lsficbin

[lsficbin]

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful) and this is like…not that good

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[lsficbin]

Like A Million Yen

Originally, I wanted to get this posted on the 31st of October… that clearly didn’t happen. Oh well.

Post-Shibuya!Nanami

Enjoy!

WC: 4.3 K

Panic overwhelmed you as you hurriedly scoured through the makeshift infirmary. The only sound registering in your ears was the thrumming of your erratic heartbeat and the rushing of blood.

You had known that Kento was called in to deal with an emergent mission that had suddenly sprung up on the both of you, but never in a million years could you have imagined something as grand-scale as this. The only thing that compared would probably have been the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons almost a year ago, but Kento managed to survive that situation relatively unscathed.

This time was different.

You had received the call from Yuuji, that Kento was severely injured and that you had to come quickly. The news, at first, startled you, but what scared you the most was how defeated and exhausted Yuuji’s voice sounded.

You acted fast, darting in and out of the curtained and sectioned off rooms, and past the lined up cots that held all of the other injured sorcerers and civilians. Though you couldn’t see yourself, you could only imagine how disheveled and wild you looked as you frantically searched for your husband.

“Mrs. Nanami!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, and turned to see Yuuji, all battered and cut up from the battle that had ensued. That he had survived.

You let out a breath of relief that you didn't even know that you were holding in, and rushed towards him, pulling him into your arms, and crushing him to your chest. You were grateful to see him on his feet, taking his appearance into consideration, of course, but you were thankful that he was alive and breathing, nonetheless.

"Thank God you're okay," you whispered, your hands tightly gripping at the back of his tattered uniform. You pulled away, and gently cupped the sides of his face. "Are you hurt?"

Yuuji, seemingly slipped into a dissociative state as he bore a thousand yard stare into your eyes as he looked back at you, blinked a couple of times as he was able register that you were speaking to him.

"I, uh... I'm fine Mrs. Nanami, I swear, " he stammered out, rather unconvincingly.

You were going to circle back to Yuuji whenever the circumstance would allow you to, but right now, you just wanted to be reunited with your husband more than anything.

"Yuuji, can you take me to Kento? I don't know where they're keeping him..." You've never sounded so small before. You hated it.

Yuuji grasped your wrist and led you to the farthest corner of the infirmary, guiding you to the end of a long line of curtained beds. You could feel your heart hammer against your chest the closer and closer you got to Kento, the beating sound beginning to overpower your sense of hearing. That's all you could really hear in that moment in time.

At the very end of the line, Yuuji stopped and pulled back the divider of the very last section, letting you go ahead of him into the tiny impromptu room. You hesitantly stepped in, your eyes landing on a figure that was laid on a cot.

As you approached, you could see that it was in fact Kento and that half of his body was wrapped up in white bandages, the other half was seemingly left unharmed. For the most part, at least. His hair was a birds nest upon his head, the skin that was left uncovered was bruised with black and blue marks, and he looked utterly exhausted.

You pulled up a chair that was in the room and placed it beside the cot, and took his hand in yours. His skin was warm to the touch, and you watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath he took, reinforcing the fact that your husband was alive. Injured and wounded to an extent that you didn't know of just quite yet, but alive, regardless. You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, thanking whatever higher power would bother to even listen to you in that moment.

You held his hand up to your lips for a few seconds longer, before giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Nghh.... darling? Is that you?"

His voice pulled you out of your silent reverie, and you almost cried tears of joy when you saw your husbands uncovered eye looking at you blearily.

You wanted to throw yourself on top of his body, but rationality stopped you from doing so. So, instead, you opted to placing his palm on your cheek, trying to gain some semblance of control over your emotions as they began to spiral out of control the more that you leaned into his touch and sought out his warmth.

You wanted to be strong for Kento.

You had to be strong for Kento. Especially, considering that there was likely going to be a long road of recovery ahead of him.

You wanted, no, needed to be a rock for him to build his foundation on, like he had done for you many times before in times of turmoil for you.

"How are you feeling?" you managed to get out, your voice shaky.

He gave you a half-hearted smile. "Like a million yen, my love."

You leaned over him to press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering just a second too long. "Well, thank goodness for that." You tenderly pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you just tried to bask in his presence and his touch.

"You're not going to be happy with me."

You pulled away, confused. "What? Why would I be unhappy with you?"

A tiny, sheepish grin. "I've lost my wedding ring."

~

You got the full story from Yuuji when Kento had been taken to a healing session with Shoko the next morning. He had been badly burned by some unregistered special grade, and, instead of seeking out help like he should have initially done, had recklessly put himself back into the line of duty and had fought off a horde of transfigured humans in his horrendously mutilated state in hopes of searching for his fallen comrades. He was about to be transfigured by the special grade that was responsible for the horde, some childlike curse named Mahito, but Yuuji, arriving at the eleventh hour, managed to prevent that from happening, swiftly dealing with it before anymore damage could occur.

You had made a mental note to thank Yuuji in some grand, special way that you could go about. Whether it would be a home cooked meal with all the stops pulled out, or, hell, maybe even adoption papers (though, that would have to definitely be discussed with Kento before anything like that came to fruition), you had to do something for the young sorcerer to properly thank him for saving your significant other.

Kento had been promptly discharged from acute medical observation after having spent a week within the confines of the Jujutsu High Infirmary and having numerous healing sessions with Shoko in the process. His red, angry burned left half of his body slowly dimmed to a lightly, flushed pink, and the hair on that side of his body was going to take come time to grow back, of course. Unfortunately, his left eye was something that Shoko regenerate, but he wasn't going to be able to see out of it, rendering him to the use of an eyepatch.

You had spent every waking moment with Kento, doing everything in your power to aide him and be of assistance to him in whatever way possible. You had helped him to the toilets whenever he needed to go, you helped bathe him all while trying to be conscientious of his healing skin, had been at his beck and call and had promptly forced him back into bed several times whenever he tried to go and do things independently.

He hated being catered to, being treated like he was incapable of doing things for himself, by himself. For you, however, he allowed the exception. Begrudgingly, if that.

The first few weeks back home were... uneasy, to say the least.

Every time that you caught Kento looking at himself in the mirror, you would see his mouth turn up in disgust, and he would briskly turn his head in the other direction. He didn't want to leave the apartment, fearing what the general public may think of him.

You've never known your husband to be extraordinarily vain, but you wanted to give him some grace. His appearance and some of his physical capabilities have been drastically changed, and the both of you needed to take some time to get used to it.

As time went on, his mood became more and more surly.

He had withdrawn within himself, and no matter how determined you were to try and coax out what he was truly feeling inside, he would shut down and go nonverbal.

