YOU KNOW WHO THIS MOTHERFUCKER LOOK LIKE LOWKEY??

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍, 𝐃.𝐓

pairing: daemon targaryen x martell!reader

summary: y/n dreamed about the man she was promised since she was born. (I AM REALLY BAD AT SUMMARIES SORRY 😭)

words: 4.0k

author's note: part two is right here.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. i hope you like it!

warnings: enemies to lovers, descriptions of blood, descriptions of combat, mentions of sex

18+ warning

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The beauty of Y/N Martell was known throughout all Westeros. Daughter of Lord Martell with a Velaryon lady, the girl had beautiful silver hair and lilac eyes, that highlighted her warm skintone. The Sand Dragon is how they called her, even though lady Y/N wasn't a dragon herself. She had valyrian blood, but wasn't a Targaryen.

House Martell wanted power, and for that, they needed the biggest and greatest weapon the kingdom has ever known. King Viserys couldn't put a dragon egg in dornish hands, not without a marriage to finally bound the houses that once had been in war.

Lord Martell offered Y/N's hand to the king right after she was born and he saw potential in her valyrian features, but Viserys kindly refused, saying that he already had a wife, whose also just gave birth to a girl, princess Rhaenyra. The monarch mentioned his younger — and single — brother, who could do well with a wife. Lord Martell accepted the king's matchmaking, and promised the hand of his newborn child to Prince Daemon.

As a gift, the king gave the little baby a dragon egg, saying it was only for the future princess. It was a precious treasure, something that the dornish people had never seen before. The egg was in color white, with golden details in it's scales. It hatched a couple months later, and a female dragon was born. Lady Velaryon called it Faora.

Obviously King Viserys knew they had to wait until baby Y/N became of age and ready settled to marriage. As a child, she was told that her destiny had been traced, and her future husband was a cruel, and yet brave, Targaryen warrior. Y/N never met him, but she fell for the idea of him. A brave and handsome prince, who killed everyone that tried to harm the crown. She wanted to be like him, the man of her dreams.

At the age of 8, Lady Y/N started training. She was an excellent dragonrider, even though she was young. The Targaryen children start riding their dragons at even younger age, and Y/N insisted she wanted to be like them, so she could impress her Prince with her riding skills. Y/N also started battle training, and her father gifted her with a sword. Of course it wasn't something precious like valyrian steel, but it meant something to her. Her thin sword soon would become an object of fear to her enemies.

Her parents fed the girl's desire of becoming a warrior like her promised fiancé, but deep down she knew that it was all for nothing. Learning to ride her dragon was a necessity, since it was given to her, but she was never going to war, even if she wanted to. Years and years becoming the best swordswoman in Dorne, all for nothing.

Years later, Y/N finally became of age. She was 19 when her parents finally received an invitation to the royal annual tournament in King's Landing, where she would be introduced to the Prince, and they would wed before the competition.

"A tournament." She thought. Y/N never went to war, but she defeated every dornish soldier in combat. What was the difference between the king's soldiers and dornish soldiers? None. She could defeat them all.

They arrived in King's Landing in time for the tournament. Lord Martell explained to the king that his daughter was an excellent swordswoman, and would be representing House Martell at the competition. Viserys agreed and gave his permission for the girl to fight, even though he found it a crazy idea letting a young lady compete in a tournament against warriors and soldiers from all Westeros.

Whispers echoed loudly in the castle's walls. The staff talked a lot around her, and the maidens tried to be quiet every time she entered a room. Eventually, Y/N heard gossip about the Prince she never met, her prince. He found a new lover, a whore. Of course Y/N never expected him to be in chastity until marriage, he is a man after all. But, she felt strange. Angry, perhaps? No, she wasn't angry. It was too predictable to be angry about it. Sad? Ha, Y/N never felt sad in her entire life, she had everything she could ever ask for. This was different, it was a new feeling. It was like someone took her conquer from her, something that was supposed to be hers. She felt... jealous. So maybe she was sad and angry, but it was all the bad feelings mixed up in one.

