

“sicheng,” you tried again, leaning over to tap his shoulder. still nothing.

“come on,” you grumbled, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a light shake. “wake up!”

absolutely no response.

with a growing sense of irritation, you grabbed both of his shoulders and shook him with all the frustration of someone at the end of their rope. “WAKE UP!”

but it was pointless. he remained blissfully asleep, the alcohol rendering him completely oblivious. you let out a defeated sigh, releasing him as he slumped back into his seat, and pinched the bridge of your nose.

this night just kept getting better.

you couldn’t just leave him passed out on the street — though you seriously considered the idea for a good few seconds. but, in the end, you had no choice but to do something you absolutely didn’t want to do.

“dong sicheng, you better be ready for your death sentence tomorrow,” you muttered through gritted teeth, adjusting his limp body onto your back. he was surprisingly heavy, and you were giving it everything you had to carry him while he, of course, enjoyed the sleep of his life, his soft breaths tickling the back of your neck.

staggering inside the building as quickly as you could, you headed straight for the elevator. you only knew exactly where he lived because, back when you were hunting for a new apartment, you’d toured this building. of course, you’d had the misfortune of running into him that day. sicheng had happily joined your tour, turning it into his personal showcase of his apartment. at least it made it easy to cross this building off your list.

reaching the elevator, you pressed the button, only to stop cold when you noticed the maintenance notice taped to the door.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, staring at the sign like it might change its mind.

sicheng lived on the 11th floor.

this was going to be a nightmare.

to sum up the nigh, believe it or not, you actually climbed the stairs to the 11th floor with sicheng slumped over your back. every step felt like a herculean effort, but you kept telling yourself this was the fastest way to be rid of him.

when you finally reached his door, breathless and drenched in sweat, life decided to have one last laugh at your expense. a keypad lock blinked back at you mockingly.

you stared at it, utterly defeated.

after a moment of recovery, you tried every password you could think of: his birthday, his acting debut date, his mom’s birthday, even your birthday. nothing worked. each failed attempt pushed you closer to a breakdown.

which is how you ended up here: sicheng sprawled out comfortably on your bed, snoring softly, while you stood there, glaring at him with the fury of someone who had well and truly hit their limit.

getting mad wouldn’t do you any good right now. it wasn’t like you could argue with someone who was completely knocked out. all you could do was accept the situation and leave it for the morning, when he’d hopefully be conscious enough to face the consequences.

taking a deep, calming breath, you laid down beside him. there was no way you were sleeping on the couch. too uncomfortable. and besides, the only reason he was in your bed to begin with was because the living room felt like it was miles away, and you absolutely refused to carry him any farther than you already had.

so here you were, stuck sharing a bed with dong sicheng.

“unbelievable,” you muttered, turning your back to him as if that would help you ignore the fact that he was there at all.

but it didn't take long for you to turn to look him, letting your eyes linger on his sleeping face. his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and his hair fell messily across his forehead, brushing against his soft features. you had to admit, he was ridiculously handsome. there was a princely air about him, something in the elegance of his delicate features that always seemed to catch your attention no matter how hard you tried to look away.

your gaze wandered, tracing the curve of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint lashes resting against his cheek. and then your eyes stopped on his lips, plump, rosy, and slightly parted.

you swallowed hard.

okay. maybe you wanted to kiss him again.

and maybe, just maybe, you could finally admit that the kiss had affected you far more than you’d been willing to let yourself believe.

your gaze drifted lower, trailing down the curve of his neck. the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, teasing you with a glimpse of his collarbone and the faint rise and fall of his chest. your eyes wandered further, catching on his hands, broad and elegant, resting lazily by his side.

your brows furrowed slightly as your mind betrayed you, flashing back to the feeling of those hands on your skin.

okay. maybe you wanted to fuck him too.

you quickly looked away, dragging a hand over your face before resting your arm across your eyes, as if that would block out the whirlwind of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

“god,” you muttered under your breath, “i must really be losing it.”

the shrill sound of your phone alarm jolted you awake, your face twisting in irritation as you blindly slapped around the bed. after a few failed attempts, your hand finally found the device buried under your pillow, and you silenced it with a hiss.

groaning, you kept your eyes shut and your head buried in the mattress, hoping to reclaim the comfort of sleep, but it was useless. letting out a defeated sigh, you blinked your eyes open and... froze.

the bed was empty.

you shot upright, the sudden absence snapping you fully awake. your eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of life. nothing. quickly, you got up and began pacing through your house.

sicheng was gone.

“you stupid bastard,” you hissed, gritting your teeth as a wave of disbelief hit you. “i even carried his dead weight all night for him to leave without so much as a thank you?!” your fists clenched as you let out an incredulous scoff. “dong sicheng, you are so damned.”

a small, frustrated scream left your lips as you stomped toward the bathroom. a nice, scalding shower, it was the only thing that could save both your sanity and sicheng's life at this point.

but, contrary to what you imagined, the bath only cleared your mind enough to make you even more irritated with the situation. it was an affront, an insult! you were going to make sicheng pay for this humiliation! a great outrage! you could already see your hands wrapped around his neck and—

a knock on the door cut through your murderous thoughts. taking a deep breath, you walked over to open it, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of the man you’d been cursing standing there with that infuriating smile.

freshly dressed and looking nothing like the disaster he’d been before, sicheng radiated ease. but you couldn’t care less about his annoyingly perfect face right now.

“i’m gonna kill you with my own two hands, so get ready,” you growled, stalking closer with your fingers curled as if ready to strangle him.

“hey, hey, calm down,” he said, laughing softly as he caught your wrists in his hands, his touch warm and steady. his smile grew wider, completely unfazed by your murderous intent.

"are you seriously asking me to calm down?" you snapped, attempting to push forward again, but he held your wrists tighter, his grip firm yet gentle.

"i know you're mad," he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your wrist. the warmth of his lips brushing your skin sent a jolt through you, your resolve faltering. disoriented, you found yourself staring at him, momentarily forgetting why you were even angry. "and i'm here to apologize, of course," he added, his tone dripping with sincerity, though that playful glint in his eyes made you suspicious.

"i climbed up and down eleven floors with you on my back," you managed to say, your voice carrying a hint of annoyance despite your disoriented state. his surprised expression told you everything: he didn’t remember half of what happened last night. "an 'i'm sorry' isn't enough to save your ass."

"i know," he nodded, resisting the urge to ask for a full recap. "which is why i already reserved a table for us at your favorite restaurant."

"what?" you blinked, confused. "how do you even know what my favorite restaurant is?"

"because i’m interested in you," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "any other reason would just be an excuse, don’t you think?"

your jaw nearly dropped. this was exactly what you liked and hated about him: he was always unapologetically sincere.

you stood there, at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond. but he, of course, didn't miss a beat and took your silence as an answer.

“then it’s settled!” he said with that all-too-confident smile. “let’s go.”

and once again, your silly heart betrayed you, too caught up in the moment to resist.

the place was near your house. it wasn’t anything extravagant, but it had its own charm. cozy, inviting, warm, it felt almost like a safe haven for you. a perfect find for your new place, tucked away from prying eyes.

“and that’s everything you put me through,” you finished recounting the events of last night to him, carefully omitting a few details, like the part where he said he wanted to kiss you or when you accidentally knocked his head on the door frame while trying to get him into your bedroom.

sicheng’s face turned a deep shade of red as he fanned himself with one hand, the other clutching his glass of water. he avoided your gaze for a moment, clearly embarrassed, before stealing a quick sip.

he only remembered bits and pieces of last night, but from what you described, it was worse than he had imagined. guilt settled heavily on his shoulders as he listened.

“i’m really so sorry,” he said, his voice soft and genuine, his wide, puppy-like eyes locking onto yours. “i’m not usually like this. i overdid it yesterday, and i caused you so much trouble. i’m sorry.”

you finished your meal, casually listening to his concerned words. honestly, seeing that guilty, almost childlike expression on his face was oddly satisfying. if you were being fair, dealing with him drunk wasn’t that bad, he was mostly well-behaved. but it was part of your nature to make a big deal out of things, especially when it came to him. besides, a free lunch at your favorite spot had done wonders to smooth over your irritation.

“you’re lucky i’m a very nice person,” you said, shrugging with a mock air of superiority. “i’ll accept all that and forgive you… this time.”

his shoulders relaxed, the tension visibly draining from his body. since the moment he woke up and found you sleeping soundly against his chest, he knew he had messed up. the guilt had weighed heavily on him, and he’d spent the entire morning running through a million different ways to make it up to you. seeing you willing to forgive him so easily was a relief he hadn’t expected.

“thank you,” he said softly, his gaze warm and sincere. “i promise i’ll be more careful next time.”

you raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing. “next time? you think there’s gonna be a next time?”

he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “okay, bad choice of words.”

you chuckled at his words, resting your chin on your palm as you leaned closer, a curious glint in your eyes.

“by the way,” you began casually, “you said a couple of funny things last night too.”

“hmm, really?” he raised his brows slightly, feigning ignorance while signaling the waiter for a dessert. “like what?”

“like going to the meeting just because i was going,” you replied, narrowing your eyes slightly, testing if his drunk words held any truth.

“oh, yeah,” he nodded nonchalantly, turning his attention back to you. “i heard you mention it, so i thought it’d be fun to tag along.”

“saying you're interested in me all of a sudden, still following me around like a lost puppy…” you trailed off, lips curling into a faint smirk. “do you have a crush on me or something?”