What was most hurtful, however, was how reluctant he was to let you touch him, and vice versa. It seemed that any chance you would take to try and initiate some form of physical affection with him, Kento would immediately brush you off or straight up reject your advances.

"Not tonight, my love. I just want to go to bed."

"Not right now, darling. I'm not in the mood."

Oh, and you could forget about sex. There was no way in hell Kento allowed you to touch him in that sort of regard. Not that you wanted to get physically intimate with him, keeping in mind that he way still recovering from some pretty egregious injuries on the entire half of his left body.

It was just something that lingered in your mind for some time.

You knew that the road to recovery was going to going to be a long one, but you hadn't anticipated the man that your husband was becoming.

Or had already become.

Yuuji, Megumi, Ino, Ijichi, Shoko, and among others paid visits to your home, checking in the two of you to see how you were faring, Shoko mainly stopping in to see how Kento was healing in his post treatment. Shoko was really the only one that Kento allowed to see, hiding himself away in the safety and privacy of your bedroom if it was anyone else.

You knew at some point that Kento was going to have to talk to you, about anything and everything that was going on inside him. It was just a matter of when it was going to happen.

The straw that broke the camels back was when Kento, all while trying to enjoy a cup of coffee at the dining table, accidentally lost his grip on his mug, causing it to shatter on the ground, allowing the contents to spill out all over the floor.

"God dammit!" he quietly snarled to himself as he leaned down beside the chair to pick up the shards of the mug, his hands trembling.

You rushed forward with a dish towel, trying to beat him to the shards of the broken mug. "Here, let me-"

You threw the towel over the mess, as you tenderly picked up the bits of the broken mug and placed them in the palm of your hand, careful not to try and pierce yourself with them.

"I'm sorry."

You paused, looking up at him questionably. "Why are you sorry? It was an accident, Kento. This hardly deserves an apology."

A forlorn look crossed his facial features, the unmarred half of his face scrunching up like he was trying to fight off an onslaught of tears that welled up in his eyes. As he sat there, his emotions brewing within him, he felt like he was a child again. The despair and turmoil swirling in both his chest and his abdomen, overwhelming him as his current state of mind rendered him to feel as if these things were too … too complex for him to process, like he was experiencing it again for the very first time. It was as if the world was too big for him, and he was too small for it. "No. I'm sorry."

You realized that this was more than just the spilled coffee and the broken mug. You stood up, holding the mug in the safety net of the dish rag, watching as Kento began to speak his piece.

A few tears managed to spill over, and you watched as they rolled down his cheek. “When I was sucked into the domain expansion of that water-based Curse along with Maki, Megumi, and Naobito, I thought of you.” He wiped away at the tears on his cheek, keeping his head down so he wouldn’t meet your gaze. "When I was burned by that unregistered special grade, I thought of you. I had… I could’ve gone back to Shoko. I should have gone back…"

You remained silent as your husband broke open before you, the floodgates now barreling wide open. He hunched his shoulders forward, leaning somewhat of his weight onto the table as a sob ripped through his core.

"I nearly died, and left you behind."

In that moment, the reality of the ordeal that Kento survived seemed to finally sink in. The repressed shock and horror coming to the forefront of his mind, forcing him to relive those moments, from the moment when he first set foot within the veil to nearly dying at the hands of the Special-Grade Curse in the Shibuya subway station. He buried his face into his hands and cried, his entire trunk rattling with each shaky breath he took.

He cried for the fact that students, fellow sorcerers, and innocent civilians alike were murdered in cold blood. He cried for the fact that he wasn't able to protect Maki, Megumi, and Naobito from the unregistered special grade. He cried for the fact, that instead of seeking help when he was gravely injured, that he foolishly put himself back onto the frontline. He cried for the fact that he was content with dying at the hands of Mahito, with the prospect of you becoming a widow at such a young age, especially when the pair of you had only been married for a little over two years.

It became clear to you that Kento was suffering from survivor’s guilt. To him, why was he, out of everyone who responded to the incident in Shibuya, allowed to survive?

Why was he granted the ability to continue on living, when there were people who were far more deserving of it?

You set the dishrag on the table top, unable to idly stand by while Kento was in distress. With careful hesitation, you slowly extended your hand out to him, softly touching his shoulder as they shook with sobs. You held still for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction to your physical contact with him, unsure if he would allow you to continue any further.

When he didn't flinch away or move your hand off his shoulder, you cautiously inched closer to him and pulled him by his shoulders into you, letting him bury his face into your chest. You wrapped your arms around his head, threading your fingers into his hair.

"How can you stand to touch me?! Or even be near me?! I'm hideous," he sobbed, his voice muffled.

"I married you for you, remember?"

Kento lifted his face out of the valley of your breasts and met your gaze, his eyes swollen and teary. You tenderly placed a hand on the scarred side of his face, and stroked his cheekbone with your thumb.

"Is this okay?"

He nodded mutely, and closed his eyes, leaning his face into your hand. Kento denied himself the joy of your touch and comfort since he’s been back home with you, out of the shame and humiliation that he harbored for himself.

"I married a kind, gentle, and loving man. A courageous, and valiant man, someone who abnegates himself and his own safety for those he oversees, especially for his students, so that they can make it back home to their loved ones alive and breathing." You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his hair. "I’m blessed to have such a wonderful person to call mine. Above all, I’m blessed that this person allows me to call them mine, and that they chose me, out of all the potential partners that they could have had… they chose me." You leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of his closed eyelids, your lips lingering on his left side for a second longer than the right side. "And I am forever grateful for that."

A beat of silence passed between the two of you after you finished speaking.

"I should be dead."

Dread washed through you at his statement, but you quickly pushed it to the side, trying to remain steadfast. "But you’re not, Kento. You’re here with me."

Kento gently pushed you back several inches, giving him some room to stand up from the chair to his full height. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his front, allowing you to place the side of your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"And for that, my love, I am forever grateful."

~

Both you and Kento weaved your way through the crowds as the two of you trekked to the underground labyrinth that was the Tokyo subway station. You were headed back Jujutsu Tech for a final checkup appointment with Shoko for Kento.

It wasn't easy to convince him to step out of your shared apartment for the first time, but with enough encouragement and persuading from your end, he finally gave in. One of the conditions, however, was that you accompany him on his appointment and that you find him an eyepatch to wear over his left eye.

You also saw that as an opportunity to see Yuuji. You know that the poor boy has been worried sick over Kento.

You hadn't noticed that there was a slight lag in Kento's hold on your hand as you led him through the crowds until you suddenly were yanked backwards, making you groan out a soft 'oof'.