A maiden was send to call the sand dragon to the gardens, Princess Rhaenyra's orders. Our highness wanted to meet the beauty herself, and see if the dornish girl was everything they say. The princess discovered that Y/N was everything she heard and so much more. Every hint of doubt faded, and she thought that the girl could make her uncle happy. They had a bunch of things in common, and it would be funny to watch Daemon dealing with someone tough like him, even more a woman.

"Tell me, your grace," The soldier started, "how does your uncle look like? Everyone tells me he's handsome. The most handsome Targaryen man since King Maegor. They say he's quite a brute like Maegor too." Y/N chuckled.

"Oh no, he's nothing like Maegor was. Maybe he's a brute in battle, but I promise you he's a nice man if you break his protection shell. He's a bit grumpy, but nothing you can't handle with your sword." Rhaenyra joked.

"Don't you find weird that I'll be the first woman competing in a royal tournament?" Y/N questioned. The princess smiled and placed a comforting hand on the warrior's shoulder.

"I find it inspiring. There's a lot of female dragonriders in my family, but the bravery was lost since Visenya and Rhaenys conquered our lands alongside Aegon. They were true soldiers, not just dragonriders. I don't even know how to use a sword." Rhaenyra laughed and Y/N smiled. Being used as an inspiration was the best compliment someone gave to her. It wasn't about her exotic beauty, but her skills.

A couple of days went by without Y/N meeting her prince. She heard the staff saying he was in Dragonstone with his whore, and he would stay there until the tournament day. Clearly he was avoiding meeting her. How weird was being engaged with someone for 19 years? To her it made no difference, but Daemon was 17 years old when his brother told him the boy was engaged to a baby.

Daemon was curious about the dornish dragon. He heard stories about her, and how she never lost a single combat against the dornish warriors. Daemon thought they were all weak, the dornish. That people who always wanted to be independent, but the first chance they had to marry into royalty, they took it. She was no different. He wasn't gonna let himself be fooled by a pretty face. Marrying for duty wasn't gonna stop him from being with Mysaria.

King Viserys himself went to Dragonstone to bring his brother back to King's Landing, a week before the tournament day. Daemon came back home, leaving his lover behind. The king told him about the young lady, trying to make Daemon a little bit more interested in the girl. Viserys said he saw the girl training for thr tournament, and that she could have chances of winning. That made Daemon laugh, reminding his brother that he would be the one representing House Targaryen, and that was no way a dornish girl would beat him. The king reminded his younger sibling that the "dornish girl" was soon to be his wife.

The prince insisted for his brother that he didn't had to meet the girl before the marriage ceremony, since he already knew she was beautiful and didn't had anything to worry about. He said he wanted to cut the boring parts, since he waited 19 years for this day to come. Viserys agreed without questioning, but truth be told, Daemon just wanted to do whatever had to be done, and then go back to Dragonstone and his lover.

The following day, Y/N met her prince, the one she has been dreaming of her whole life. The one it was promised to her. That tall, handsome man infront of her was such a sight to see. Daemon Targaryen was in formal clothes, the top of his long hair was braided, and the serious demeanor in his face made him look even more gorgeous.

Daemon felt weird in her presence. His eyes had never laid in such beauty, part of the lady's silver hair was braided on the top of her head, while the back part fell on her shoulders like a water cascade. Y/N was wearing a beautiful, and quite revealing with bare shoulders, yellow dress, reminding everyone where she's from.

The Rogue Prince chose to wed in the valyrian way, by "fire and blood", like most Targaryen couples do. King Viserys was the officiant, so the ceremony happened in the throne room. There was only a few members of the family, and The Hand, witnessing the valyrian wedding.

He never kissed her after that. The prince took her to his chambers because it was what they expected him to do, not be cause he wanted a complete stranger invading his space.

"So," Lady Y/N broke the awkward silence. It's been 10 minutes since they entered the room and Daemon faced his window. "should I undress?"

"It depends." Daemon muttered, "I don't want you to get sexually frustrated, if it happens once and never again."

"I see. You think there's not enough of my husband for me and his whore?" Y/N spat and Daemon turned to look at her, "Don't you worry, Your Grace, I would never get sexually frustrated because of you. I wouldn't be alone either."