“what do you think?” he shot back, mimicking your posture as he leaned in, resting his chin on his palm, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“you know it’s stupid to answer a question with another question, right?” you gave him a bored look, but your tone was far from serious. “but if you do like me, i can only assume you’re a masochist.”

his laughter bubbled up before he could stop it, bright and genuine “what? i’m not a masochist! where is that coming from?”

“well, I’m not exactly nice to you,” you shrugged, feigning indifference. “like, I kinda hate you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“you do not hate me.”

“yes, i do?”

“no, you don’t.”

“yes, i do.”

“do you kiss everyone you hate?”

your smugness evaporated in an instant, replaced by embarrassment. “shut up,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair, refusing to meet his eyes as he grinned victoriously.

“now that this came up,” he tilted his head, studying you intently, “we never really talked about that, did we? you’ve been avoiding it all day, then i had that little… drunken incident, and we just never addressed it.”

“well, that’s because there’s nothing to talk about,” you shrugged, doing your best to sound casual and unaffected, even as your grip tightened slightly on your glass.

“hmm, is that so?” he clicked his tongue, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his tone turned teasing. “going through all that trouble to get me home safe, kissing me, sleeping all cuddled up on me… you know, i’m starting to think you’re the one who likes me.”

your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “excuse me?”

“oh, don’t look so shocked,” he chuckled, leaning forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand again. “i mean, actions speak louder than words, don’t they? and your actions…” he trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air as his grin widened.

“first of all, and most importantly, i did not sleep cuddling you,” you said, your tone sharp as if he’d just told you the worst joke of the century.

“oh? but you did,” he replied smoothly, nodding with absolute confidence. “when i woke up, you were hugging me like i was your favorite teddy bear or something.”

“i would never—”

“oh, our dessert, finally!” he interrupted, his face lighting up as the waiter placed the sweet tart on the table. “it looks delicious,” he added, completely shifting gears, as if your denial wasn’t the least bit convincing.

“are you seriously gonna end things like that?” you asked, disbelief heavy in your voice.

“here, say ‘aah,’” he said, raising a spoonful of pie toward your mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“i'm not doing it.”

“say aah.”

“i said i'm not.”

he didn’t budge, just kept looking at you with that infuriatingly cute and bright smile that you couldn’t seem to resist. with an exasperated sigh, you crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, turning your head away. but, of course, you leaned in slightly, opening your mouth just enough for him to slide the spoon past your lips.

your frown quickly softened into an expression of pure delight as the flavors burst on your tongue. the bittersweet tang of the strawberry, the velvety richness of the custard, and the flaky crust of the tart all mingled perfectly. you couldn’t help but sigh and hum in satisfaction. it was that good.

“now that’s a great reaction,” sicheng said, amusement dancing in his voice.

you raised a brow at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“besides the faces you make when you’re acting, this has to be one of the most charming expressions i’ve ever seen you make. and those little sounds you’re making? delightful,” he added with a teasing grin.

you nearly choked. “what is wrong with you?”

“i’m just being honest,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. “i want to see it again,” he said, holding out the spoon toward you. “open your mouth for me.”

“…no.”

“oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “do you really not want to?”

you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were the one with something wrong, because before you even realized it, you silently opened your mouth again, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

“hmm, so greedy.”

“by the way,” you glanced at him, who was walking beside you as you both made your way to your place. “why did you go home so early?”

“why? were you upset that my face wasn’t the first thing you saw in the morning?”

“forget i ever asked anything and just die for all i care.”

sicheng laughed at your annoyed expression. “it’s nothing much,” he shrugged. “i just couldn’t take you on a date smelling like alcohol, right? i wanted to apologize in nice clothes, at least.”

“this was not a date,” you said quickly, hoping to shut him down.

“yes, it was.”

“don’t even start,” you lifted a hand to stop him from going any further, making him laugh once again.

“here we are, safe and sound,” he said as you both stopped in front of your door.

you cursed yourself when you suddenly felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of the moment with him coming to an end. you wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with him, to be honest…

“finally, this infernal time beside you is over,” your words were at odds with your feelings as you looked at him.

“whatever you say, sweetie,” he responded with a fond smile.

it should be illegal for someone to look at you like that, your chest tightening at the soft, affectionate smile he gave you. you hated it. hated how his gaze made everything inside you stir, how it made your heart skip a beat against your will. you wanted to be angry, to push him away, but all you could do was stand there, feeling something you didn’t want to feel.

“you’ll burn a hole into me if you keep staring like that,” he teased, tilting his chin slightly as if silently telling you to come inside, and only then would he head home.

you couldn’t quite understand what had gotten into you when you cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. you just wanted to feel his lips again, even if just for a moment, just one more time, that would be enough.

sicheng was caught off guard, but didn’t pull away, letting you lead. you froze, eyes wide, your gaze meeting his.

“i-i’m sorry,” you muttered, suddenly feeling foolish. why had you kissed him just like that?

as you tried to step back, his hands locked around you, holding you steady. he gripped your waist, his eyes burning with desire.

“if you cling to me like this, all i can do is kiss you,” his voice was low, soft. “and that’s fine… if all you want is kisses,” he gave you a meaningful look.

if only kisses were enough to throw your mind and body into disarray… maybe you were greedy, as he’d said, but you weren’t satisfied.

“i want more…” you whispered, barely audible.

that was all he needed to hear before pulling you into another kiss, his tongue urgently invading your mouth as you responded with equal intensity.

you fumbled with the door handle, trying to opem it, while sicheng pushed you inside, never breaking the kiss. he closed the door behind you, his hands guiding you toward your room without hesitation, already knowing the way.

you both nearly stumbled as you hurriedly kicked off your shoes, chuckling against each other's lips. With a quick movement, sicheng laid you down on your bed, his lips trailing kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. his hands slipped under your shirt, gently caressing your skin.

"i can't believe we're doing this," you murmured, a soft whimper escaping you.

“i told you," he mumbled back, his lips sucking lightly on your skin, peppering the area with soft kisses to soothe you. “you like me.”

well, it's not like you're in any position to argue right now.

he wasted no time in pulling your shirt over your head, exposing your bare torso. “fuck, you're so hot,” he hissed, sucking on his bottom lip as he couldn't help but admire the sight of your hardened nipples, feeling his cock twitch inside his pants.

“stop staring and do something,” your needy voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he was quick to obey your words.

sicheng leaned down to wrap his lips around your breast, his warm, wet tongue swirling around your nipples and sucking hard. your toes curled at the sensation and you moaned softly as you closed your eyes, your fingers tangling in his hair.

as he continued his ministrations on your breasts, his hands found the waistband of your pants. you lifted your hips a little to help him pull them down along your lacy panties, kicking them to somewhere else.

you opened your eyes to look at him, feeling even wetter as you watched him sucking on your tits like he was having a feast. you held his face and made him release your breast, a soft 'pop' sound was heard as he pulled away, looking at you with half lidded eyes.

you shiver slightly as you feel the cool breeze hit your wet breasts, already missing the feeling of his warm tongue on you, but you really wanted to kiss him even more and that's exactly what you did as you pulled him up to attack his lips.

“you taste so good,” he groaned into your mouth, his hand caressing your inner thigh and squeezing it lightly to emphasize his words. his fingers moved up to find yoyr dripping pussy, sliding along your slit and coating his fingers with your juices. “so wet already, you were really waiting for this, huh?” he buried his face in your neck, smoothing your skin with kisses.

it was too embarrassing to admit it and it wasn't like you needed to since your body had been betraying you enough for quite some time now, so all you could do was move your hips down, trying to get his fingers inside you.

“oh, eager, aren’t we?” he teased, lifting his head to meet your gaze, his smirk growing as he noticed the way you bit your lip, your brows furrowed, and your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“please, don’t start teasing now,” you murmured, your voice soft but edged with a hint of urgency. you held back from saying anything too daring, not wanting to give him more fuel to prolong his playful torment.

he only chuckled softly, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek before capturing your lips again. this time, he didn’t hold back, finally giving you what you wanted.

a sharp intake of breath escaped your lips as he slid two fingers inside you, thrusting them steadily. he could feel your tight, warm heat clasping around his digits, letting him even more anxious to bury his cock deep inside you.

he began to rub soft circles on your clit with his thumb as he took your breast into his mouth again, the combined actions making you squirm beneath him and moan louder.

he curled and scissored his fingers inside you, soon feeling the way you clenched around them. "close already?" he asked as he raised his eyebrows, and your response was just a fierce nod followed by soft whimpers.

your confirmation made him withdraw his fingers and you whined almost in despair, feeling empty and unsatisfied as he wouldn't let you finish.

"calm down, princess," he lightly slapped your thigh. "i want you to cum on my cock, hm?" he kissed the tip of your nose as he finally got rid of his own clothes and quickly positioned himself between your legs. he collected some of your fluids to spread along his shaft, hard as a rock, twitching with need. "i'm gonna fill this pussy up so good,” he was as impatient as you, so he only teased your entrace with his tip and entered you slowly, grinding against your sensitive clit.

your hands gripped the sheets tightly as you felt him stretching you, filling up any remaining space in your pussy, while he groaned and closed his eyes, enjoying the way your pussy gripped him tightly as if it never wanted to let him go.

"god, you feel so good," he began to thrust his hips against your pelvis slowly, he could feel your tight heat enveloping him, pulling him deeper. one of his hands gripped your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you. "that's it, taking me so well," he encouraged, his pace slow and steady, letting you feel every inch of him.

he’s played with you a lot already, so it didn’t take long for you to feel your climax building again, and he seemed to notice it as he picked up the pace, leaning down to bury his face in your neck.