You turned around to see what was the matter, only to find Kento's gaze focused on a point in the distance, his stare unblinking. You craned your head the other way to see what he was so focused on.

B5.

You heard his respiration hitch and pick up in rate, teetering towards hyperventilating the more he stared at the sign on the wall.

"Hey, hey, hey," you gently cooed, quickly jumping into action to try and prevent a full on panic attack out in the open. You grabbed hold of Kento's face with both of your hands, pulling his gaze away from the sign to bring his eyes down to yours. "Look at me, nothing's going to happen. I promise."

"I...I can't-" his voice sounds strangled.

"Yes, you can. Mahito was exorcised, Yuuji saw it happen himself. You're not as injured as you were before. You're healed. I'm with you, and I'll be with you every step of the way."

Kento visibly relaxed to a certain extent the more you soothe him, your rationality of the situation overpowering his anxiety.

"Here's what's going to happen: we're going to get on the subway, like the many times that we've done before. We're going to ride the subway for six stops until we get to the stop that's ten minutes away from Jujutsu Tech. We'll leave the station, and walk the ten minutes to campus so Shoko can check you out one last time and then we're going to pay Yuuji a visit in his dorm. Don't you need to thank him still?"

He nodded, his shoulders sagging as his head dropped.

"Then let's go, yeah? We’re about to miss our train." You offered him a full hearted smile as you tugged him towards the station.

He let out an apprehensive sigh, letting you guide him forward.

Kento maintained an ironlike grip on your hand as the two of you rode the train, his eye flitting between you and the other passengers, constantly surveying his surroundings in fear that danger would arise at any moment. You silently reassured him by squeezing his hand every so often, your thumb softly stroking the backside of his hand wherever you could reach.

As you expected, the train ride went without a hitch as the car rolled to a stop at your desired destination. He maintained his hold on your hand as you climbed the stairs out of the subway station, slowly but surely releasing some of the tension in his grip.

"See? What'd I tell you?" You leaned up to peck his cheek, reaching the top of the stairs.

"We're having Ijichi drive us back," he grumbled, a scowl forming on his face.

"Ijichi's out attending to a mission with Panda. And besides, this is good exposure therapy for you."

"Ugh."

The appointment with Shoko also went without any issues, with her performing a full body examination on Kento, testing his movements and reflexes on his left side, while getting updates on how he was faring back home. Shoko also let out a low hum of approval at the mention of Kento getting back onto the subway. She signed off on his case file, granting him full permission to get back out into the field, though, all parties in the conversation knew that the possibility of that actually happening was few and far between.

Yuuji was ecstatic to see the two of you standing outside of his dorm, yelping out a lively "Nanamin!" as he launched himself onto Kento, engulfing him into a bear hug.

Kento, taking it all in stride, chuckled and patted the back of Yuuji's head with his free hand. "Hello, Itadori-kun."

The young boy wasted no time, pulling the two of you into his dorm room, filling you in on everything that had gone on campus, mainly sticking around Toge, Panda, and Megumi as everyone was still trying to recover from the grand scale attack that was Shibuya. You had learned of the fates of Nobara and Maki, Kento softly exhaling out a breath that he didn't even realize that he was holding in, now knowing that Maki was alive and well, just recovering from extreme burns like he had been, as well as Nobara also narrowly escaping death from Mahito, permanently blinding her from her left eye.

Both girls were still in recovery. Kento made mental notes to himself to check in on them whenever his schedule would allow him to. He also made a mental note to scold Nobara whenever he would get the chance to, now remembering that he had instructed both her and Nitta to stay behind and wait for help after he had saved them from the fool with the hand for sword.

"Come over for dinner on Sunday? I'll make your favorite dish, whatever it is," you asked Yuuji as you and Kento headed towards the door, planning on taking your leave.

"Yes, please, Mrs. Nanami! I would love to!"

"Good. You need a proper meal and I know that the convenience store ramen and snacks aren't doing a good enough job of keeping you healthy and strong. The door is open whenever you would like to come over."

As you turned to open the door, you were stopped by an "Oh, wait, Nanamin!"

Kento looked over his shoulder to see Yuuji rummaging through his bedside drawer, before picking up an object that was small enough to fit into the palm of his hand.

"I remember the last time I visited your apartment, you had mentioned that Nanamin had lost his wedding ring. So... I figured... y'know?"

Yuuji presented with an open palm, the wedding ring that Kento had been missing since the 31st of October.

"Itadori-kun..." Kento gasped, fully facing Yuuji now as he grabbed the piece of jewelry out of his hand. "How... how did you find this?" He turned the ring all over, inspecting it to find your initials and the date of your wedding inscribed on the inside of his band, thus cementing the fact that it was his wedding band.

"I went back to the Shibuya station and checked all of the lost and founds that were available there," Yuuji answered brightly, watching with joy as Kento slipped the ring into his suit jacket pocket. "When I couldn't find it there, I searched all of the floors and just... got lucky, I guess."

"You have no idea how happy this has made me, Itadori-kun," Kento beamed at Yuuji, reaching forward to pull him into a hug. "Thank you."

Yuuji wordlessly accepted the hug, resting his chin on his shoulder as he squeezed him back.

You watched the scene unfold, a sense of warmth spreading through your chest.

You reminisced on the moments that you and Yuuji shared when Kento was still in the infirmary, thinking on how much Yuuji came to care for him, not just as his mentor, but as a father figure, one that he never got to experience for himself. You knew how much he valued your husband's opinion, and desperately wanted to earn his respect.

He must have been over the moon.

Kento pulled away, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "See you Sunday, yeah?"

"Yeah. Of course, Nanamin. I'll see you and Mrs. Nanami there."

"Alright. Take care of yourself, Itadori-kun."

As you left the main building and ventured into the courtyard, heading to the main entrance of Jujutsu Tech, Kento stopped you, as he dug back into his suit jacket.

"Here." He presented you with his ring. "I want you to do it."

With careful fingers, you gingerly took the ring from his fingers and slid it back onto his left fourth digit. You peered up at him. "How are you feeling, Ken?"

He swooped his left hand with yours and brought it up to his lips, placing a kiss to the back of it.

"Like a million yen, my love."

And this time, he truly meant it.

[lsficbin]

MOODSWINGS- S. GOJO

you'd been slipping away from gojo for weeks now. but he'd do anything to get you back. cw: angst, saddness, gojo being gojo, failing relationship, happy ending song: moodswings by 5sos

"I CAN TELL WHEN YOU'RE SLIPPING FROM ME. EVEN WHEN IT'S ONLY SUBCONCIOUSLY."