"I could have you punished for that, you know? I don't know how things work in Dorne, but here a woman should respect her husband!"

"In Dorne, men are castrated if caught in adultery. That's why we are in favor of open marriage. That's when both parts are fine with being in company of other people." Y/N said with a smile.

"Dornish people are crazy!" Daemon replied, annoyance was cleared in his voice.

"I'd say dornish people are evolving faster than the rest of the realm. You people should learn something with us. Now, since we're not having our wedding night, I'll rest." The princess took her dress and corset, falling onto the mattress right after.

Prince Daemon, watched her undress, her perfect body being covered only by her golden nightgown. Men say that dornish women are the most beautiful creatures in the seven kingdoms, but Y/N was different. She had the flush of Dorne, and the features of Old Valyria. Her curves were hypnotic and her lilac eyes were magnetic. Sure, she was a true temptation, but Daemon was a warrior before a man. A real soldier could resist any kind of human desire, he was trained to resist to any kind of need.

Y/N on the other hand, was mad. She fell for someone she had never met, the idea of a prince that only existed in her mind. Daemon was everything she pictured him to be, but she expected the same love towards her. Her broken expectation turned into anger. She felt motivated. Y/N wanted to make the Rogue Prince fall onto his knees and beg for her forgiveness. She wanted him to banish his whore from Dragonstone, and promise she was the only woman in his life from now on.

There was only one day left until the tournament. The Rogue Prince and The Sand Dragon had been sleeping in separated rooms. The dornish woman had been the most commented topic in gossip around the castle since she came to King's Landing, and it seemed like it was going to take long until it ceased.

Y/N trained in the gardens, also teaching Rhaenyra the basics in sword fighting. The princesses became friends really quickly, and Y/N felt like she wasn't alone anymore.

Her parents weren't talking to her, since people had been saying that she offended the prince and he regretted marrying her. Of course the staff noticed Daemon leaving their shared chambers in the middle of the night, that's all they've been talking about for days.

Rhaenyra was happy to find in Y/N a true friend and a good company, never leaving her lonely again. Syrax also found a true friend in Faora.

On the dragonpit, Rhaenyra took Y/N to meet the royal dragons and the place where the dornish's dragon had been staying at. The sand princess met Meleys, Dreamfyre, and Seasmoke. She had already met Syrax, since the Targaryen girl took her new friend flying the other day.

And then she saw him, the Blood Wyrm, with his red scales and long neck. He roared whistling loudly, but she wasn't intimidated by him. Caraxes moved in her direction, and lowered his head, where his nose was right in front of her. He huffed, making her silver hair fly. Chuckling, Y/N stretched her hand to pet him, which the dragon accepted gladly.

"He likes you." Rhaenyra smiled, "That's rare, he usually doesn't like anyone. Quite like my uncle, actually."

Y/N laughed as her fingers danced through the dragon's scales, "Well noticed."

"Do you want to go riding? I'll ask someone to saddle Syrax and Faora." Rhaenyra said and Y/N nodded, watching the princess leave the dragonpit.

The girl hummed as the dragon softly huffed to her touch. His warm scales getting even hotter under her hand, his eyes closing in comfort. He didn't seemed like a menace much more than one of the cats in the castle.

"You're not so scary, aren't you?" Y/N smiled, and touched her forehead against the dragon, "No, you're not. I bet you're just like your daddy. Your tough act can't fool me, neither can his."

Caraxes opened his eyes and stared at the girl with his beautiful orange gaze. The dragon loved the attention he was getting.

"You're such a handsome boy. That's another thing you have in common with Daemon,"

The lady turned around to the masculine chuckle behind her, "Oh, really?"

The prince cocked his eyebrow. The sassy in voice was noticeable.

"Please, don't mind me. I was quite enjoying your little chit-chat with my dragon." Daemon smirked and the princess rolled her eyes.

"Don't get too cocky, my prince. At least Caraxes knows how to behave in a lady's presence." Y/N shrugged and turned back to the dragon.