“cum for me, baby,” he bites you gently and pull away from your neck to watch your face, using his fingers to pinch your clit and bring you to the edge. wrapping your legs around his waist, your breath hitched in your throat as you clenched around him, feeling the knot in your stomach unravel as you creamed his cock.

he wasn’t that far behind you, the whole intense moment was enough to bring him to the edge too, he kept pounding into you and pulled out just in time to empty himself, covering your stomach with his release.

you looked so hot like that that he had to hold back the urge to bury himself inside you again immediately. he let a bit more of his weight press against you, his lips finding yours once more in a lingering kiss.

"okay," you murmured against his lips, slightly breathless, making him chuckle softly. "maybe I like you... just a little bit now."

"just a little?" he teased, nibbling your lower lip with a playful smirk. "didn't seem like 'just a little' to me."

you tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "i think we need to try it all over again so i can decide for sure.”

Title: 13 Stepbrothers; Your new home

Character(s): Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya, Ayato, Albedo, Childe/Tartaglia, Thoma, Venti, Xiao, Kazuha, Arataki Itto, Chongyun, Bennett

Summary: Modern au; You were young when your father was planning on remarrying again. Your father is always busy always outside the country for work that his fiance said that you could stay at the teyvat residence, and live with 13 of your future stepbrothers!

Note: Inspired by the anime Brother's conflict (kinda?), but I just wanted to write for something platonic really so this happened.

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, the reader is around 6 years old here, this is purely platonic, this is also a crack story and not to be taken seriously. not the best relationship between daughter and father hinted, but other than that it is pure fluff! Over 8k

How It Happened

You clung to your father as he pushed you to the people he trusts to take care of you while he would be gone with his fiance abroad overseas. You were a small child, 6 years old and scared as you were in the center of strangers who will soon be your stepbrothers. You weren't sure what to do but hold on to your father's hand refusing to let go as your soon to be stepmother laughed at how adorable you were.

You looked down, a bit scared but at the same time a bit excited that you will now have a bigger family.

You have always been alone ever since you were probably born, your mother and father both had you at a late age and when your mother gave birth to you she passed away a few hours later. Your father loved you, truly he did! But he can't look at you in the face as you only reminded him of your mother so he started to pour everything into his work leaving only a little time with you. He would leave you to a nanny almost every day and when he had to leave the country for a few days or months for work he would give you to his relatives.

He was a rich man and he gave you almost everything, you never really lacked most things. If you told him that you wanted a toy it would be in your hands the next day, yet the only thing that he could never give was his time. Too busy, instead he would just apologize to you kissing the crown of your head as he tells you that he could next time, and yet when you asked again it was the same thing.

You finally understood that he didn't really have time for you, instead, you would just hug that pink bunny that he has gifted to you a long time ago. One that he picked by himself one that you didn't ask for, but cherished because it was proof to you that he loves you.

You would watch other kids talk to their parents, as they spent time together. Cartoons and animations that showed hugs that the main character and their parents would have, you would crave it. But there was also another thing that you wanted, a sibling…

Someone to be around, right by your side. It didn't matter if they were younger or older than you. You would prefer if you could have multiple siblings so you would be less alone so when you asked your father for a sibling, you didn't get an answer and that was the end of that...

So it was a surprise when he suddenly asked you if you were okay with him getting married again? Were you supposed to yell at him telling him how he betrayed mom or how he is going to abandon you? You watched a few dramas and movies where a child would react that way when they heard the news that one of their parents where marrying again.

But you don't remember your mom, having no memories of her. You wondered if he would abandon you but when he suddenly told you how the person he wishes to marry has 13 sons, your eyes immediately glittered. You wanted a family of more than two, you wanted siblings, people with who you could be with and not feel the gap when you were with a nanny or babysitter or how you would at your cousins enviously when they talk to their parents.

So hesitantly you nodded watching your father sigh in relief that you were okay with him marrying again. And after two or three months your father told you to pack up cause you are moving from the flat you lived in.

You asked him in the car after you and he packed your necessities, clothes, your favorite toys and such where you guys were going did he tell you that you are gonna now live with your soon to be stepbrother. Your father had finally confessed to the person he wished to marry and now the both of them were wearing their engagement rings you noticed the thin piece of metal on your father's ring finger as he drove making a turn.

He told you that when she heard that you were living almost practically alone she grew mad at him and burst into anger and told him that you should at least then stay with her son in the teyvat residence where it was a big modern mansion like flat with a connected living room and kitchen. Four floors where the first and second floor is used for rent while the upper floors were for the family.

You would have your own room and bathroom. But you will also get 13 brothers who you care about you more than a nanny would or so your father's fiance said. Your father's fiance expressed feelings feeling of concern that it would be awkward between you and her sons as not only was everything sudden, some of them were actually old enough to be your father. So really what she also wanted was time for you to get used to your new and very big family.

Your father has met her sons a few times in the past and thought that it would not be a bad idea and agreed to bring you to the residence.

So here you are now. In front of your future stepbrothers, not all of them were here only a few but it was scary as you continued to cling to your pink bunny rabbit...

Zhongli

Lawyer | Age: 30

The oldest in the family, he is the leader as his mother would always be out of the country for some business and now more on travels. Zhongli is the one who gathers the family when their an event and keeps them up to date. The brother all trust their brother except when something is needed to be paid. That one, they would handle as they all know that he always forgets to bring his wallet with him.

He was used to his family, the ruckus and their personalities. He was the one who watched most of them grow up and become adults, he is always busy but he always makes time for his family. But still, it was rather sudden for him when he was told that he would have a young sister soon, as the family has been all men for the longest time. He wasn't sure if he could take care of you at first as he only took care of boys and all, but when his mother told him how you were almost always alone at home he was a bit reluctant to say no.

Zhongli was told to ready a room on the 3rd floor near the living room before you arrived so he wasn't surprised when he saw you with your father and with a few pieces of luggage right beside your dad that seemed to belong to you as your dad told him that he would be leaving you in his care.

“Hello, my name is Zhongli.”

Zhongli was a busy man but when he couldn't take care of you he would make sure to ask a brother to watch over you. But when he could, he would work at home in the living room as you stayed beside him doing your homework, drawing or watching tv. He liked you, but he wasn't really attached to you unlike his other brother, Zhongli just chalked it up to time. He needed to spend time with you to actually look at you as a little sister.

So one day when he had time to pick you up and not ask his other brother to pick you up due to his usually busy schedule, he was surprised when you handed him a paper with a drawing of him and his brothers. It was badly drawn, with just circles and squares for a body and with uneven eyes and red smiles. But it was warm and he knew that you spent a lot of time on the drawing. Thanking you he noticed that you didn't draw yourself on the drawing and when he asked you you just awkwardly looked away.

Unable to ignore this, that day when the two of you got back to the residence he sat you down in the living room on the table with crayons and color pencils. Giving you a blank paper he told you to draw on it and that was your homework from him. You were reluctant at first but you did what he said and when you were done he took the drawing inspecting it. It felt almost like a test when he finally nodded at your work but it took you by surprise when he started cutting around your drawing.

So when you saw him gluing the picture of you and pasting it right in the middle of your drawing of him and his brothers, you didn't know how to react. But that day you were in his arms as you cried on his shoulders. You don't know why you cried, but that day was the day Zhongli finally thought of you as family.

It is still hanging on the fridge.

__________

Diluc

Has his own wine company | Age: 28

Second oldest, he lives outside the residence in his own house. He would occasionally visit, home. But he isn't really the closest to his siblings compared to the other brothers. He was probably the last to know that you moved in… by bumping into you in a corner of the corridor.

Why was a small girl here, how did she come in… Diluc was sure that Chongyun and Bennett are both middle school students and not kindergarten students that they would bring a small kid like you as a friend… He would not put it past some of his siblings to joke about getting or even stealing a sister but never in a million years did he think that they would actually do it!

When he found out who you were, he was furious as to why he was never told about the fact that you are his mother's fiances daughter and that you now live here!! He glared at Kaeya who Zhongli asked to tell him and comfortably forgot.

He didn't like that you now live here, taking the room that was also once his as he moved out around 3 years ago which is fine… but like why did your father decide it was the best idea to leave you with them who were practically strangers? He didn't like the situation but you misunderstood and thought he hated you. (Kaeya later told you that he didn't hate you and that you don't have to return the room to him.)

He didn't really think that he would interact with you much after all he didn't live in the mansion, and that was the case for months till Zhongli called him asking him if he was free to pick you up from the kindergarten on the way as Diluc had to grab some things from the house. He wasn't sure at first but reluctantly searched your kindergarten up on his phone’s map.

After awkwardly talking to the teachers of your school, you finally hopped into his car… silent. Diluc found it a bit awkward so he started asking questions (mostly about your father), but you would only answer with one word and grunts. He glanced at you and finally saw your rather gloomy face, he sighed and parked his car.

Diluc asked what was the matter but he didn't get a proper reply, mostly you just avoiding his eyes. When he asked did something happened at school you shook your head, but hesitantly took out a piece of paper and showed it to him. Reading he finally understood what was going on.

The paper was about a parent-teacher’s meeting and if he was not mistaken which he rarely is, your father and his mother are in another country on a date or something. When he asked you when your father was coming back home, you told him that it was after a month. He looked at the schedule and noticed it was next week.

He didn't say much after that, he took you home and such but he didn't give you back the paper only to suddenly tell you that he would be the one attending this and that you don't really have to tell Zhongli and that he would. But really it was a huge surprise to you when you saw him the next week wearing a suit as he talked to the teacher.

Other kids asked if he was your dad as they have never seen your dad ever, even the teacher in the next class asked you if he was your dad.

“Please don't worry, her father isn't available right so I am the one replacing him for the parent teacher’s meeting.”