It had started small. A dull ache in his chest as he watched you slide closer and closer towards the edge of the bed, no longer sleeping in his arms. He couldn’t place the emotion but every breath, every glance that didn’t meet his eyes, every time you speed walked past his office, he felt you slipping away from him.

Gojo sat with his head bowed on the edge of your bed. His blindfold lay abandoned on the table, exchanged for his sunglasses.

His fingers twitched against his knees as he waited for you to come home from work. Despite working together, the two of you hadn’t come home together in a while. You used to walk side by side, laughing and sharing stories about your day, but those distant memories began to fade in his mind.

The sound of the bedroom door unlocking snapped him out of his thoughts and he straightened reflexively. Your footsteps were soft on the hardwood floor as you made your way to your bathroom, getting ready for bed.

“Goodnight, Satoru.”

You smiled as you climbed into bed, clinging to the pillow as you fell asleep, your body angled away from him.

It’d been weeks since Satoru last felt your warmth in his arms. Weeks since he’d woken up to the feeling of you pressed against his chest. He wasn’t sure exactly when you’d left his arms but the distance between the two of you continued to grow.

He missed you. Every morning when he woke up, he craved your touch. He craved for the sound of your laugh. But settled for hearing it across the break room when you spoke with Shoko. It wasn’t the same, but it was all he had left.

But it wasn’t until one night in the rain as the two of you waited for the first years to finish a mission that Gojo truly understood you and why the distance had first started.

“Satoru. Do you like the man you’ve become since high school?”

Your eyes avoided his, but your voice stayed steady. It caught him off guard and he let out a laugh, joking about he was the strongest.

He hadn’t noticed the way your fist clenched, and your lips pursed as he waited for your response.

“Right.”

He’d started coming home late last week. He told himself it was because he had missions but truly, he was just avoiding the emptiness of your home. You’d noticed but didn’t wait up for him. Now, his dinner sat on the counter- neatly cling-wrapped with sticky notes atop it.

‘Microwave.’ Or ‘soda in fridge’.

Nothing more than a few words, distant and impersonal. But with the care you had for him when you first gotten married. You always remembered his love for sweet foods and drinks.

As he sat in bed with you, backs facing each other, he wondered how this all started- trying to pinpoint when exactly you’d started slipping away from him. Your question rang through his ears.

“Do you like the man you’ve become since highschool?”

He didn’t have an answer. Not one he wanted to say aloud.

He came home early one day and saw you sitting on the sofa, staring at your wedding ring and twisting it around your finger. The sunlight lit up your face in a way that reminded Gojo of your wedding day. But there was a look in your eyes that he couldn’t ignore.

He crept up on you and asked you what you were thinking about.

“Just remembering.”

He hadn’t pressed further. But he wished he had. He buried himself in missions to pick up extra money. He had enough but he’d managed to convince himself that the more he provided for you, the more you wouldn’t want to leave. But that wasn’t the root of the issue.

Especially when he overheard a conversation you were having with Shoko during a lunch break.

“I don’t even know who he is anymore, Shoko,” you’d sighed. “It’s like he’s a completely different man than the one I married.”

Shoko’s response was drowned out by the thumping of his heart. The words felt like a slap in the face, even if they weren’t meant for him to hear.

He wanted to argue- to burst in the room and tell you that he was the same as the man you’d married. But was he really?

“Do you like the man you’ve become since high school?”

The question had haunted him for a while, playing on loop in his mind whenever he saw your face.

It’d been a while since you’d yelled at him. Arguments went unsaid between you two. Not until he came home battered and bloody after a mission. Hurt but victorious.

“Satoru, what the HELL? Why didn’t you go to Shoko?”

You’d rushed to his side to take care of him, using the first aid kid to take care of and clean his wounds. It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t considered getting injured again to feel your touch more often.

That night, he watched the rain fall and run down the side of the window as the two of you continued your dance of sleeping with your backs to each other.

He turned for a moment to reach out to you, his hand hovering inches above your shoulder as you slept. But he couldn’t bring himself to reach you. Instead, he let his hand fall back to his side.

From that day forward, he pledged to become the man you married. He started coming home on time, even offering to drive you home.  

You hadn’t seen the inside of his Tesla in weeks. It seemed the same but different all at the same time.

“When’d you get this pink umbrella?” you glanced to the side door of the passenger seat. “Got it for ya,” he kept his eyes on the road.

His comment wasn’t anything special. He’d gotten you things all the time before. But it stuck with you.

Small gestures like this became a routine with Gojo, something you now looked forward to. You felt yourself easing into comfort in his presence. The past rigidity you felt melting away as Gojo put in more and more effort.

Your dinners were less lonely than before, now consisting of talking about each other’s days. He asked about your day with a genuine curiosity and followed up about ‘that one curse that looked like elvis’ among other topics. Gojo had even managed to make you laugh multiple times per meal. And for the first time in a while, it hadn’t felt forced.

But what really brought everything home was the day you came up to his office during lunch instead of eating with Shoko, bento box in hand.

“Don’t forget to eat, Toru,” you placed the box on his desk.

He blinked up at you, his surprise quickly melting into a warm smile that made your heart flutter as if you were falling for him all over again.

“Thank you, sweet girl.”

And to an extent, you were falling in love with him all over again.

Gojo went out of his way to be present in your life, even in the smallest moments. Every morning that he didn’t have a mission, he would wake you up with plates of fluffy pancakes or scrambled eggs and your favorite tea.

But it wasn’t just the gestures that made a difference. It was the small moments- the way he’d reach for your hand subconsciously, the way he’d text you during missions to check in and update you, the way he’d sit next to you in the evenings even when you were both too tired to talk.

One night, as the rain slid down the windows, he turned to you in bed. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He reached out, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. For a moment, you stiffened before melting into him, your head resting against his chest.

“You’re warm,” you said softly. “Yeah?” “I missed this,”  you hummed against his chest. “Me too.”

© 2024 SEOUPS do not plagiarize, steal, translate or repost my works on any platforms!