Daemon looked around, watching the magnificent white dragon on the corner of the pit. Her golden eyes shining in the darkness of the place. The prince gave a few steps, and the dragon came closer to him. Caraxes watched the scene with caution, feeling a little tense to see his master so close to a unknown dragon.

Faora lowered her head to be in Daemon's height. She looked at her owner, expecting an order. The princess just smiled, and the dragon slightly pushed the prince's body with her nose making him laugh. Caraxes huffed again, this time in annoyance.

"You know," Daemon started, making the princess look at him, "I always thought my brother was a fool for giving you the egg. Dorne could be in possession of a dragon and decide to start a war. That's what I would have done."

Daemon placed his hand on the dragon's nose, that purred to his touch like a kitten.

"Using animals as weapons are a Targaryen thing, my prince. We are soldiers, we are trained to fight and win. Dragon fire is an advantage. To be brave is the real conquer, even if dying with it." The princess blurted out.

"And yet is dragon fire that reigns." The prince walked towards his wife.

"Life isn't always fair." Y/N said, her voice sounding lower than she expected. He was too close to her, his tall figure was covering her body.

Their violet eyes met. Daemon felt the urge to touch her, to feel her warm skin against his fingertips, but he controlled himself. Y/N took a deep breath, trying not to look intimidated.

Rhaenyra appeared on the entrance of the dragonpit, taking Y/N's attention. The dornish girl quickly vanished from the prince's sight, taking her friend's hand without saying a word.

The tournament day finally came. Y/N felt like it was the day to shut everyone down. The maidens didn't even tried to hide anymore, gossiping in codes right in front of her, like she was some sort of stupid lady that couldn't understand what they're saying.

No one could look at Y/N and say she wasn't a lady. The most shining armor in her body, and the sharpest sword in her hand, wouldn't take away the femininity in her. She always fought with beauty and grace, making violence look pretty when done by her hands.

So she fought. One, two, three, more and more soldiers of the king were defeated by dornish hands. House Martell standards were held up high with pride. Prince Daemon was also winning combat alongside his beloved Dark Sister, but Y/N didn't let herself be bothered with the chance of fighting against her husband.

Y/N almost lost the fight against Ser Criston Cole. She fell from her horse, landing on ground brutally. Her shoulder felt injured under the golden armor, probably badly bruised. The crowd looked shocked once she was back on her feet and someone came running to give her her sword.

Ser Criston made a great job knocking her out of the horse, but winning that fight wasn't going to be that easy. She made that very clear once her foot was on his chest, and the tip of her sword touched his face. He immediately surrendered.

Everyone cheered for her. The talents of dornish warriors were known throughout the country, but no one expected the girl to fight a real soldier.

Banners with the Targaryen symbol were raised. People cheered loudly for their prince, watching his glorious entrance. Daemon came on top of a black sorrel, wearing a black armor. His helmet drived attention, especially because of the wings and scales innit, reminding a dragon. He wanted to prove a point and show everyone what the house of the dragon was made of.

Y/N hopped on her horse again, taking a deep breath. They were both on place, staring at each other across the field. She held her spear in his direction, aiming for his chest. It took three rounds until one of them met the ground, and that was Daemon. Screaming for his sword, he watched the girl gracefully getting out of the saddle. Y/N took her own sword out of her helper's hand, and stayed defensive as the prince got closer to her.

"You should surrender, wife. I really don't want to hurt your pretty face" Daemon said in wit, as he swung his sword towards her.

Y/N smirked through the loud noises of the steel hitting against each other.

"You should be the one to surrender, my lord! I am not going anywhere," Her sword went straight to his face, where Daemon deviated from having his cheek cut.

Dark Sister's blade opened a wound in the lady's arm, splashing blood in it's length. Y/N whimpered in pain, but found enough strength to kick Daemon away from her. He took a few steps back, trying not to loose his balance as she came fearless in his direction. She screamed as her attack went for his neck, but the valyrian blade blocked her sword's way. Daemon grabbed her braids, and the girl could feel the cold steel against her neck.

"Surrender," Daemon mumbled against her ear.

"I'd rather die," She muttered between gritted teeth.