Diluc didn't know why he was so inclined to go to this meeting for you, but seeing you so sad that your father could not come to the meeting he impulsive decided that he would be the one who would go. The smile that you gave him when the two of you went to get ice cream made all his coming regrets leave him.

He would start to take candy anywhere with him, and when he sees you he would place candy on your hands after a short talk. Kaeya would tease him for it as he was one of the few brothers who vehemently refused you moving to the teyvat residence.

Which he choose to ignore.

__________

Kaeya

Adopted son, Famous Model | Age: 28

Kaeya was abandoned at a young age by his father and was later adopted into the family. Watching you he understood your hesitation and the hopeful look that you had in your eyes about the prospect of having a family. When he found out that his mother was dating he did a bit of background research on your dad to see what the man was like. He found out that he had a daughter you.

After a few questions he asked his mom, he found out how you lived. While you had most things, it wasn't hard for him to guess that you didn't really have the best father and daughter relationship with your dad. Too apart, disconnected, envious of others yet unable to do anything, you were a family yet at the same time apart. So when it was his turn to greet you he smiled kindly, with a little mischievous in his eyes as you looked at him curiously yet shy.

“Hello, my name is Kaeya. It is nice to meet you, my future little sister.”

It was a surprise to many when Kaeya took his time to talk to you, not that he did anything weird he always took care of his little siblings when he could and it wasn't like he was bad with kids! Yet his brother would always look at him in shock when they saw you and him chatting, when you are so awkward and shy around the other brothers but looked completely comfortable with him. They were bound to think that something was wrong!!!

When Ayato and Childe glare at him, he would just grin at them teasing them that he was one of the few that got close to you than them first. There were a few times he held you in his arms, as you looked sleepy taking you to your room as Venti whines that he could also do that, why do you have to be more comfortable with him?! Kaeya always listens to you, he was always kind but not pushy. He would tease you often but never too far.

There was one time when you finished school did Kaeya picked you up as all your siblings were busy. He had a modeling appointment that day, so instead of going back home you and he headed to his work. The people all cooed at you, surprised as they teased Kaeya on the fact that he never told him that he has such a cute sister.

That day there was a surprise model shoot where Kaeya and you modeled together. It did go on the magazines or anything but Kaeya was able to get copies of it to flaunt to his siblings.

__________

Albedo

Scientist | Age: 27

Albedo didn't give a huge reaction, as if he didn't care... almost. Sure he was glad that his old mother has gotten married again and would not be alone once again but what he thinks of you coming to the house... nothing really. Too focused on his research and all to dislike or like the idea and all.

Albedo wasn't there when you first arrived at the residence, meeting you at the kitchen late at night

The first thing that went through his mind right then was that you were less troublesome than his senior coworker Alice's daughter, Klee. As he hands you a glass of water that you where struggling to get as the cups were too high for you to reach.

A mental note to make a place for cups where you could comfortably grab.

Albedo was rather good with kids, no that many of his family knew. So that one time when he found you alone in the living room he took the role of watching over you. He had time and all so it didn't really matter. Small talk leads to you asking what he does for work, science then led to him telling you many facts he knows about birds and butterflies.

Albedo didn't mind having a sister, in fact, he adored you when he could. While not as out there as say Childe and Ayato he would let you play with his art supplies and you would start going to him when you had an art homework you needed to do.

There was that one time he took you to the science lab as Rhinedottir found out that he now had a sister and had ordered him to bring you here so that she could meet you. Both Rhinedottir and Alice noticed you come into the lab holding Albedo's hand all the while looking excitedly at everything and while it is not really noticeable they did notice a tint of pride in Albedo's walk and the shine in his eyes as he teaches you what he does here.

Really it is just too cute. How he would blow the hot chocolate so that you won't burn your tongue when you drink it before giving it to you. As he watch you and Klee talk with each other, playing with dodoco which he looked at them as if to ask if it was really alright for you to play with bombs. He trusts Klee but my, it is just adorable that they could watch the usually quiet and stoic boy fret over somebody.

__________

Ayato

Model | Age: 26

A rather popular actor, he is famous for the many roles that he got. Currently, he is for a series called ‘Genshin’ where a traveler lost his sibling, Ayato is working as one of the many side characters but because of how many people like him he is probably coming back.

When Ayato heard that he would be getting a sister he was delighted really. Ever since he was little he always wanted to have a little sister and kept asking his mother if he could have a little sister… but in reality was always awkward when he told his mother that he wants a sister that look just like him when she already broke up with her husband, his dad.

Ayato didn't ask anymore when he understood the situation of his family.

After he heard that his mother was going to marry again after so many failed marriages he started to lose a lot of hope in his mother’s love life.... till he heard that her fiance has a little daughter but he choose to ignore it as he has grown up and out of that phase of wanting a little sister for the longest time…. Till he heard that you were coming to stay with them…

Wait what??

Sure Ayato wants a sister and all but not like this…? You were so young he wasn't sure if it was alright to separate you from your father. Was what he thought till your father told him that it was alright and that the two of you were used to it… Ayato started to deeply dislike your father, out of everything Ayato always valued family and to see you alone, your father countries away as if you don't mind him.. looking as if you were used to it... made his blood boil.

But it wasn't his place to say anything so instead, he choose to watch over you, be that person who your father cant be and become someone who you could look up to. Ayato tried to get to know you… but…. Why are you running away from him??

After trying to talk to you multiple times Ayato found out from Zhongli that you were scared of him. Which surprised him actually, like why? Why were you scared of him, he doesn't look scary, does he? He didn't understand…

He tried to get close to you with gifts and presents even food as it seemed to work for Thoma. But you continued to avoid him when he smiles at you, almost in tears. Kaeya and Childe made so much fun of him.

One day you wanted to go to the playground, you asked Albedo if he could take you to the playground but unfortunately, he was too busy to do so. So instead Albedo asked Ayato to take you to the playground. Ayato took this as an opportunity to get close to you and said yes.

That the walk to the playground was one of the most awkward trips that he had ever had. You were quick to head to the swings when you finally got the chance. Ayato sighed as he watched you play on the swings he planned on reading a book but he was rather thirsty so when he spotted a boba shop he choose to make a quick trip there.

When he came back with two boba drinks in his hands he noticed you yelling at a group of boys. They told you that the park was theirs and that you should just scram if you didn't want to get hurt. Ayato could see your fear but you stayed where you were glaring at them, it wasn't until one of the boys suddenly choose to pull your hair did he intervene stepping right behind you as he looked at the boy who was pulling your hair and the other kids.

When the kids saw him they all froze, Ayato even noticed the “leader” peed themselves on their pants. He didn't threaten them, he said nothing horrible really but maybe it was because of his angry tone that they ran off scared... probably.

Ayato sighed suddenly feeling rather tired, till he suddenly heard a small “thank you” and saw that it was you who said it, not avoiding him but instead looking at him in the eyes.

After that, he just tried to spoil you every day. Dear! if only he had taken a video that time.

__________

Childe / Tartaglia

Works at a toy company | Age: 25

Childe was a son when their father married a woman for like around 5 years or something, things didn't work and it just got worst and worst that they choose to have a divorce. They wanted nothing from each other and when it came to their children they decided to she would take the oldest with her while the ex-husband would take the 3 other kids with him.

When Childe caught wind that his mother is remarrying and that her fiance has a small daughter. He was absolutely ecstatic!! A younger sister? Of course, he would love to meet her! And the fact that she might stay here is even better! He does have a blood related younger sister but his father who took his three blood related younger siblings choose to leave the country and while Childe could talk to his sibling by call or video chat in the end they are not together and it is difficult when he had to watch his sibling grow farther and farther from him it is just... disappointing.

Childe loves children, he adores his younger siblings... apart of the triplets… They make his blood boil. Thoma is cute but too mature sometimes but Childe spoils Itto, Bennett and Chongyun a lot. But in the end, they are all boys nobody was really able to fill the empty role of his young sister. Childe genuinely wanted to coo at how adorable you were when he first saw you but held himself.

“Hey, my name is Ajax but you can call me Childe! Nice to meet you, little sis.”

If he only could, he wants to grab you and go shopping, buying you everything that you were interested in and touched. Give you a pretty tiara and pinks gowns, play with you and all so to see you actively run away from him as if scared of him he started to pout.

Childe started to whine when he would see you grow close to other siblings even more than him even tho he was trying his best to get close to you unlike them! Diluc had to yell at him telling his brother that he is a grown man and that he shouldn't be mopping and whining, glaring murder at his other brothers when he sees them with you, like a child.

It is just not fair, he is willing to buy you everything! Let him play with his future little sister!! Childe pouted when he watched you interact with Zhongli for once he was jealous of the oldest brother...

It was when your little bunny's right ear ripped, and you were crying did he finally have the chance to interact with you. While you were in tears, trying your best to control your sobs Childe heard your small cries from behind your door did he worry and knocked on the door asking if you were okay.

When you told him about your pink bunny rabbit, he told you to wait, heading to his room he brought a sewing kit that he had and started sewing your bunny’s ear back. You were surprised, looking at your bunny it was a bit wonky but not bad. That was Childe’s first hug he got from you.

__________

Venti

University Student | Age: 20

Venti, Xiao and Kazuha are triplets. As kids, they grew up together yet much to their mother's surprise all have vastly different personalities. When Venti found out that he was gonna have a little sister he was absolutely delighted! He saw a picture of you that your father sent to his mother and cooed at adorable you looked.

He pouted when everyonde suddenly decided that they would definitely never let you near him when he is seen with a bottle of alcohol he could handle himself!