[lsficbin]

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 coming back after a long day of work to see you humming to yourself as you busy yourself in the kitchen, back turned to him. You’re mixing some ingredients in a bowl with your head in the clouds, totally lost to the world. He sneaks up on you, looping his arms around your torso and humming in content as he rests his cheek on your head. You lean back into him, a warm smile gracing your lips. “Long day?” you ask. “Yeah, was dying to get back to you all day,” he answers, squeezing you.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 is clingy, trying to pull you away from the kitchen to your bedroom, desperate for your soft touch and kind eyes. He’s really touchy, always needing some point of contact to feel like he can breathe again. Every second spent in your absence leaves an aching void within, and he actually feels a painful squeeze when he’s away.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 is vocal. “C’mon, sweetheaaart, let’s cuddle,” he begs as he kneads your waist, desperate to convince you. You huff and smile, shaking your head at how needy he is. “Satoru, let me finish making dinner, we can cuddle after.” He presses a hand to his brow and his voice warbles in faux-distress, “Woe is me, woe is me! My own wife refuses to love me! And on the day before my birthday!” This leads you to elbow him in the stomach and he splutters as he backs away. “Whyyyy…” he moans.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 being the little spoon once you finally come to bed, loving when you give him head scratches and peck sweet little kisses all over his face. He turns to snuggle into your arms, looking up at you with a ditzy lovestruck gaze. “How did I ever get so lucky…” He says sleepily, searching for your lips with his. You share kisses in the night, waking up every so often to a tangled mess of limbs and honey-sweet words from your husband who holds you like he never wants to let go. “I could kiss you all night…” He rasps, voice groggy from sleep but spilling over with love. “In fact, as an early birthday present, I think I will.” You chortle as he presses his lips to yours again.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 clasping his arm across the bed haphazardly in the morning to an empty bed as the sunlight filters through the blinds. He sits up suddenly, duvet falling to his hips, only to find your side of the bed painfully absent. His heart does that terrible squeezing motion, the thread connecting your souls stretching in your absence. It urges him to get up and find you. He feels empty without you. He stands, calling out your name, and only receives the echo of his own sad voice.

𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙!𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 jolting in surprise as you blow a party horn directly into his face and strap a party hat onto his head. “Happy birthday!” you squeal as you bounce on your feet, presenting the cake on the kitchen counter that you’d spent the evening before baking and decorating. Satoru stills, tears gathering in his eyes as he sees the bunting you’d placed around the walls. “This is for me?” he whispers in disbelief. You chuckle happily as you brush his hair out of his eyes. “Who else would it be for? My second husband?” He grasps you all of a sudden, pulling you in for a roasting kiss, clinging to you like he wants eat you alive. You pull away, the two of you panting heavily. “My god,” you heave, “You know the cake is over there, right?”

“Don’t care,” He licks his lips, “Just want you.”

You blow the party horn half heartedly in his face. He jolts and snatches it from your lips, laughing. “Thank you for all this sweetheart. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile as he pulls you in for another kiss. What a wonderful way to celebrate your husband’s birthday.

[lsficbin]

𝘽𝘼𝘽𝙔𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇,𝙔𝙊𝙐'𝙍𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙏𝙏𝙔!

Desc: They reassure pregnant reader who is insecure!!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Choso, Sukuna.

Warnings: Pregnancy talks, insecurity, Fluffff.

Comments are appreciated!! (ू•ᴗ•ू)

[lsficbin]

Co-Parenting after divorce

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, and special guest… Suguru !!

my smau masterlist

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[lsficbin]

crybaby. gojo satoru

fluff‐parents au. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ non sorcerers au, slice of life, mom!reader, unnamed eight-month-old baby girl, mentions of needles and vaccines

little sunshines au

two pairs of blue eyes stare at each other (one of them is already brimming with unshed tears).

"satoru, you can't be serious."

"she has no idea!"

your eight-month-old grins at her dad, blissfully unaware of what's happening while he dreads what's about to come.

the nurse side-eyes him but says nothing besides instructing him on how to hold her hands so they won't get in the way and accidentally hurt her.

"oh god." he whispers, staring up at the ceiling and forcing himself to ignore the baby's babbles. "i can't watch this."

funny, you think. because all these years, he seemed just fine with holding your boys as they got their shots. even going as far as encouraging them with promises of gifts and ice cream after braving through the pain.

but now, god forbid someone—or rather, something, like a vaccine��hurt his princess.

you snicker behind your hand at his worried face while he bounces his leg in anxiousness, murmuring to himself as he stares at the ceiling.

and that must've been the last straw.

"sir, don't ever get your eyes off of your child."

satoru quickly turns his head towards the nurse, eyes wide as if he just got caught committing a crime, but he's met with their blank stare.

"you have to make sure i administer the vaccine correctly." the nurse continues, lecturing your husband—respectfully, of course.

his jaw opens, but nothing comes out, closing it again when he realizes his mistake. his eyes move down to watch your baby, still smiley and babbling nonsense.

a small smile grows on his lips as he carefully maneuvers her little hands in his, and a similar one appears on your face as you watch the interaction.

"I got you." he murmurs while briefly making eye contact with the needle going in her tiny arm. he grimaces, and the baby tenses up after a second, her eyes never leaving satoru's. "you're so brave, my little mochi. papa is so proud of you."

he coos and keeps whispering sweet things as the baby starts to cry, her face red and eyes screwed shut. satoru's tearing up too, but he doesn't seem to realize or simply doesn't care because he continues on comforting your daughter.

once the nurse has placed a little bandaid on the baby's arm, they hand out a lollipop to satoru.

"let's go home, my two babies." you kiss your daughter's cheek, before smiling at your husband.

and once you return to the comfort of your home, you spend the afternoon watching over them, father and daughter deeply asleep and with matching blotched faces.

[lsficbin]

Art Student!Choso

Suprematism: pure artistic feeling

Smau: pre-relationship texts with modern au!Choso who is hiding a secret, 1-5 same convo continuing directly from the previous part, and pic 6 is a couple days later when they met up to discuss their project Warnings: pretty slow build up, angst if you squint, might not make sense Pt 0, Pt 1, Pt 2

[lsficbin]

traces of yesterday's scars — satoru gojo

they say the strongest sorcerer can't be broken. but as your fingers trace the scar that once split him in two, you find that even satoru gojo has his sensitive spots.

You still dream about the moment Satoru was cut in half, the memory haunting you even now—that clean, horizontal slice that had split him perfectly in two, tearing your world apart just as surely as it had torn through him.

Sometimes you wake gasping, the image still vivid behind your eyes.

Now, months later, you lay with your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Your fingers trace the scar that runs across his abdomen, the raised line a constant reminder of how close you came to losing him.

The skin here feels different, rough and uneven and so unlike his other scars. Because this scar tells a different story—one of how death had almost claimed him, how he had nearly been taken from you for good.

You feel him tense slightly as your fingers brush over it, catching the small sharp intake of breath he tries to hide.

"Still hurts?" you ask softly.

"Not hurt exactly," he says, trying to play it casual despite the way his muscles twitch under your fingertips. "More like... muscle memory. Like my body hasn't forgotten what it felt like to be in two pieces."

You follow the scar's path across his abdomen, perfectly straight like a ruler's edge. The mark extends to both sides, wrapping around to his back—evidence of how completely he was severed. Your throat tightens at the memory.