"If you don't surrender, I'll make it tie. It will be disgraceful, since it's the same as losing in a shaming way." The prince threatened in a low voice.

There was no way getting out of this. She was bleeding, and with a blade on her neck at his mercy.

They looked at each other. They had never been this close again since the day in the dragonpit. She could feel his warm breath against her ear. Moving her head slowly and getting even more close to him, their lips met. Daemon tasted salty, and one of them had definitely a bleeding in the mouth.

Daemon's grip around the sword loosened, and for seconds he forgot where they were. The place went completely silent, it was like no one was watching. His hand let go of her hair and went for her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin.

Completely free, Y/N opened her eyes and took off a dagger out of a compartment in her trousers, slowly taking it to the prince's throat. She broke the kiss and went behind him, getting out of his sight, deepening the blade against his skin.

"Surrender," She whispered.

Daemon groaned once he realized her move, and touched her arm patting it for surrender.

"Lady Y/N of House Martell is the great winner of the tournament!" King Viserys announced.

Y/N tossed her dagger against the floor, finally relaxing her body after so much effort. She looked at her arm, bleeding out where part of her armor was destroyed. She didn't realized how much blood she was losing it until then. Some drops were falling in the ground.

"Daemon" Y/N called, feeling her vision getting blurry and her legs getting weak.

The prince turned around in perfect timing to catch her before she fall. Her skin wasn't so warm anymore. Her eyes were shut closed, and worry took over Daemon.

When Y/N woke up, she was all alone in her chambers. She noticed someone had stitched her wounds, and her mouth tasted like milk of the poppy. She head a bad headache, and her shoulder was badly bruised from her fall. None of her maidens were in sight, so she had no where to go.

Y/N closed her eyes again and tried to sleep a little more. That's when she heard the door opening noise. She sat on the bed, and watched prince Daemon entering the room.

"Oh, you're awake. Do you want me to get your maidens? You must feel hungry," Daemon sat in front of her and took her hand, checking out her body temperature.

Y/N frowned. She couldn't recall what happened. "What time is it?"

"It's late, actually. I came to see you before heading to my room." Daemon muttered, analyzing the walls and the whole new decoration that the princess had done to his old chamber.

"This is your room, I'm invading your space. I should be the one to sleep in another place." She mumbled, playing with her fingers and avoiding his gaze.

"This is our room," He said "it just took me a while to see it."

Y/N raised her head and their eyes met. She lost her words, and had no idea how to reply to that. Did he confessed something? Did he liked her?

"What happened? I remember... kissing you." She frowned once she noticed that her memories were kinda blurry.

"You did that. And, you used the kiss to distract me. You won." Daemon smiled.

"Well, I must say I'm not surprised. I'm really that good." She said playfully and the prince laughed.

"Yes, you are." Daemon smiled without showing his teeth, "How's your arm? I'm really sorry about that."

"It hurts but I'll be fine. And, we both know that you didn't meant for this to happen, Daemon. You have nothing to be sorry for." Y/N placed a comforting hand in his thigh.

Daemon looked at her hand, and placed his own on top of hers, giving it a little squeeze.

"Stay with me tonight." She asked softly.

"I will."

I’ll post this here too c: “I’ve had many masters. Each and every one of them tried to break me, and each and every one of them miserably failed. They’d starve me, beat me, spit in my face and tell me how utterly worthless I am. They’d swear up and down that I was nothing more than a pathetic maggot… an abhorrent abomination. But you know what? I laughed, and, oh, how they’d rage. They’d give up, pass me on to the next gullible idiot far too easily parted with their gold. And the cycle would start all over again. So, tell me… what makes you any different?”

LEE PACE as Calpernia Addams SOLDIER’S GIRL (2003)

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good. 

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left. 

and then satoru wins. 

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 

and then you remember. 

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do. 

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 

his breath hitches. 

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort. 

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow. 

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 

finally, for once, you’re enough. 

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

defend my thesis? like with a sword?

I'm gonna go insane I think the fic got deleted

Well shit 😌

part eighteen spoilers. alexa play you right by doja cat.

I can finally sleep in peace