When he finally get to meet you his eyes sparkled as waved smiling cheerfully at you. When you returned his smile tho a bit hesitantly at first he just wanted to hug and tell you over and over how adorable you are.

"Hi, my name is Venti! So you are my little sister now? You are so cute, ehe~"

While he says that would take care of you often, it is not really that… often. As the boy was always out with friends till late at night partying and on the weekdays he was at university.

But when he does have the time he would teach you how to play the harp, help you do your music homework or play games with him. The two of you would pull small pranks here and there with the siblings and most of the time in the end he would be the one scolded.

One time when he came back home very late, drunk after a party. As the living rooms and the elevators are connected he wondered why the lights on the kitchen that was right beside the living room were on and headed there thinking that he would be seeing one of his brothers as he plan to annoy them or something but then he saw you.

You were placing your cup on the table when you noticed him and jump in surprised, Venti understood that you were here just to get a glass of water and was about to ask you something- He didn't remember what happened after but he woke up on the floor, with a blanket on covering him, a pillow under his head and a killer hangover.

He thought that it was one of his brothers that gave him the blanket and while thankful was quick to forget about it as this wasn't really the first time. So whenever he would come back home the next few days drunk and wake up with a blanket around him the next day. He always thought that it was his brother placing a blanket around him till Kazuha told him that, no it ain't that.

It was you who kept on covering him with a blanket, somedays Kazuha would find you waiting for Venti, when you notice that he hasn't come home. The next moment Venti was right next to you and basically asked you if what Kazuha is true which you nodded, wondering why he was asking as if him being drunk was normal or something…

Venti swore that day never to drink to the point that he would come home and end up sleeping on the floor. But he also started to try and put more effort to spending time with you.

__________

Xiao

University student | Age: 20

Xiao when he first found out that you would be coming to the teyvat residence absolutely hated it. He is too busy and a child in the house noisy as most of them are would only be annoying for him really. But he had no choice really not when most of his brothers were okay with it and his mother asked him with puppy dog eyes.

Xiao narrowed his eye at you, when he noticed you staring at his tattoos when he finally reached home after school, Venti went somewhere with his friends probably to a party while Kazuha choose to disappear for a while now. Not that he cares, it has nothing to do with him.

You flinched at his glare and looked down intimidated by his gaze, and Xiao decided to play his video games in his room instead of the living room big tv.

"Hmph."

It was a surprise to everyone when Xiao was the first brother you actually grew close with and bonded with. Childe and Ayato both were shocked when they realized this and since it was not like they could really do anything about it they became super passive-aggressive towards Xiao.

You would also be surprised if you didn't forget how scary his glare was when you first meet him. But unlike the other brothers, he was at home pretty much most of the time apart from university. Zhongli would always ask him to look after you and since Xiao had always had so much respect for his older brother he had no choice but to follow.

At first, you were given a cold shoulder as he tells you to head to the living room since he can't trust you not to break anything in his room, he would play a game on his phone or console in the living room while you would do something else.

But it was thought time did the two of you got close. One day he noticed that you were bored and in a roundabout way offered to play a game with him as he had nothing to do back then too, finding no interest in most of his regular games that day. You guys played multiple games together that day. Zhongli took many pictures of the two of you together both focused on the game you were playing at that time.

At one point he let you in his room to show you the games and all he had around. The two of you grew close and he would often give you head pats as a sign of care while acting tough and a little mean even tho know you know that Xiao actually cared about you, he would always go out of his way to help you while playing off as if he didn't want to do so. Be it grabbing a cup from the shelf you cant reach, teaching you your homework when you were confused or unsure of what to do.

Xiao would deny it whenever asked if he helped with something.

__________

Kazuha

University Student | Age: 20

Kazuha just smiled at you when you finally arrived, he didn't express any dislike maybe a bit of concern at first when he found out that your father would just leave you with them and go on to have an early honeymoon with their mother disguised as a business work.

but in the end, he didn't care as much as others.

When Kazuha first meet you was when you were trying to help Thoma clean the garden in front of the mansion. He was resting on a bench as he played with a leaf with his fingers when you looked at him curiously. Kazuha smiled at you suddenly and when he got your attention he started to play a small tune with the leaf he was holding.

He wanted to smile but couldn't when he heard a gasp and then small pit pats of steps growing closer and closer. You were quiet as you watch him in awe of how he made sounds with a leaf only when he was done did you speak telling him that was so cool and how did he do that?

“Well, that is a secret. You must be ____… I am Kazuha.”

When you found out that he was your brother, you were surprised. But maybe because of the leaf tune that he made when you two first meet he won a few points as, unlike other brothers you weren't really awkward around him. Sometimes you would bring a leaf when you see him hold a leaf in his hand as if you were going to sneakingly copy him or something. It is cute really and Kazuha was more amused than annoyed by everything.

You and he would meet up in the garden when you had the time or weren't already hanging with another brother. It wasn't really decided that you would meet him at around this time or where to meet but since you always see him in the garden at a certain time you would always try to follow it.

It was nice to have a company, unknowingly as time went on Kazuha had grown used to seeing you right beside him sometimes watching him. He was delighted when you finally made a sound with the leaf that sounded more like a PIII- than anything bit it was progress. Kazuha thought that he would be able to spend more time with you when the summer vacation starts… So imagine his surprise when he heard that you were sleeping all morning almost every day when summer vacation finally started, what he thought was the time he would spend with his little sister.

You guys don't talk often outside the garden but when he asked why you were waking up so later and when you vaguely respond that you were waiting for someone and that you didn't want them to get cold he connected the dots when Venti suddenly whined about his hangover.

Kazuha then just smiles at you and told you that nobody is going to be sleeping on the floor tonight and even after you should sleep early tonight and not sneak out past your bedtime.

You hesitantly nodded…

__________

Thoma

Highschool student | Age: 18

When Thoma heard that he might get a younger sister soon and that she was coming to live in the teyvat residence, instead of excited he was a bit worried. Worried about how others would react to meeting you, would they scare you away or will you cry since you were in a new place and outside your comfort zone and with some of his brothers right in front of your face.

His worries were proven true when he saw the excitement in his older brother Childe, Venti and his younger brother Itto, how they keep on saying that they would be the best brothers! Thoma looked at Ayato who was chuckling aright beside him as if this wasn't a problem at all, but when he saw his brother Ayato’s eye, Thoma knew there would be competition…

Thoma wasn't really able to talk to you the first time when he saw you in the living room with your dad as your father talked with the others. As he had to calm Itto down before the teen could charge into the group and probably scoop you in his arms. It was only later when you were exploring the kitchen did you meet Thoma who looked at you surprised but ended up smiling at you asking if you want to eat anything.

“Hey my name is Thoma, I am one of your brothers. Uhhh, want anything to eat?”

You quietly ate the Dango that Thoma gave you that day, and was later found by your father and Thoma’s mom who laughed as they asked if you already bonded with one of the brothers. After that when you started living in the residence it was always to Thoma did you go for snacks, as if silently labeling him as the snack keeper.

You weren't necessarily close with Thoma at first as you were with Xiao, but Thoma absolutely loves to watch you eat the food he prepared or made. Your chubby cheeks as you chew on the cake or whatever dessert or sweet he brought that day. It is a secret from the other brother but Thoma probably is the one who poked your cheeks the most, which is a surprise considering that Childe also pokes your cheeks often and surprisingly Diluc too.

Maybe because of that, you started to grow close with him too faster than other siblings Thoma is the one who you would unconsciously look for when Xiao isn't there. Maybe because of how he was always in the living room watching him clean, while you eat the fruits that he cut for you or you attempt to try and help him.

Or maybe it was that time when you actually got so sick, a high fever you stayed in bed as you unconsciously called your dad. Thoma was the one who looked after you, changing your towel when needed, giving you medicine on time and just staying right beside you watching over you.

The other brothers would have helped but it seems that day all of them apart from Thoma were all very busy and unable to cancel their appointments when they heard that you were really sick. Thoma stayed by you telling you that it was okay and that he will be by your side and when you ask if you will be alone he told you, you will never be alone.

The next day it was Thoma with the high fever.

__________

Itto

Highschool student | Age: 17

Aside from Childe and Ayato, Itto's reaction to having a baby sister was just as big. Jumping up and down asking Zhongli when he would get to meet her. Zhongli told him it won't be after a month or two depending on your father and everyday Itto would nag the oldest brother in the family asking him when you would come to visit family and when he could see you.

Although he has two brothers younger than him Itto always dreamed of having an even younger sibling where he could act like his older siblings where they could look for him when they need help and care. And sure he helps his two younger brothers but he wishes that he has a sibling where he could carry them on his shoulders and show them how awesome he is! Chongyun and Bennett do look up to him but Itto still wants a younger sibling where he could read storybooks too and carry them with one arm just as how his older siblings has done for him when he was a kid.

So when he finally saw you Itto almost threw himself at you if not for the fact that Thoma was holding him back telling Itto that he might scare you.

"You may call the Awesome Me, Big brother Itto!"

Itto at first tried to get close to you, but maybe because of how pushy he was you started to actively avoid him that he became almost like a sad puppy as he watched you interact with Albedo, Kaeya and even Xiao just fine. He wanted to be that awesome brother too!!

So when you saw him almost mopping around as Kaeya told you that he is surprised that Itto was like this as he never saw the boy this sad before you knew it was your fault.