"Hey," he catches your wrist when he notices your fingers have stilled on his scar, trembling slightly against his skin. "I'm right here. Still in one piece, see?"

He tries for levity, but you can't shake the image of him split open, of those endless seconds when everyone thought—

Before that thought can fully form, Satoru moves with that impossible speed of his. One moment you're lying on his chest, the next you're on your back, pressed into the mattress with him hovering above you.

His white hair falls forward, framing his face as he looks down at you with those striking blue eyes. The scar catches the dim light, a silver line across his torso that makes your throat tight.

"Stop that," he says softly, pinning your hands beside your head. "I can hear you thinking too hard about it."

"You were cut in half, Satoru," you say quietly. "That's not exactly an easy image to forget."

"And yet here I am," he cuts you off, pressing his forehead to yours. One hand releases your wrist to guide your palm to his chest, letting you feel the strong, steady beat of his heart. "Feel that? Still beating. Still whole. Still yours." His voice drops lower. "I could never leave you. Not even being split in half could keep me away."

He kisses you then, soft and bittersweet at first, before deepening into something more intense. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, each press and slide a promise sealed into your skin.

He kisses you like he's trying to prove something, like he's pouring all his certainty and love into this one moment until the scar becomes just another story written on his skin, not an ending but proof that he always finds his way back to you.

His hand cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he draws out the kiss until you're both breathless with it.

"Besides," he murmurs against your lips, that familiar boyish glint returning to his eyes, "being cut in half just means there's twice as much of me to love now."

Before you can groan at his terrible joke, he moves again and pulls you flush against him as he rolls, and suddenly you're on top of him, straddling his waist. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up.

"See?" His grin is absolutely insufferable now. "Still strong enough to manhandle you around."

"You're stupid," you say, but you can't help smiling as your hands splay across his chest, feeling his laughter rumble beneath your palms.

"Stupidly in love with you," he counters, pulling you down for another kiss. His hands slide up your back, holding you close as if to prove his point about his strength remaining unchanged.

The scar moves under your touch as he breathes, but now it feels less like a reminder of what you almost lost and more like proof of what you still have—his heart beating steady and strong, his arms around you, his smile pressed against your skin.

"I love you," you say against his lips, "even when you make terrible jokes about being cut in half."

"Especially then," he says, and you can feel his smile widening. His hands grow more bold as they trail down your sides, and you can feel his breath quickening beneath you.

"You know," he murmurs against your lips, "we should probably make sure everything's still working properly—" His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, skating across your skin. "If you're up for round two?"

In one fluid motion, he sits up, keeping you firmly in his lap as his arms wrap around your waist. His lips find your neck, trailing hot kisses along the sensitive skin there.

"Just to be thorough," you manage to say, though the words come out shakier than intended as his teeth graze over your skin. And he only pulls you closer in return.

"So thorough," he breathes against your neck, one hand sliding up your back while the other grips your hip. "Need to make sure everything's in working order." His voice drops lower, rougher, as his kisses become more heated. "Every—" Kiss. "Single—" Kiss. "Part."

Your fingers thread through his hair as he continues to map every sensitive spot he knows drives you crazy, making you arch against him. His touch erases all thoughts of scars and fears, replacing them with the burning need to be closer.

And when he finally claims you, his movements leave no doubt about how very alive he is—each deep thrust and possessive grip reminding you that he's here, he's whole, he's yours.

The scar may still tell its story of how close you came to losing him, but tonight is about proving just how completely you still have him—all of him, in every way that matters.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[lsficbin]

You stand outside holding your baby daughter, who is comfortably nestled in a warm jacket, boots, gloves and a hat. Her scarlet eyes go wide with wonder when she looks up, watching the snowflakes slowly descend from the sky. When one lands on the tip of her little nose, she coos and smiles, kicking her little legs in excitement. 

“Isn't it pretty, sweet girl?” You laugh quietly, then brush the droplet of water off of her nose once the flake melts. “You know, a few years ago, it was snowing just like this when I realized that I loved your father. It was also snowing when we found out about you. Snow will always be special to our family.” 

Your daughter seems to understand your words, because her smile grows as she stares up at you lovingly. You crown a small kiss to her forehead, then look around with a thoughtful hum. “Speaking of your father, I wonder where he is. Your cousin is with him, too.” 

Right on cue, you see Yuuji laughing as he sprints across the estate’s snow-covered yard, and your husband chasing close behind him. “You brat!” He shouts, using one hand to swipe the boy up by the back of his coat. Yuuji squeals and flails in the air. “I got you, I got you!” 

Sukuna rolls his eyes, then uses his free hand to brush snow off of his face. “You think you can throw a snowball at me and get away with it?” 

“Ryo!” You call out to him. “Be careful with him. He’s only four!” 

He scoffs, but grabs the boy by his sides and not his jacket. Yuuji grins up at him daringly. “What’re you gonna do about it?” 

Sukuna grins in return. “Oh, I’ll show you.” 

With one motion, he tosses the boy towards a nearby snow bank, Yuuji screaming as he flies through the air for a solid four seconds. When he lands in the snow, he practically disappears into it. 

You gasp in horror, and your daughter begins laughing in your arms. “Ryo!!” 

“What?” He shrugged. “He asked what I would do about it, and I showed him.” 

“But that’s not the—” 

Suddenly, Yuuji emerges from the snow, laughing so hard that you thought he’d pass out at any second. He frees himself, then uses his gloved hands to brush the snow off of his body. “That was so fun!” He shouts.

Sukuna walks towards you with a small chuckle. “See? He’s a strong boy. He can handle it.” His eyes soften as he gently takes the giggly bundle that was your daughter from you so he can hold her. “At least she found it entertaining. Did you enjoy that, little flower?” He asks her as he readjusts her small hat. 

Yuuji skips over to you, and you kneel down to wipe the snow from his face and hair. “Where did your hat go, Yuuji?” 

“I dunno. I think I lost it in the snow. But did you see me?! I was flying!” He bounces up and down excitedly, and you can’t help but smile at the adorable sight. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough time in the snow for now,” you say, poking his cold cheeks. “Your face is all red and chilly. You can play some more once Choso gets here. Besides, I think Uraume has finished making their hot chocolate.” 

Yuuji cheers happily, and Sukuna rolls his eyes again. “Ah, yes. Sugar. As if he isn’t already filled to the brim with energy. He’ll be bouncing everywhere for hours.” 

“Don’t worry, you can always throw him and Choso into the snow later on until they’re tired.” You suggest with a playful smile. 

“Well, I guess that won’t be too bad.” The King of Curses smiles slightly at the idea of repeatedly tossing his nephews around, then looks down at his daughter. “Especially since I now know that it makes her laugh.”