So "carefully" you approached him, and Itto could not be anymore happier! Following what Thoma said he tried his best not to scare you away, which most of the time failed really badly. But the more you got used to Itto's personality the more you open up in the end, so it didn't hugely matter. Just Itto being Itto

Itto would go around almost yelling at his school how he got the best younger sister in the whole wide world. And would flaunt all the pictures the two of you had taken together. One time when Zhongli took you to Itto’s school to pick him up, Itto yelled when he saw you. Grabbing you and placing you on his shoulders he ran back to his school yelling that his little sister is here and how you are so adorable. See! See!! He has the best sister!!

From the beginning, he is the one who always yelled out loudly that you were his sister and that you and he were family! When you felt so lonely there was a high chance he could be in a corner just waiting to scare you by saying family or little sis! Always telling you that you belong to the family even tho your father and their mother weren't even married yet. It made it easier for you to open up, otherwise, it would probably take even more time for you to come out of your shell.

__________

Chongyun

Middle school student | Age: 14

Chongyun thought you were a ghost the first time he meet you, late at night when you were looking for something to eat when it was difficult to leave your room as you were still shy back then. Chongyun had heard that a little girl moved to the residence, he didn't have time to meet you as he was busy with studies and training martial arts.

So in a dark living room, the only light coming from the fridge is kind of freaky most children would think. Chongyun spotted you, almost glowing from the light of the fridge and screamed. He didn't know what he was thinking when he moved to hit you thinking that he must exorcise you, he wasn't thinking and moved on instinct thinking that if he hit you once you would be gone.

The poor boy was topped by Albedo, who was watching over you that day as he was worried that you didn't eat much that day. He didn't want to scare you by appearing so suddenly in this dark place so he hid, only to have to come out of his hiding when he saw Chongyun about to hit you.

He woke up the whole building, all the brothers woke up when they heard Chongyun’s shout (Thinking that Chongyun was probably seeing things as it wasn't the first time) and bolted out of their rooms when they heard the cries of a small girl. DID CHONGYUN HIT YOU?? The boy was furiously apologizing to you as you cling to Zhongli’s arms, frightened and crying.

After that you avoided him, whenever you see him you would retreat to your room which broke the small kid's heart really, some of his brothers chuckled the first time but grew to pity their little brother when it became constant.

Chongyun tried to talk to you at dinner, but half of the time you ignored him or just hesitantly answered him avoiding eye contact. At this point, Kaeya stepped in and took you to another room and explained the misunderstanding, while Zhongli and the other brothers did try to explain they didn't do exactly well and still left the awkwardness in the air.

Kaeya told you that Chongyun was really sorry and that it was all a misunderstanding, the man added a small joker two telling you that even he would be scared of the fridge ghost. You laughed and finally listened, planning on giving Chongyun another chance. So when you opened your door, in front of you was Chongyun holding two popsicles in his hands.

“Ummm… I wanted to give you a popsicle… Do you… want one?”

After that the two of you started talking again, it was awkward at first but Chongyun felt a bit of pride when he showed you all the gymnastics he could do, he had to be careful not to show you too much fighting worried that you might be scared again but the giggles and wows that he got from you when he does a handstand or something similar fills him with pride.

He didn't remember what he thought when he heard that you will be living here at the teyvat residence. He probably didn't care much, but not that you are here and will become his little sister he didn't mind and really like it and when you ask if you could do the same as him he promised you that he would teach you how to do it.

Of course with another brother present and a lot of soft mats if case you get hurt while you try to jump… Chongyun might have become a wee bit protective

__________

Bennett

Middle school student | Age: 14

When Bennett heard that he was gonna get a little sister when his mother is going to remarry, Bennet grew excited. He wasn't as loud with it as Itto and Childe, but he was skipping when he went back to his room… not before tripping on a wire cable. Bennet was actually adopted into the family similar like Kaeya as his parents died in a car crash. Their friend then took pity on Bennett and adopted him, so here he was now.

Even with Kaeya, Bennett occasionally felt outcasted from the family so to him when you join the family he felt he won't be alone anymore!- Not that he wants to outcast you from his family, no! He wants to be the one who welcomes you, be beside you like what Kaeya had done for him and this time become a big brother after always being the younger brother! Arge it is hard to explain- but Bennett is definitely happy!!

Bennett's second meeting with you was when he saw you in the living room alone, he wanted to greet you, and halfway to his hello he tripped again on wires and fell on his face. He didn't break anything but he got a small cut on his face from somewhere he wasn't sure.

You looked at him in worry your shyness gone out of concern for him as you run towards him asking Bennett if he was alright? He told you he was alright but you suddenly stood up and ran to your room before he could say anything else and came back with a pink bandaid with bunnies on it, sticking it on his face. All the boy could do was grin and thank you for it.

It wasn't on purpose, really that he started tripping on wire or anything really right in front of you. He wished he didn't show you such an uncool side of him but what happened happened and it is not like he could really do anything about it.

His brothers teased him about how many bandaids he had that was pink and bunny design. But it was cute and instead of him being a big bro you became a nagging and watchful little sis that constantly worried about him and later he would get a kiss from your pink bunny doll on top of the bandaid while you started to sing for the pain to go away.

So imagine his surprise when Ayato called him to pick you up from the kindergarten as he suddenly had work that day only to see you being picked up by the other kids in the kindergarten the teacher was nowhere in sight. He heard them say that you were motherless and that your father would leave soon after and that he didn't want you since he always outside the country, away from you. They said mean things over and over and over... that you don't have a family...

You started to cry when one of the kids try to take your rabbit doll away did Bennett scream at them to leave you alone. Seeing a boy older than them the kids got scared and ran away just not before pushing you to the floor. He picked you up as you cried in your arms telling him what they said was right and that you were alone.

He hugged you tight, telling you that it was alright and the bullies were gone he told you that you had a family and that it was with him your brother! and also that your other brothers were all waiting for you at home, that your family is waiting for you at home.

When you finally collected yourself you told him that you and him weren't family and that this was different. But Bennett stopped you with a smile as he placed a bandaid on your nose where there was a small cut there.

"You are family! It doesn't matter if we are not blood-related or if our parents have yet to marry. I think of you as family and brothers all of them all think of you as family and nothing could change that!"

Some things to take note of~ (or just notes of things I was thinking when I was writing this)

♡ Reader's father should be around his late 40s (early 40s when the reader was born.) While your mother was in her 30s when she gave birth to the reader. They always wanted to have a kid but it never really happened so the reader was a happy surprise that time.

♡ Reader's soon to be stepmother married multiple times excluding your father she married a total of 3 times.

♡ Her first husband she had Zhongli, Diluc, Albedo and Ayato till they got separated. Childe was with her second husband she had another 3 kids with him but he took them when they separated, while with her third husband she gave birth to the triplets Venti, Xiao and Kazuha then Thoma, Itto and Chongyun. Kaeya and Bennett being adopted.

♡ She should be around her 50s right now

♡ Readers father's job had something to do with being a traveler, so that is kinda why he would go out often while his fiance and reader's soon to be step mother is a rich lady with her own business and all but sold it when she choose to retire early. She met your father when the two of them were in a foreign country. And they somehow clicked.

♡ There is a chance where you/reader got close with Kaeya, Albedo, Thoma and Xiao first, and Ayato and Childe absolutely hate it. (Kaeya and Albedo because in canon they took care of Klee and for Xiao’s reason is a bit more elaborate; the reader here has always been alone so brothers like Childe and Itto can be overwhelming for her Xiao is just the opposite which would be nice after the sudden change of atmosphere. Thoma... is obvious.. and not because I adore this boy too much..)

♡ It is kinda hinted that the reader knows a drunkard before coming to the teyvat residence on Venti's part. Reader's father asked many of his relatives to take care of you and while not written here close friends too. Use that info as you wish.

Note: This was not supposed to be this long..... like I was probably thinking around....2k words...? but things keep adding and adding and this happened and now this is the longest post I ever made~

Some characters had more text than others, I know that but I didn't want to spend even more time on this than what I have done already. I hope you understand.

But all in all, I am happy with how it turned out and I hope you like it! comment or reblog this if you do!! I really love reading your thoughts!

Other than that.... it is almost 3 am I thought I would be done with this 3 hours ago, soooooo~ good night guys and have a nice day/night~ zzzzzzz

why is it always the good reader falling for the bad guy character why cant it be bonten executive reader falling for kazutora or mitsuya or inui or anyone

call it what you want.

a genshin impact smau | xiao x gn!reader

SUMMARY as part of the student council, you’ve been tasked to recruit the local band playing in your university’s bar. xiao, who’s the band’s bassist, seems to be the only one refusing your offer to join the foundation day. you have two weeks to make him agree to perform on stage in front of the whole university or you’re off the council for good.

GENRE modern, fluff, slight(?) crack

STATUS ongoing - sporadic updates - taglist open!

NOTES welcome back to another smau by naev and her sporadic updates t__t double updates since 004 or i try to be hehe >__< send in an ask to be tagged instead of replying !!

EPISODE LIST

your dropees | xiao’s band

001 — beloved vp ♢ 002 — failed night out

003 — bench front ♢ 004 — deleted tweet

005 — hashtag boy ♢ 006 — fuckin’ with ‘ya

007 — know yakshas? ♢ 008 — this is betrayal

009 — go ahead without me ♢ 010 — why not?

011 — follow back, vp ♢ 012 — annoying pest

013 — ah, that’s why ♢ 014 — he likes who?

015 — never mind ♢ 016 — actually, i hate you

017 — you like them, right? ♢ 018 — my treat!

019 —so a game? ♢ 020 — he agreed?

021 — not my boyfriend ♢ 022 — for you

023 — tba ♢ 024 — tba

MISCELLANEOUS time stamps do not matter unless i say so !! this will go through heavy editing in the process ^__^ not so sure if xiao is a bit ooc here but annoying xiao agenda pls >>> feedback greatly appreciated <3 chapter names may be changed depending on what happens

With Xiao's banner being up, I've thought of a particularly painful scenario.

"If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door... Call out my name. Adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call."

You felt so cold, so tired. You felt like you were fading away. The battle has finished and your team had emerged victorious but why was it that blood was still flowing out of your wounds. You gasped as you slowly sat up, some wounds reopening. The snow numbed your fingertips and your breaths became white in the air. You could barely see in front of you as you stumbled down a path, trying to see something that would tell you where you were.

You thought of your team. Were they alive and well? How was the traveller? Where was Xiao? You contemplated calling out Xiao's name but a memory flashed before your eyes and it made your heart squeeze in pain.

"You called me out for this? I have more pressing matters to attend to."

No. You can find your path home. You're probably just close by, you couldn't have gone too far from the scene of the battle. You continued down the path, the freezing breeze creating little icicles on your lashes and hair. Your lips were turning blue and your eyes were drooping from the exhaustion. Little frozen puddles of your blood being left behind.

How long has it been? How long have you been walking this path It's all been towering snowy mountains and frozen lakes. Have I been walking in circles? You think for a moment but you can't tell if you have been. The snow has been falling heavier by the minute and you've lost more blood than you ever have. You want to lay down, sleep but you know better than to do that right now. If you closed your eyes now, you wouldn't open them again.

You slowly lose hope in finding a way out of this place alive. It's too cold. You've bled too much and there hasn't been even the slightest sight of the flicker of a flame in hours. You aren't sure if you can even bend your toes anymore. I want to see him again. You wish to all of the archons to let you live just long enough to see him for a last time. You have a thousand words you want to say and another thousand more stuck in your throat but there's three words you want to say again for the last time.

He has never replied in the same way. He has looked at you with affection before but that look has become more and more scarce especially with the arrival of the traveller. What was once your place next to Xiao became the traveller's. He looked so at ease with her. You even saw him crack a smile and a light chuckle in front of her.

He hasn't even smiled at me before. No. Stop with those thoughts. I'm not that replaceable. I've been with him for longer, stood by him even in the worst battles. What haven't I done?

Have him love you back. A dark voice spoke in your mind. It paused before laughing at your despair. As soon as it came, it disappeared just as quickly.

You shake off the thoughts before continuing to stumble down the snowy path. Just a little bit more. You think to yourself when your knees buckle and you fall down to the ground, face down. You try to push yourself up but you can't. You barely manage to flip onto your back. Your lips quiver not from the cold but from the truth. Xiao hasn't looked for you ever since you've woken up. Was your presence or absence unimportant to him? Has he thought of you?

The truth was scary. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape on your own out of this place. Not in this state. You reach a hand up in the sky, grasping at the stars and the falling snow. You lick your dry, bloodied lip as you are barely able to speak your thoughts as your brain starts to make you see an image of Xiao. It ripples when you reach towards the image, but despite it being only an image, it brings you comfort to see him in this time.

"I want to see you again. I want to be by your side no matter what. I want to be selfish. I want to love you, kiss you, hold you. But I can't." You pause for a moment, trying to stop yourself from coughing up blood but failing. Once the coughs subside, your eyes dull. "Xiao..." You stop for a moment. You expect to see him come but you can't see or hear him at all. Did he not hear you? "Adeptus Xiao..." You try again. Maybe he'll hear it this time. You wait a little bit longer. "Xiao, the one that I love, save me, please..." You barely choke out as tears bubble in your eyes. The streaks of tears freeze in seconds as they flow down your cheeks. "Alatus... Adeptus Xiao- Xiao-! Please hear me- save me... Anybody... Please..." Your begs for rescue were unheard. You call out his different names but he doesn't show. Darkness ring around the edges of your sight and it blurs what you can see but you don't stop calling out to him. Not until your voice becomes low whispers and you call his name for the last time before you are silenced for an eternity.

Xiao feels like something is amiss. Ever since that battle weeks ago, everything has felt a little bit off. Everyone was there. Verr Goldet, the traveller, the people at Wangshu Inn. He cannot recall anyone missing. Has there been a task he had yet to finish? He isn't able to think of anything and writes off the feeling. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. He steps back into the balcony as he stares out at the peaceful sight in front of him. A hand suddenly places itself on his back and he instinctively calls out your name as he turns to face you. Only that the person in front of him isn't you. It's the traveller. Where were you? He hasn't seen you... Since that battle...

He disappears and returns to the scene of the battle. You aren't there. He teleports to places you've gone together and you still weren't there. Where are you? He scours the land of Teyvat to look for you but only at the outskirts of the Entombed City in Dragonspine does he feel a trace of you. He follows this trace and sees dark maroon marks on the dirt and rocks. He hasn't felt this type of impending doom. You couldn't be here. You must've just visited. At any moment, you'll just jump out and place that warm hand of yours on his arm or back as you always had and smile at him with that bright smile like you always have.

Any hope of seeing you smile at him again is diminished when he sees you. Your body frozen and encased in solid ice coffin. He tries to break the ice but no matter how much energy he pours into it, nothing cracks the ice. It regenerates faster and is stronger than the strange ice. "I will save you now. The day came where darkness has taken you and I was not there. It will be up to me to undo what has been done."

He continues to strike against the regenerating ice until- "I knew you'd save me, Xiao." Your voice is carried by the wind. He turns to the source of the sound and he sees an apparition of you. It's the you he remembers. Unharmed, smiling, and warm. Not the you beside him. Wounded, pained, and cold.

You smile at him like you always do. Your apparition fades before he can speak and reappears. It was showing him your final moments. You crying out to him. Your declarations. Everything. He wants to say that he's too inhuman to be carried by such trivialities like love and emotions but it's you. You've always been by his side but he hasn't been by yours in the longest time and he sees it now. He remembers how your smiles twitch when he leaves you behind in favor of accompanying the traveller. He remembers how you shrink bank when the traveller joins in and you become part of the background. He remembers you cooking almond tofu so many times just to make sure he has something to eat if he returns at any time. He remembers your kindness and he wishes that it wasn't just being remembered. He wishes for you to be by his side again but seeing how pitiful you were, calling out to him for so many times in your last moments and not being heard. What was he even doing then? He wasn't injured too badly. Where was he when you were suffering and calling out to him? Was this the way he'd return your kindness? By forsaking you at your last moments?

Even the most evil creatures wouldn't be this cruel.

"I will find retribution for my actions and bring peace to you. I will go with you in the afterlife. I will do right by you in our next lives."

-Big-Sad Anon

ԅ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽ᕤ yes officer. This. This made me cry. Arrest them.

Oh. My. God.

How am i supposed to even function normally after this 🥲 comrade i cant even open my eyes im crying too much why would you do this /j 😭

— 5wirl kissing you to shut your trap

pairing : 5wirl (aether, venti, xiao, kazuha and heizou) × gn!reader

genre : hard-core fluff | scenarios

word count : 2.4k (0.4 - 0.8k each)

pov : first person point of view

summary : just 5wirl trying to calm you down or shut you up with a kiss because they cannot think of anything else.

author's note : please do not murder me for ooc heizou. written before character release.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

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It was wrong to believe that the adepti could endure everything. It was even more wrong to believe that they never bled. I stood beside the conqueror of demons on the Wangshu Inn's balcony, being loath of my inability to admire the landscape it evinced in the darkness.

It was preposterous to be in love with nature when your friend was bleeding beside you. I couldn't help my eyes from darting at the cuts and gashes all over his arms, dripping with shimmering golden liquid— ichor. Adepti weren't more Gods than they were humans but they still possessed the divine blood in their veins. Sometimes, it made me a little jealous of them. Despite being half adeptus, my blood was the generic red of humans.

"Are you sure you don't want me to patch you up?" I asked, for what must be the fiftieth time of the day.

"No," he grunted, "Go away."

"Not happening, " I shook my head. I was used to Xiao and his blunt hurtful remarks to be affected anymore," Not unless you get your wounds taken care of."

"Hmph," I could feel his patience running thin, "Adepti do not have the human tendencies to be taken care of. Nor do they need such assistance. Do not mistake me for a human."

It would be a lie if I said I wasn't expecting this as a response. Xiao was as reserved as an owl and as prideful as a lion. It wasn't an easy task to tear those traits away in an instant. And bleeding wasn't as gothically romantic as writers often describe them to be. I couldn't just give up and let his divine blood go to waste.

"Look here, Xiao," I tried again, "I'm not trying to make you look human even for a second. But you need to understand that the thing you're doing is not right. You might be super strong and super great but that won't matter if you bleed to death. Let me help you, yes?"

He glowered at me, the kind of look that was supposed to incinerate me to leave nothing but ashes. But there I stood, whole and scowling at him as if he was an annoying little kid. He turned away.

"You would be deluded if you think you can't die," I dared to say, "So if you don't want to regret this—"

The rest of my words were drowned in Xiao's mouth. Both his hands snaked around me, pressing me to his chest as if he were trying to mould us both into one being. His lips tasted like the brightest of sunny days dipped in the essence of the darkest of nights, revealing the most vulnerable of nightly secrets. At that moment, I knew I would want for more when this was gone, want for it over and over and over again.

He pulled away from me, our noses only millimetres apart as he stared down into my soul, "Just this once. Do whatsoever you must like."

I must have interpreted his statement wrong since he clapped his hand to my mouth when I tried to close the distance between our lips again.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he rasped.

And that was when I realized he was allowing me to tend to his wounds. I could feel a smug smile growing on my face at the thought that I affected him in a similar way he did to me.