---

a/n: got some snow today. had to combine girl dad kuna and uncle kuna into one drabble <3

[lsficbin]

say it again — satoru gojo x f!reader

you've been married to satoru gojo for so long, but you've kept it quiet, so you can imagine his satisfaction at finally hearing you call him "husband" in public.

You've managed to keep your marriage to Satoru Gojo under wraps for nearly two year now. It isn't that you're ashamed—far from it.

Being married to one of the most powerful sorcerers simply comes with complications, especially given his clan's tendency to meddle in everything.

So you both agreed to keep it quiet. No flashy announcements, no public displays, just you and him. Sure, it means wearing your ring on a chain under your clothes and careful planning for your living arrangements, but it's worth it for the peace and quiet.

That is, until you slip up at the most mundane possible moment.

You're both at an official appointment regarding some property documentation. The clerk has been droning on about paperwork when she asks about your relationship to Satoru for the forms.

"Oh, he's my husband," you reply absently, still scanning the documents in front of you.

The scratching of Satoru's pen stops abruptly. You look up to find him staring at you with the most ridiculous expression—somewhere between absolutely delighted and utterly self-satisfied.

"What was that?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face.

You blink, realizing what you've just said. "I mean—"

"No, no, say it again." His eyes are practically shining now. "What am I to you?"

"Satoru," you warn, very aware of the confused clerk watching your exchange.

"Come on," he says, leaning closer. "One more time. What am I?"

"We're in public," you hiss, but you can feel your cheeks warming under his gaze.

"Please?" He bats his eyelashes at you in that ridiculous way of his. "For your beloved husband?"

"You're impossible," you mutter, but you can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Impossibly charming? Impossibly handsome? Impossibly perfect as your husband?"

The clerk clears her throat. "Should I... put down 'married' then?"

"Yes!" Satoru answers before you can. "Put down that I am this wonderful person's husband. Their spouse. Their better half. Their—"

"She gets it," you cut him off.

But Satoru isn't done. For the rest of the appointment, he manages to work the word "husband" into nearly every sentence. "As her husband, I think we should sign here." "My lovely spouse and I would like copies of that." "Do you need both myself and my better half to initial this?"

By the time you leave the office, you're ready to strangle him.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you say as you walk to the car.

"Can you blame me?" He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "It's not every day I get to hear you call me your husband in public. Usually it's all 'this is Satoru' or 'we're together' or my personal favorite, 'yes, I do unfortunately know him.'"

You roll your eyes, but can't help leaning into him. "You know why we keep it quiet."

"I know, I know. The clan would be insufferable." He presses a kiss to your temple. "But maybe we should tell them anyway? Can you imagine their faces when they find out we've been married this whole time?"

"They'll have our heads for this."

"Perhaps. But you have to admit, the thought is tempting. No more sneaking around, no more hiding that ring." He catches your hand, thumb brushing over where your ring should be. "I want everyone to know exactly who you are to me. And what I am to you. What was it again?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Come on," he coaxes, "just say it once more."

You pretend to consider it. "And what do I get out of this?"

"My eternal love and devotion?" He gives you a long look. "And I'll do the dishes for a week."

"You're supposed to do those anyway," you point out, but he's already pulling you closer, that insufferable smirk of his growing wider.

"Say it again, love," he says, and the way he looks at you then—eyes soft and full of adoration—makes your breath catch in your throat.

All your defenses melt away under that gaze, the one he reserves just for you, the one that makes you forget why you ever try to deny him anything.

"Husband," you breathe, and feel him tense slightly against you.

"Just like that," he whispers. "Though I prefer when you add my name to it."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"That's what I do best," he says. "Besides, my darling wife, I think you secretly love it when I am."

The way he says 'wife' sends a shiver down your spine—something you know he notices from the satisfied look in his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly yours," he corrects, and despite his playful tone, there's something sincere in his gaze. "What do you say? Ready to scandalize some elders?"

Looking at him now, you can't remember why you ever wanted to keep this secret. "With you? Always."

He doesn't wait for more, just leans in and captures your lips with his, and you think maybe going public isn't such a terrible idea after all.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[lsficbin]

thinking about kento who is sick.

he loathes getting sick. it makes him unable to do more productive things, he thinks that being sick just holds him back from progressing on something.

he did figure out that it would lead to this due to the amount of overworking, not getting enough sleep and barely eating throughout the day.

“kento, come on. don’t be stubborn, you can’t go to work like this! you’re just gonna make your cold worse and possibly infect others!”

“i’ll be fine... just a couple of tylenols and i’ll feel better. don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

“nuh uh, you’re gonna stay in bed and rest. you are not going to work!” you huff, tucking him in.

of course you’re not gonna let him get up.

“but—”

“no means no, kento.” you quickly cut him off, offering him the thermometer.

“i’ll go and make you something to eat so you can take your medicine, okay? i’ll get you a cold towel too.” giving his forehead a quick peck as you leave the room.

“alright...”

don’t get him wrong, he loves it when his wife takes care of him! it’s just that he feels like he’s a burden. with you having to tend to his needs, taking care of him, even staying up just to check on him!

kento’s thoughts were snapped as you open the door.

“how’s your temperature?” you come close to him as you place the cold cloth on his forehead.

“38.7...” he sighed, facing the other direction.

“and you still think that you can go to work when your temp is pushing 39?”

“no...” he mumbled, looking back to you.

“come on, sit up. you need to eat, it’s probably the reason why you’re in this state right now. i keep reminding you to eat, and what do you do?” offering help for him to sit up.

“prioritize work... please, enough scolding... i’m trying to learn my lesson.” his voice was hoarse.

“i’m not scolding you, ken. i’m just saying, you have to balance everything. you have yo eat on time, get enough rest and lastly, no more overtime.” punctuating the last three words.

“sorry, you have to take care of me...”

“hey, i have no problems with taking care of you. i love it, actually.” you smile softly at him.

you’re like an angel, just saving him from this damned misery, his fever.

“you’re so...”

“‘so’ what, ken?”

“you’re so pretty...”

he’s tearing up.

“thank you, baby.”

you wipe the droplet falling from his cheek and kissed him.

you know it’s just the fever acting up but you find kento in this state, cute and pitiful...

you know that once he gets better, whatever reminders you mentioned to him, he’d forget. he just ends up getting sick again.

but... you wouldn’t mind taking care of your husband, right?