"My heart was always yours to begin with."

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The legs of the chair screeched against the cobblestones of the floor as I pulled it toward many of my shelves lined with ancient relics and figurines. I climbed on the wooden seat to dust the artifacts on the very top. At that moment, the bell to the door of my shop jingled, signalling the arrival of an antique-loving customer.

"Welcome, dear customer, what relic must I present to you?" I recited without even looking, the words stitched to my heart.

"The attention of the shop owner, if you please."

It took less than a second for the corners of my lips to tug into a smile. It was an unforgettable voice— softer than the wind tickling your face, smoother than a clear creek washing over the stones.

"It would be my greatest pleasure," I hopped down from the chair, the duster long forgotten on the ground in my longing to embrace the one I loved.

He wrapped his hands around me with the familiar warmth I was so deprived of for so long. "Been long, Kazuha," I sighed aloud.

"I'm aware," he rubbed his hand over my back, " I'm not leaving anymore, now that it's over."

"I hope not," I nuzzled my head on his chest.

He kissed the crown of my head, "I won't, sunshine. Do you need help with cleaning?"

I parted from him and nodded. He leaned against the counter as I went to fetch another duster, watching me. When I returned to hand him one, I saw a faint crease between his eyebrows.

"What's worrying my sunshine?" I posed, worried about him.

"They didn't return your vision yet?" he asked me, climbing on the chair to dust my figurines.

I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth to stop my frustration from breaking free. The Vision Hunt Decree was over and the Shogun had promised to hand over all the visions she had confiscated. I got mine back as well, just as promised. But getting it back didn't mean it was in the same condition as before.

"You're not answering me?" Kazuha's voice was gentle.

"They broke it," I said flatly, trying to keep the anger away from my voice,"They returned it to me with an unfeeling apology. It was in shambles."

I pulled out a wooden vase to wipe it clean. Kazuha paused, unable to collect the words that would make me feel better.

"Sunshine, I'm sorry—"

"It's alright," I looked at him," It's not your fault. Sometimes, I wish I had run away with you. Staying back was the worst decision I've ever taken. Now, look where it's gotten me to."

Guilt rose in my throat. I didn't want to lose my cool and make him feel bad just after his return. But here I was, letting everything out that I had been so meticulous in bottling up.

"They pinched a hole in my hopes and dreams and stole half my heart with that broken vision," I complained, "They just don't care—"

Kazuha yanked me to him, covering my mouth with his. His hands rested on my jaw as if he were afraid I would disappear. My heart was a flower, dripping with the sweetest nectar in this world as it rolled down to my stomach, satiating the butterflies dancing within.

He pulled away, just to brush his lips on the space between my eyebrows, both my eyelids and the tip of my nose. I could feel the heat dominating my skin, licking at my throat and ears.

He smiled, seating me on the chair while his hands rested on my shoulders.

"Don't you worry about them stealing half your heart," he said, with all the gentleness in this world," You can have mine. My heart was always yours to begin with. As long as you have me, I'll sew your hopes and dreams together. "

That was the problem with Kazuha. His eloquence was evil dipped in innocence which always made me want to cry. His words had the tenacity to shred me into pieces only to sew me back together in a way that made me see him a little differently everytime.

His words were nothing if not curses which made me fall deeper into the chasm of his love, something I was sure I would never escape.

"That ought to do the trick, don't you think?"

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It was a glorious day under the huge tree in Windrise. The breeze was sweet, carrying soft seeds of dandelions and the dignified strum of a lyre. But it did nothing to make my heart dance to the joyous nature.

"C'mon, Y/N!" Venti called from a branch on the tree, his fingers sliding over the strings of the lyre,"It's okay to lose a book. Lisa won't have your head!"

I let out an exasperated sigh,"That is not what worries me. I am flabbergasted at my own irresponsibility. I can't even take care of a book."

Lisa loved her books. She trusted me enough to let me borrow one and I ended up disappointing her hopes of taking good care of it. Indeed, Lisa was scary when she came to collect overdue books, but that wasn't an excuse to hide my mistake.

"What do I even say to her?" I continued, pressing my hands to my head,"She'll be so upset."

"Y/N, listen to me, it's—"

"I should probably buy a new one to replace it," I decided,"That should do it or maybe—"

"Y/N—"

"— I must look for it more. She obviously holds her copies very dear—"

I heard a soft thud on the ground beside me and then I was rendered speechless. Venti pressed his mouth to mine and all my words died in my throat. His hand slid behind my waist to pull me closer. As if my hands had minds of their own, they cupped his soft cheeks on instinct.

My heart was a tangle of strings on which he played a merry tune with that kiss. With each strum of my heartstrings, he seemed to suck all my worries away.

He pulled away and rested his head on mine, smiling, "That ought to do the trick, don't you think?"

"I'll do much, much worse than just kiss you!"

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I had been sitting atop the outstretched palms of the Anemo Archon's huge statue, lost in the world of the book I was reading. I had not realized that I was staring straight ahead of me until Aether took it upon himself to snap me out of my reverie.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked me, voice dripping with innocence.

I, on the other hand, felt annoyed at being called back from my own world. So I decided to test his patience.

"What else?" I said, as if it were very obvious, " I was thinking about Captain Kaeya."

"And what about him?" I could practically hear him frown.

"What ain't there to think about him?" I pretended to be surprised, " He's the knight in shining armour everyone dreams about. He's tall, beautiful and everything out of a fairytale book."

I gave Aether a sideways glance. He was playing with the fabric of his gloves, utterly downcast. I felt guilty for my relishing this torturous experience I was putting him through. I couldn't help but snicker a little.

"Oh, just imagine him smiling at you," I spoke in my dreamy voice, trying to impersonate Donna, " Or the cruve of his lips on—"

Aether didn't let me finish my sentence. He put his lips on mine, washing away all my words with the sunshine within him. And I hadn't realized how much I would want this. He was oxygen I was dying to breathe. He was the sweet I was dying to taste. It was an eternity so short-lived, giving me nothing at all but everything all the same.

"Don't you think about Kaeya ever again," he growled at me with his cute voice.

"And what if I do?" I teased him.

He gave me the you-are-insufferable look and balled his fists together, saying, "I'll do much, much worse than just kiss you!"

At that, I was sure I wouldn't have any more witty rejoinders anymore. He was so adorable and I was dying because of it.

"You don't have to be perfect all the time, babe."

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Heizou lounged on a straight-backed wooden chair, his feet propped up on the table and crossed at the ankles while his hands cushioned his head, serving as a makeshift pillow. A pair of moths fluttered around the single yellow lantern dangling down the ceiling as he sat watching me.

I was sitting with my back to his bookshelf, troubled at my recent failure with a case. It had been quite simple if I'd thought about it harder, then, I wouldn't have embarrassed myself like that in front of everybody else who expected so much from me.

"Y/N," he spoke softly, "It's alright. Even the best of us need help sometimes."

"Not with a petty theft case," I shook my head with belligerence, " Especially not when the thief is right in the line of sight, doing a good job to blend in with the crowd."

I heard him sigh aloud. I knew I was annoying him quite a lot. But I still couldn't fathom the stupidity that brought him down along with me. What worried me was that he considered it to be next to nothing. But for me, who called myself a detective with a keen eye, it was a big deal.

"Y/N, chill out," he drawled. It was a miracle that he hadn't given up on cheering me up yet.

"You don't understand," I whined, raking a hand through my hair," If I were worried about my dignity, I would've locked myself in a room and isolated myself. But I'm not. I just managed to bring your reputation down in an instant and I can't believe you're so cool about it."

"We caught the thief," he tried to reason with me," We're good."

"But still." I shrugged, "It's always going to be there in the back of my mind, poking me like a needle all the time."

The chair scratched. Heizou pushed himself out of the sitting position only to come and crouch down in front of me. He tucked a single strand of hair behind the shell of my ear," It's alright. All is well that ends well, yes? According to that logic, we're grand."

I parted my lips to object but found myself obstructed by the force of his mouth on mine. The way he was kissing me, it was as if I owed him complete access to my mouth, whensoever he must want. If I could bottle up that feeling of his lips on mine and get drunk on it every night, I would do it all the time. Oh, wouldn't anybody?

A smirk stretched on his lips at the sight of my face which I suspected was a gradient of red.

"You don't have to be perfect all the time, babe."

Never had I realized that his words could ever make my heart stutter that way.

© mxplesyrvp 's work 2022, all rights reserved. reblogs are highly appreciated. Do not plagiarize, take heavy inspiration or translate.

Picture credits to the rightful owners.

going on a blind date

feat. Diluc, Thoma, Kazuha

DILUC

“Trust me Y/n, I’m the best matchmaker Mondstadt has to offer!” Venti’s words replayed in your head as you walked towards Angel’s Share.

For whatever reason, the bard wanted to set you up on a blind date. And for whatever reason, you agreed to it.

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Feeling Tipsy, Darling?

✾ pairing: kazuha x gn!reader

✾ synopsis: kaedahara kazuha was many things to you: poetic, compassionate, soft-spoken. the list of your lover’s qualities was endless in your eyes. though one quality of his that you didn’t expect to find so endearing…was drunk.

✾ warnings: intoxication/implied alcohol consumption. spoilers for the new summertime odyssey event. 

“In that case, I’ll have a glass of juice. Hm…this one. I like the color.”

You should have known better than to trust the bard with the drink choices. 

You feel Kazuha’s lips tickling the crook of your neck as he breathes out another giggle, the sound resembling that of a playful summer breeze. His arms tighten where they rest around your waist.

Just how strong were these fruit cocktails?!

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