[lsficbin]

sleepovers with your boyfriend satoru !!

the first time you had ever invited your boyfriend satoru gojo over for a sleepover, he felt like that was the best moment of his life. spending quality time with you and he doesn't have to leave you for the night right after?? hell yeah, that was a win for the giddy and clingy, fluffy white-haired man. once he received the "come spend the night with me 'toru, i can't sleep without you." text, he started squealing and bouncing on his toes like a teenage girl in love, throwing all the clothes and necessities he had into a bag and immediately racing over. since then, the sleepovers had turned into a every weekend thing for the both of you, never having one boring sleepover with your loving boy.

he never fails to show up at your door with your favorite snacks and junk food to munch on while the two of you watch trashy reality shows or emotional, cheesy, sappy movies. and in return, you always buy silly face masks (sometimes matching hello kitty or animal print) for the two of you have on while watching.

of course, with ‘toru having a sweet tooth and you always needing a sweet little treat, you two always decide to bake something delicious around 12am. whether that be cookies, cinnamon rolls, kikufuku, cakes, etc with some jams playing in the background to listen to together (and satoru definitely getting distracted by the music that he starts dancing & ends up getting frosting or sugar or something all over himself with you having to clean him up.)

when you and your lover finally get into bed and settle down after stuffing your faces with sweets to cuddle with the lights off, he always has some random late night thought he always likes to converse about to keep you awake just a little longer.

"sweets, do you think aliens are real and will take over the world someday? or or or maybe, what if they think we're the aliens?" he ponders. " 'toru baby.. what the heck?? are you talking about???" you murmured sleepily but trying to hide your grin.

and when the night’s festivities end, when you fall asleep laying on satoru’s chest as he combs through your hair and admires all the features of your face as you sleep soundly with quiet snores coming from you, he lets out a soft giggle as he thinks about how he'd spend everyday and night for the rest of his life with you like this pulling you in closer and falling into a slumber as well.

likes + reblogs appreciated <3 please don't steal/copy/modify my works!

[lsficbin]

DICK GRAYSON sat at the kitchen counter, his coffee mug forgotten in front of him, steam curling into the cold morning air. the gotham gazette lay open on the table, the bold headline screaming up at him like an obnoxious punchline to a joke he wasn’t in on.

GOTHAM’S GOLDEN BOY SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL: WHO IS SHE?

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his eyes flicking to the photo plastered beneath the headline. there he was, caught mid-laugh, snowflakes dusting his hair and his coat. and next to him—you. you looked radiant, even in the candid shot. your head was tilted toward him, eyes bright and mouth open in a laugh that looked so genuine it almost made him smile again just seeing it.

almost.

“unbelievable,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. the media always found a way to blow things out of proportion, but this? this was next-level ridiculous. he could already hear the teasing from barbara and tim, and god forbid jason got wind of this—he’d never hear the end of it.

his eyes darted back to the caption under the photo. “a budding romance? gotham wonders if richard grayson has finally met his match.” he rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “really? my match?” he mumbled, shaking his head. It was one thing for them to speculate about him. he was used to it. he’d grown up under gotham’s relentless gaze, and by now, it was just background noise. but dragging you into it? that made his chest tighten with something closer to anger.

dick folded the paper with an exasperated sigh, careful not to crumple it too much even though he wanted to rip it to shreds. he didn’t want you to see it—not because he was embarrassed, but because he hated the idea of you feeling scrutinized. he could already imagine your reaction: a mix of shock, indignation, and that adorable little furrow in your brow when you were annoyed.

and what about your privacy? you weren’t used to this. you hadn’t signed up to be a headline or a trending topic on social media. dick rubbed the back of his neck, frustration bubbling under the surface. he’d have to talk to you, warn you about how relentless gotham’s tabloids could be. he wanted to make sure you knew this was on him—not you—and that he’d handle it.

but despite the annoyance, his lips quirked upward as he glanced at the photo again. you looked so happy, so unguarded. if there was one thing he couldn’t be mad about, it was the way the picture captured the way he felt when he was with you—like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

“well,” he muttered to himself, setting the paper aside. “at least they got my good side.”

[lsficbin]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[lsficbin]

JJK Smau: Holiday Prepping 🎄✨️❤️

- you and the jjk guys getting excited for christmas

nanami, choso, shiu, gojo, toji, geto, and sukuna

contains: pure fluff, crack

likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated 🌸

[lsficbin]

So This Is Love

Kento Nanami x gn!reader Tw: nothing, just teeth rotting sweetness Wc: 576 words

Everyday Kento comes home from work, the first thing he’d always hear (most of the time) is the sound of your voice as you hum a tune in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you and your husband. 

“I’m home,” he announced as he slid his work shoes off, placing them neatly in the shoe rack. Hearing no reply from you, he assumed you didn't hear him from the music through the speakers of your phone. He placed his briefcase on the edge of the couch, loosening his tie in the process as he approached the kitchen. 

His lips curved into a small smile as he watched you hum to the melody of the song and glided around the kitchen. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed as his eyes followed every movement. Everyday, he wonders how he managed to get married to you. Everyday, he just wonders how you both have been together since high school. Everyday, Kento feels as if he had fallen in love with you all over again. 

You turned around to get something from the island of the kitchen, only then noticing your husband’s presence. Your smile widens. “You're back! Welcome home,” you said with that cheerful grin of yours that could make Kento's heart melt within seconds.

“Yes, I'm back,” he said, the smile on his face not faltering. He pushed himself off the wall and approached you. “You seem busy in the kitchen. Need any help?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

You shook your head. “I'm nearly done, so it's fine. But if you really want to help out with something, could you set the table for us?”

“Of course.” With a final kiss on either side of your cheeks(face), he let go of your waist and walked over to the drawers where all the cutleries, bowls and plates were kept.

As you both worked together in the kitchen, the next song on your playlist came on. Your ears picked up on the familiar melody on the first beat. “Ken! It’s our favorite song,” you said, grinning from ear to ear.

Kento looks up from the plates he held in his hands. “You're right, it is,” he said with a small smile as he watched you sing the lyrics to the song, using the spatula as a makeshift microphone. He let out an exhale of amusement as he put down the two sets of utensils and plates he was holding onto the table. 

As the song reached to the middle of the audio, where just the melody played, he took the spatula out of your hand, placed it on the counter and took your hand into his, his other hand resting above your hip as you both swayed around to the music, and he’d twirl you around occasionally. You were both reminded about your high school days, where you guys would listen to this song every day, sing to it, dance to it. Satoru calls you guys corny, but don't worry, he was probably just jealous of you both–well, who wouldn't be? You and Kento were just so sickeningly adorable.

Everyday, Kento really falls in love with you all over again, just like he is as he twirls you around in the kitchen area. He’s just so in love with you that he’s so glad to put a ring on your finger all those years ago. 

Note: he makes me giggle and kick my feet in the air